Rated Argh
Title: Rated Argh
Pairing: David Archuleta/David Cook eventual. It's pre-slash.
Summary: It's Top 20 week. David Archuleta has a case of the nerves and David Cook is bored.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 4, 719
Chapter: 1/1
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: Top 20 Rewatch. I actually wrote this during and after it, and it was meant to be a comment!fic, but it got way out of control. I didn't and still don't feel really confident about it because my writing is so lacking these days. But I wanted to see what you guys thought. I don't know, I was thinking that maybe this could be the start of a "Behind the Scenes" Cookleta story that went week by week during Idol? I don't know, we'll see. I desperately want my muse back, darn it!
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“Hey, want to go see a movie with me?”
Retinas almost bulging out of his sockets, David careens sideways away from the sudden noise, arms flapping about as he hits the ground with a thud.
“Jesus, didn’t mean to scare you there, kid,” A voice apologizes from above him, the teen’s eyes clenched shut from the contact with his head and the wooden floor, his hand still holding on the piece he is working on for Top 20 week.
It is a really pretty song, Imagine by John Lennon, and the lyrics are amazingly awesome, so it was an obvious choice when he had come across it and oh gosh, he has yet to get himself off of the ground and could no doubt feel a smoldering gaze on him, gently opening his eyes with a belated ouch. Smooth, David, smooth. And he manages to crawl back upwards, sitting and lifting his head quickly off of the ground. And whoa, hello there, he nearly collides with another head, green locked onto hazel, though he has always thought them to be a murky brown, but apparently there is this splash of green or something? He doesn’t know; that is what people tell him. Anyway, hot breaths are mingling with his own suddenly shallow ones, greeting his face like puffs of smoke. Dumbfounded, he ducks his chin downwards to see the hand that is extended towards him, the man leaning downwards, knees bent so that he can help the younger man up.
“Aha, sorry about that. Oh man, I guess I’m just someone that’s easily startled? Didn’t expect someone to come into the rehearsal room, you know?” He laughs off the embarrassing scene, used to this after seventeen years. Really, he had figured that the door being closed would be enough to keep people away. Not that he is a hermit or something that likes to hide away from people, though he can be painstakingly shy when it came to strangers, but that wasn’t the point. He’d gone into the room for some last minute practicing since the show is tomorrow (remember to breathe, David. Heehee hoo, heehee hoo) and his nerves are getting the best of him and his stomach, food not sounding appealing in the slightest since this morning. Because, well, the pressure is really mounting as they dwindle down to the Top 12 that is so highly coveted on the show. Which, he can’t even believe that he is here still, in the Top 20 out of the thousands of people that auditioned. Boy, he still remembers getting that golden ticket like it was yesterday, singing along with Randy Jackson which was really cool, and yeah, he totally has spaced out into his own little world again. This? Is why he didn’t have many friends. Oh, he has them, and he is a quality over quantity person, quite alright with not being in the popular crowd, but not many people can put up with his constant in and out attention span. Like this one time- Dang it, he almost does it again.
Scratching the back of his head where a goose egg is likely to be forming, he giggles and can feel the heat rushing to his cheeks as the man continue to stare at him strangely and a bit skeptically, like he doubts David’s sanity. Or rather, the younger David’s sanity, because if he remembers correctly, standing before him is David Cook. There are three Davids that remain in the competition, so his odds are stacked in his favor, but it would be really embarrassing to call him by the wrong name. Especially since, well, in all honesty, this man sort of intimidates David. Kind of like that rocker chick with the almost skunk-like hair, and oh man, he shouldn’t be thinking of her like that, because she has a name, and it was Amanda or something like that, Amber maybe, no, it can’t be Amber, he would remember an Amber since he has a little sister named Amber and that would definitely be a name that stuck out. But yeah, kind of like her, this guy kind of intimidates him. Actually, the woman kind of scares him if he is being honest, and this man doesn’t scare him, because he seems rather friendly. He just screams rebel rock star with his hair two different colors and that rag hanging out from his jeans and his face not completely shaven.
But the man can’t be all that bad, because just a couple of hours ago, when he’d been on his way into the secluded room, he’d caught him sitting on a chair, working on a crossword puzzle. And, yeah, that seems pretty ordinary to him. “So, um, David, right?” Because he just has to make sure, because he could be one of the other guys, there was like a pack of four of them that hung around each other. Luke, David, Jason, and Michael. They are pretty much glued at the hip as far as he could tell. Which was cool, because another neat thing about this competition is that it enables the contestants to also meet some really interesting people and befriend them. In fact, one of his closest friends here, Alexandra Lushington, is a familiar face. He remembers being on Star Search with her, way back in the day.
The older man, scarf around his neck, grins broadly and nods, shaking his extended hand to grab David’s attention and remind him that, hello, he is still sitting flat on his butt on the floor. Reaching out to take the hand gratefully and being pulled up with ease, the teenager laughs, again, drawing his hand back once he is back upright. “Thanks. I’m, um, I’m David too.”
“I know. There’s, what, three of us? How original, right? It’s kind of ludicrous in a way.” He chuckles, which gives David all the more reason to be a little more at ease around the other man, not accustomed to strangers being around him as consistently as they were these days. “But, oh yeah, I was asking if you would want to go to a movie? All of the other guys either flat out don’t like me, don’t want to go, or still have yet to tape their segment for tomorrow’s show. And, wow, that makes me sound like a total jerk.” He runs his hands through his hair and flips his head back a tilt to cause a chunk of his hair to separate it from its place on his cheek. “Don’t want to make you sound like the last option, but, you were practicing, didn’t want to bother you. But I’m bored and I figure you’re going to nail it no matter how times you practice.”
And yeah, the older David gives him this smile that automatically causes one to spread on the teenager’s face. Taking its cue to make an appearance, a blush creeps over the younger man’s face. “Oh, trust me, that’s, like, not true. I’m a wreck before performances sometimes. Like, I can never know when nerves are going to hit me? So, I have to prepare myself just in case, you know?” That probably sounds rather pathetic, but it is true.
David Cook crosses his arms over his chest. “Kid, you could belt out something as impractical as KISS and well, Paula would make a play on words and say that she wanted to kiss you along with all of the other females in the eight to seventy demographic.” His tone is light and he unfolds one of his hands to hold it up. “Don’t do that, by the way. Actually sing KISS. You’re talented and everything, but uh, just don’t. Knowing my luck, you’d totally nail it and they’d start calling you the rocker of the season.” He barks out another laugh and David is quick to realize that this guy likes to talk and laugh as much as he likes to sing, it seems. He envies that a bit, because that would help him from stumbling all over his words in interviews and maybe ease his nerves a bit. The older man is comfortable with who he is, not letting anything the judges say faze him, and David sort of wants to applaud him for his bravery and wonders if one day he’ll be like that.
He doubts it though, likely to be forever cursed as weird, spacey Lettuce Boy David Archuleta. That’s okay though because if he had the choice, he would not change anything about himself. If he can’t accept himself for who he is, he can’t begin to expect others too.
“So? Movie? You? Me? Now? Yes? No?” David Cook throws at him, sending him a bit off guard and he bites on his bottom lip for a second.
“Well, I don’t know.” On one hand, he has Idol school homework to catch up on. Has to keep his grades up, after all. But, then again, he could really use the breather, something to help his nerves a bit because practicing over and over was just making him nit-pick everything that was wrong with it so it kept getting worse. Eventually, he shrugs and smiles widely. “Why not? Sure.” They may not be the most likely pair to band together like they are doing, but they are both available, so why not? Just like he’d said.
David Cook gives that grin again. “Awesome. Let’s go then. There’s a dollar theater right across the street. Figure less people that way, you know?” The teen can’t agree with him more, the less attention they were given, the better at this point because it was all still very overwhelming. “But uh,” The rocker hesitates a moment before eyeing the younger man. “Will your dad be okay with it? Do you need to okay it with him?”
The teenager thinks this over for a second, because he brings up a good point. His father was the one that was responsible for him, since he was under eighteen and all he has to be given extra treatment apparently, which he understands but at the same time wishes he could have more independence. Ultimately, he decides that it’ll be okay to just text him that he was going to the theater with one of the contestants, taking out his phone to do so, leaving it at that. To others, this would be far from rebellious, but for the Utah boy, it’s a bit risqué. He really isn’t sure, but he feels like he has to prove something to David Cook. Maybe because he’s older, maybe because he’s so sure of himself that the younger man wants to show he can be the same way, no need for second guessing. Whatever it is, the action is done and he stuffs the cell phone in his pocket after silencing it, not wanting to forget about it once they got to the theater.
When they are there, they stare up at the selections for the longest time, both wearing sunglasses just in case they are recognized. The teenager cranes his head up to glance at the titles, licking at his lips and waiting for the other man to choose, since this is his idea after all. And, well, he doesn’t think that their tastes of movies would be the same. He doubts that the twenty-something-year-old is all that into animated films like the teenager is.
The guitar player turns to him, finally. “You’re sixteen or seventeen?”
The teen blinks for a second as if unsure himself before responding with, “Oh, seventeen. Yeah.”
Seventeen as of last month, actually. Kind of exciting, but not at the same time. There isn’t much that’s special about being seventeen other than you’re a year away from adulthood, which actually makes it kind of frustrating because it’s like right there yet a whole nother eleven months to be referred to as a minor. He appreciates his father, will probably always want his opinion in his music career should he have one after all of this, but it would be nice to at least know that when it came down to it, technically it was his choice and no one else’s.
“Cool. Then we should definitely see Crazy Eights, I think,” David Cook says and the Mormon boy wonders what that has to do with his age, because isn’t that a children’s card game or something? He thinks it is, so the movie should be harmless right?
Apparently not since he’s asked for his ID when he asks for a ticket, warily looking over at the older man. “Um, is this, like, rated R?” Because that’s frowned upon in his family. Not totally disapproved since Claudia went to them all of the time with friends, but for David, it’s always just been something to avoid. Though, before, he wasn’t able to go by himself. Now, though, well, he has that freedom. And even though he’s a scaredy cat when it comes to horror films (he recalls watching The Ring in the sixth grade at a slumber party and not being able to pick up the phone for weeks), it’s a freedom he can now exercise, so he does against his better judgment.
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Yeah.
Oh gosh.
Definitely, definitely not one of the younger David’s brighter ideas, watching the suspense on screen, the eerie music coming to play. He doesn’t like that music, it means that something is about to pop out, and no matter how much he prepares for it, he still jumps a bit in his seat when the figure of a girl crosses the screen. Yeah, remember The Ring incident? This is bound to be ten times worse, because as a PG-13 movie, that had been limited in what it could show. This film? Showed no mercy, quite literally, and he decides he is going to close his eyes whenever the music starts to play, to save his heart the trouble, but it pumps loudly in his heart despite not being able to witness what is happening, his hands on either of the cup holders.
His shoulder is nudged and he slides his head over to not view the screen before opening his eyes to look at the older man beside him who is offering some of his popcorn to him nonchalantly, not even fazed by the bloodshed that the younger David unfortunately catches out of the side of his eye. He licks at his lips. “No, no thanks.” His stomach was already in knots and he was planning for this little escapade to make him feel better? Not likely to happen. Unwittingly, his eyes remain open as he turns his head back to the screen almost like a reflex just in time to see the friends enter a room where a bloody body was crumpled against the wall, the jaw torn off. “Oh my gosh!” Though it is too late, the teenager covers his mouth and closes his eyes tightly again.
After a few moments, a hand is on his shoulder, tugging him forward. “Come on.”
Curiously, the younger David ducks his head as well as he can to not block others from the gross view, shielding his eyes as best as he could as they made their way out of the theater, the sudden burst of light causing spots to form over his eyes. Rubbing them, he asks, “So, what’s up?”
The rocker points over to the arcade games. “Figure you weren’t really having fun in there.”
The younger man has an inkling, okay, he pretty much knows that the other man knows full well that he was about to break out into a panic attack, which would have been rather embarrassing so he silently thanks the man for sparing him that embarrassment. “So, um, yeah, what do you want to play?” It only seems fair that he choose since he was the one that was now missing out on the movie.
They walk over to the selection of video games, David Cook’s lips forming this small pout-like thing, an expression on his face that makes him seem as if he’s in deep in thought before he bounces over to the air hockey table. “I am going to cream you at this game, Archuleta, so watch out!”
The teenager giggles and doesn’t really doubt it. He’s, uh, never really played the game before, merely watched others play because he knows that he lacks the coordination skills needed to play well. Grabbing onto the white mallet on his side of the table, he reaches into the little hole that he knows the puck will be, putting it on the table. He situates his hand on the knob of the mallet before sending the puck towards his male companion.
He finds that he’s actually pretty good at this game, even if he is behind by two points and the other man only needs one more point to win. “I’m so gonna come back, you just watch.” Well, they both certainly did watch as the teenager grabbed maneuvered his hand to catch the puck that was coming his way, only to have his hand slide sideways, the puck going into the goal. Oh, wow. That takes, um, real skill. For him to make himself lose. Laying down the mallet onto the table, he sets his forehead onto the cool side of it, giggling into his hand because it’s really just like him to do something like that. But hey, he wasn’t completely awful so he’s cool with it.
They leave the theater and the teenage David stops at the edge of the sidewalk, pushing on the button and starting to wait.
The older man turned around, hands in pockets. “Oh, come on, you can’t be serious. No one’s coming.” He patted the other male on the shoulder. “Time to live life a little on the edge, what do you say?”
“I say I’m going to wait until that little white person-looking thing pops up before I cross the street.” Because that is what the law wants him to do. And this Eagle Scout was a law follower.
“I’m not going to have to hold your hand too, am I?” The older man jokes and the teenager’s face scrunches.
“Oh my gosh, no.” Just to prove his point, glad that he didn’t do Scout’s Honor about that law following thing because that would be like against all sorts of rules which aren’t as severe as laws but should still be followed, he walks ahead of the older man, that’s right, a total rebel and not waiting for the crosswalk sign to tell him to go (though he totally checks both sides of the road three times before he dares take a step on the street) only to feel a hand find the small of his back to guide him along. And, despite the previous banter, he feels that it’s more of a David Cook thing, because he seems to be rather affectionate towards people, rather than a David-Archuleta-can’t-cross-the street-by-himself thing. He’s always shaking hands with people or hugging them, doing something to create physical contact, and the teenager wonders if it’s because the rocker receives the same sort of warmth that his hand is sinking into his back, seeping through his shirt, comfortable and feathery light. It could be the California sun beating down on him, but he’s pretty convinced that it’s somehow being emitted through David Cook’s fingertips, kind of like that one super power that that one guy has in that one comic.
Once he steps onto the curb and releases a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, the teenager turns to the older man with a triumphant smile. “See, told you.” He wonders if this is one of those moments where guys his age are supposed to puff up their chests or whatever to make them look like a puffed up monkey, but decides that he doesn’t want to chance embarrassing himself.
The guitarist claps his hands in what the teenager is pretty sure is meant to be mocking, only in that good way. How that worked he didn’t really know, but then again, he didn’t know a number of things. Like if the world really was round as they said why weren’t they standing sideways and falling off (that had probably to do with gravity, but that first part, he didn’t get), where in the world was Timbuktu, and why did people always laugh at the word “thick”.
“So, I’m pretty sure that if you can handle walking the big bad streets of LA, you can take on that Idol stage.” The rocker says confidently and David wonders how he can just say it so casually, like it’s obvious and as if it’s the equivalent to tearing a band-aid off of a scabbed knee. If not easier. “What do you say?”
“I say that the crew should keep a trash can next to the stage just in case,” David says with an unsure smile.
“Well then,” The older man tosses an arm around the teen’s shoulders loosely, leading him back towards the studio. “Let’s go see what can be arranged for you, huh? Just in case.”
And David really doesn’t know why, but he starts laughing then. Since he’s David, it’s more of a giggle, but it’s warm like the California heat and he thinks that, now that he’s actually spent some time with this weird-haired guy, that he definitely wasn’t scary. Or really that intimidating. In fact, he was kind of funny, in that goofy way.
And he thinks that maybe, maybe he’d like getting to know the older David a little better.
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That next night, when Chikezie is performing and David Cook is going backstage to tune his guitar since he is up next, David’s cell phone vibrates from his pocket. Which he should keep on silent during times like these or just leave it in his room, but his father sometimes liked to offer him last minute advice, so he always kept it on him. And feeling like he’s back in school again, he sneakily checks his phone (only not, because he kept his cell phone in his backpack at school, because yeah, it was less of a class distraction that way and that’s what the administration asked of him unlike on Idol when they never really specified anything regarding cell phone use so he didn’t have to feel all that guilty) to find that it isn’t his father texting him at all. He doesn’t recognize the number or even the area code, but somehow, he just has to read the text to know who it is (though he does wonder how he got his number in the first place…)
Hey, Archuleta, up for a game of cards after the show?
Looking at the line of guys beside him, David appreciates his height for one of the few rare times in his life, figuring that his form is pretty well hidden behind the others, so no one will really catch onto him replying (because even if there is no rule about him doing it, it would probably look really, really rude to a lot of people if they saw him texting during a performance and even he felt sort of bad for doing it, but while he may not look like he would be the type, David is a rather fast texter because, um, a lot of his friends were girls, and they liked to text a lot and since he was normally super busy, he had learned how to expand his texting abilities rather quickly because he doesn’t ever want to be late but he also doesn’t want to ignore them, so he guessed in that aspect, he is kind of a typical teenager, sort of.)
um, sure? haha. if i’m not too busy throwing up my guts.
He clicks send, hoping that he is being as inconspicuous as possible.
Because, yeah, he is still beyond nervous, especially since he is after David Cook, which mounts the pressure enough the way that it was because he was awesome and stuff, but also because he is the last to perform, and apparently that is some kind of coveted spot that only the frontrunners got or whatever (which he wasn’t sure if he could believe that, because, come on, had everyone else been listening to the other nineteen people he was competing against?), and what if he screws up? And it is a John Lennon song, one of his favorites ever, and it was a really pretty song with a good message and if he screwed it up, he would feel just terrible and he would feel like he disappointed a lot of people, including his father, and then he would have to listen to the judge’s criticism and he has always been a sensitive guy and he wasn’t sure if he could handle that and - oh yeah, he was feeling nauseous.
And oh, he has another text. He should just leave it as it is and pay attention to the performances. He should just put his cell phone back into his pocket and -
He opens the text.
Not needed mental image there, buddy. But, I was thinking Crazy Eights. =D
That definitely doesn’t help David’s stomach any, being reminded of that movie. But he doesn’t mention that to the older man, because then he may feel bad, and David doesn’t want that.
hahahahahaha,you’re so funny.
Only, it totally isn’t, so the teen ends up sending him another text consecutively after that one.
that was meant to be sarcastic, btw.
Apparently, David isn’t the only one who’s a speed texter, because soon enough, he’s opening his flip phone again.
I never would have guessed.
Seconds after he finishes reading the first text, another one is sent in, and David decides to put his phone on silent, because even when it’s on vibrate it makes noise and he doesn’t want it too. He can feel a few people eyeing him from beside him, but he manages to shake it off.
That was meant to be sarcastic, by the way. ;]
David has to bite back a giggle.
are you mocking me?
Of course not, dude.
Chikezie has finished performing and David Cook’s segment about word searches is going on the huge screen, so the teenager doesn’t have to feel nearly as bad about texting, since the older man is the one that keeps it going.
So, Archuleta, why are musicians so cool?
David, David’s never been good at jokes or at guessing their punch lines, so his response is practically automatic.
idk, haha.
No laughing before the punch line!
David blinks and he has to wonder how the older male is managing to text when he’s supposed to be amping his guitar or whatever it’s called, but he goes with it.
…okay?
And the teenager, his nerves at a short fuse, not because of the anxiety at hearing the butt of the joke but because, oh boy, he’s up in a couple of minutes and he can just feel his hands starting to perspire and become clammy and this is it and oh goodness, he wishes now that he really would have told the crew to keep a trashcan nearby because he’s going to be sick and -
His cell phone blinks.
He opens the text with a shaky breath, trying to remain calm but gosh, this is really it, and he doesn’t think that he can do this and --
Because they have so many fans! Get it?!
oh. yeah. haha.
With a loud laugh at the corny joke, getting the punch line but not really seeing how it is funny, but he is so tickled by the attempt that his nerves were forgotten for the moment. He offers David Cook a thumbs up as he is situated to go on stage next, mouthing a ‘good luck.’ But, somehow, the teenager knows that he really won’t need it.
And with a mere few texts, David doesn’t think that he really is going to need it either.
His stomach feels a bit lighter as does the weight that was on his shoulders and David wonders.
Maybe laughter sometimes really could be the best medicine after all.
Pairing: David Archuleta/David Cook eventual. It's pre-slash.
Summary: It's Top 20 week. David Archuleta has a case of the nerves and David Cook is bored.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 4, 719
Chapter: 1/1
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: Top 20 Rewatch. I actually wrote this during and after it, and it was meant to be a comment!fic, but it got way out of control. I didn't and still don't feel really confident about it because my writing is so lacking these days. But I wanted to see what you guys thought. I don't know, I was thinking that maybe this could be the start of a "Behind the Scenes" Cookleta story that went week by week during Idol? I don't know, we'll see. I desperately want my muse back, darn it!
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“Hey, want to go see a movie with me?”
Retinas almost bulging out of his sockets, David careens sideways away from the sudden noise, arms flapping about as he hits the ground with a thud.
“Jesus, didn’t mean to scare you there, kid,” A voice apologizes from above him, the teen’s eyes clenched shut from the contact with his head and the wooden floor, his hand still holding on the piece he is working on for Top 20 week.
It is a really pretty song, Imagine by John Lennon, and the lyrics are amazingly awesome, so it was an obvious choice when he had come across it and oh gosh, he has yet to get himself off of the ground and could no doubt feel a smoldering gaze on him, gently opening his eyes with a belated ouch. Smooth, David, smooth. And he manages to crawl back upwards, sitting and lifting his head quickly off of the ground. And whoa, hello there, he nearly collides with another head, green locked onto hazel, though he has always thought them to be a murky brown, but apparently there is this splash of green or something? He doesn’t know; that is what people tell him. Anyway, hot breaths are mingling with his own suddenly shallow ones, greeting his face like puffs of smoke. Dumbfounded, he ducks his chin downwards to see the hand that is extended towards him, the man leaning downwards, knees bent so that he can help the younger man up.
“Aha, sorry about that. Oh man, I guess I’m just someone that’s easily startled? Didn’t expect someone to come into the rehearsal room, you know?” He laughs off the embarrassing scene, used to this after seventeen years. Really, he had figured that the door being closed would be enough to keep people away. Not that he is a hermit or something that likes to hide away from people, though he can be painstakingly shy when it came to strangers, but that wasn’t the point. He’d gone into the room for some last minute practicing since the show is tomorrow (remember to breathe, David. Heehee hoo, heehee hoo) and his nerves are getting the best of him and his stomach, food not sounding appealing in the slightest since this morning. Because, well, the pressure is really mounting as they dwindle down to the Top 12 that is so highly coveted on the show. Which, he can’t even believe that he is here still, in the Top 20 out of the thousands of people that auditioned. Boy, he still remembers getting that golden ticket like it was yesterday, singing along with Randy Jackson which was really cool, and yeah, he totally has spaced out into his own little world again. This? Is why he didn’t have many friends. Oh, he has them, and he is a quality over quantity person, quite alright with not being in the popular crowd, but not many people can put up with his constant in and out attention span. Like this one time- Dang it, he almost does it again.
Scratching the back of his head where a goose egg is likely to be forming, he giggles and can feel the heat rushing to his cheeks as the man continue to stare at him strangely and a bit skeptically, like he doubts David’s sanity. Or rather, the younger David’s sanity, because if he remembers correctly, standing before him is David Cook. There are three Davids that remain in the competition, so his odds are stacked in his favor, but it would be really embarrassing to call him by the wrong name. Especially since, well, in all honesty, this man sort of intimidates David. Kind of like that rocker chick with the almost skunk-like hair, and oh man, he shouldn’t be thinking of her like that, because she has a name, and it was Amanda or something like that, Amber maybe, no, it can’t be Amber, he would remember an Amber since he has a little sister named Amber and that would definitely be a name that stuck out. But yeah, kind of like her, this guy kind of intimidates him. Actually, the woman kind of scares him if he is being honest, and this man doesn’t scare him, because he seems rather friendly. He just screams rebel rock star with his hair two different colors and that rag hanging out from his jeans and his face not completely shaven.
But the man can’t be all that bad, because just a couple of hours ago, when he’d been on his way into the secluded room, he’d caught him sitting on a chair, working on a crossword puzzle. And, yeah, that seems pretty ordinary to him. “So, um, David, right?” Because he just has to make sure, because he could be one of the other guys, there was like a pack of four of them that hung around each other. Luke, David, Jason, and Michael. They are pretty much glued at the hip as far as he could tell. Which was cool, because another neat thing about this competition is that it enables the contestants to also meet some really interesting people and befriend them. In fact, one of his closest friends here, Alexandra Lushington, is a familiar face. He remembers being on Star Search with her, way back in the day.
The older man, scarf around his neck, grins broadly and nods, shaking his extended hand to grab David’s attention and remind him that, hello, he is still sitting flat on his butt on the floor. Reaching out to take the hand gratefully and being pulled up with ease, the teenager laughs, again, drawing his hand back once he is back upright. “Thanks. I’m, um, I’m David too.”
“I know. There’s, what, three of us? How original, right? It’s kind of ludicrous in a way.” He chuckles, which gives David all the more reason to be a little more at ease around the other man, not accustomed to strangers being around him as consistently as they were these days. “But, oh yeah, I was asking if you would want to go to a movie? All of the other guys either flat out don’t like me, don’t want to go, or still have yet to tape their segment for tomorrow’s show. And, wow, that makes me sound like a total jerk.” He runs his hands through his hair and flips his head back a tilt to cause a chunk of his hair to separate it from its place on his cheek. “Don’t want to make you sound like the last option, but, you were practicing, didn’t want to bother you. But I’m bored and I figure you’re going to nail it no matter how times you practice.”
And yeah, the older David gives him this smile that automatically causes one to spread on the teenager’s face. Taking its cue to make an appearance, a blush creeps over the younger man’s face. “Oh, trust me, that’s, like, not true. I’m a wreck before performances sometimes. Like, I can never know when nerves are going to hit me? So, I have to prepare myself just in case, you know?” That probably sounds rather pathetic, but it is true.
David Cook crosses his arms over his chest. “Kid, you could belt out something as impractical as KISS and well, Paula would make a play on words and say that she wanted to kiss you along with all of the other females in the eight to seventy demographic.” His tone is light and he unfolds one of his hands to hold it up. “Don’t do that, by the way. Actually sing KISS. You’re talented and everything, but uh, just don’t. Knowing my luck, you’d totally nail it and they’d start calling you the rocker of the season.” He barks out another laugh and David is quick to realize that this guy likes to talk and laugh as much as he likes to sing, it seems. He envies that a bit, because that would help him from stumbling all over his words in interviews and maybe ease his nerves a bit. The older man is comfortable with who he is, not letting anything the judges say faze him, and David sort of wants to applaud him for his bravery and wonders if one day he’ll be like that.
He doubts it though, likely to be forever cursed as weird, spacey Lettuce Boy David Archuleta. That’s okay though because if he had the choice, he would not change anything about himself. If he can’t accept himself for who he is, he can’t begin to expect others too.
“So? Movie? You? Me? Now? Yes? No?” David Cook throws at him, sending him a bit off guard and he bites on his bottom lip for a second.
“Well, I don’t know.” On one hand, he has Idol school homework to catch up on. Has to keep his grades up, after all. But, then again, he could really use the breather, something to help his nerves a bit because practicing over and over was just making him nit-pick everything that was wrong with it so it kept getting worse. Eventually, he shrugs and smiles widely. “Why not? Sure.” They may not be the most likely pair to band together like they are doing, but they are both available, so why not? Just like he’d said.
David Cook gives that grin again. “Awesome. Let’s go then. There’s a dollar theater right across the street. Figure less people that way, you know?” The teen can’t agree with him more, the less attention they were given, the better at this point because it was all still very overwhelming. “But uh,” The rocker hesitates a moment before eyeing the younger man. “Will your dad be okay with it? Do you need to okay it with him?”
The teenager thinks this over for a second, because he brings up a good point. His father was the one that was responsible for him, since he was under eighteen and all he has to be given extra treatment apparently, which he understands but at the same time wishes he could have more independence. Ultimately, he decides that it’ll be okay to just text him that he was going to the theater with one of the contestants, taking out his phone to do so, leaving it at that. To others, this would be far from rebellious, but for the Utah boy, it’s a bit risqué. He really isn’t sure, but he feels like he has to prove something to David Cook. Maybe because he’s older, maybe because he’s so sure of himself that the younger man wants to show he can be the same way, no need for second guessing. Whatever it is, the action is done and he stuffs the cell phone in his pocket after silencing it, not wanting to forget about it once they got to the theater.
When they are there, they stare up at the selections for the longest time, both wearing sunglasses just in case they are recognized. The teenager cranes his head up to glance at the titles, licking at his lips and waiting for the other man to choose, since this is his idea after all. And, well, he doesn’t think that their tastes of movies would be the same. He doubts that the twenty-something-year-old is all that into animated films like the teenager is.
The guitar player turns to him, finally. “You’re sixteen or seventeen?”
The teen blinks for a second as if unsure himself before responding with, “Oh, seventeen. Yeah.”
Seventeen as of last month, actually. Kind of exciting, but not at the same time. There isn’t much that’s special about being seventeen other than you’re a year away from adulthood, which actually makes it kind of frustrating because it’s like right there yet a whole nother eleven months to be referred to as a minor. He appreciates his father, will probably always want his opinion in his music career should he have one after all of this, but it would be nice to at least know that when it came down to it, technically it was his choice and no one else’s.
“Cool. Then we should definitely see Crazy Eights, I think,” David Cook says and the Mormon boy wonders what that has to do with his age, because isn’t that a children’s card game or something? He thinks it is, so the movie should be harmless right?
Apparently not since he’s asked for his ID when he asks for a ticket, warily looking over at the older man. “Um, is this, like, rated R?” Because that’s frowned upon in his family. Not totally disapproved since Claudia went to them all of the time with friends, but for David, it’s always just been something to avoid. Though, before, he wasn’t able to go by himself. Now, though, well, he has that freedom. And even though he’s a scaredy cat when it comes to horror films (he recalls watching The Ring in the sixth grade at a slumber party and not being able to pick up the phone for weeks), it’s a freedom he can now exercise, so he does against his better judgment.
-------------------------
Yeah.
Oh gosh.
Definitely, definitely not one of the younger David’s brighter ideas, watching the suspense on screen, the eerie music coming to play. He doesn’t like that music, it means that something is about to pop out, and no matter how much he prepares for it, he still jumps a bit in his seat when the figure of a girl crosses the screen. Yeah, remember The Ring incident? This is bound to be ten times worse, because as a PG-13 movie, that had been limited in what it could show. This film? Showed no mercy, quite literally, and he decides he is going to close his eyes whenever the music starts to play, to save his heart the trouble, but it pumps loudly in his heart despite not being able to witness what is happening, his hands on either of the cup holders.
His shoulder is nudged and he slides his head over to not view the screen before opening his eyes to look at the older man beside him who is offering some of his popcorn to him nonchalantly, not even fazed by the bloodshed that the younger David unfortunately catches out of the side of his eye. He licks at his lips. “No, no thanks.” His stomach was already in knots and he was planning for this little escapade to make him feel better? Not likely to happen. Unwittingly, his eyes remain open as he turns his head back to the screen almost like a reflex just in time to see the friends enter a room where a bloody body was crumpled against the wall, the jaw torn off. “Oh my gosh!” Though it is too late, the teenager covers his mouth and closes his eyes tightly again.
After a few moments, a hand is on his shoulder, tugging him forward. “Come on.”
Curiously, the younger David ducks his head as well as he can to not block others from the gross view, shielding his eyes as best as he could as they made their way out of the theater, the sudden burst of light causing spots to form over his eyes. Rubbing them, he asks, “So, what’s up?”
The rocker points over to the arcade games. “Figure you weren’t really having fun in there.”
The younger man has an inkling, okay, he pretty much knows that the other man knows full well that he was about to break out into a panic attack, which would have been rather embarrassing so he silently thanks the man for sparing him that embarrassment. “So, um, yeah, what do you want to play?” It only seems fair that he choose since he was the one that was now missing out on the movie.
They walk over to the selection of video games, David Cook’s lips forming this small pout-like thing, an expression on his face that makes him seem as if he’s in deep in thought before he bounces over to the air hockey table. “I am going to cream you at this game, Archuleta, so watch out!”
The teenager giggles and doesn’t really doubt it. He’s, uh, never really played the game before, merely watched others play because he knows that he lacks the coordination skills needed to play well. Grabbing onto the white mallet on his side of the table, he reaches into the little hole that he knows the puck will be, putting it on the table. He situates his hand on the knob of the mallet before sending the puck towards his male companion.
He finds that he’s actually pretty good at this game, even if he is behind by two points and the other man only needs one more point to win. “I’m so gonna come back, you just watch.” Well, they both certainly did watch as the teenager grabbed maneuvered his hand to catch the puck that was coming his way, only to have his hand slide sideways, the puck going into the goal. Oh, wow. That takes, um, real skill. For him to make himself lose. Laying down the mallet onto the table, he sets his forehead onto the cool side of it, giggling into his hand because it’s really just like him to do something like that. But hey, he wasn’t completely awful so he’s cool with it.
They leave the theater and the teenage David stops at the edge of the sidewalk, pushing on the button and starting to wait.
The older man turned around, hands in pockets. “Oh, come on, you can’t be serious. No one’s coming.” He patted the other male on the shoulder. “Time to live life a little on the edge, what do you say?”
“I say I’m going to wait until that little white person-looking thing pops up before I cross the street.” Because that is what the law wants him to do. And this Eagle Scout was a law follower.
“I’m not going to have to hold your hand too, am I?” The older man jokes and the teenager’s face scrunches.
“Oh my gosh, no.” Just to prove his point, glad that he didn’t do Scout’s Honor about that law following thing because that would be like against all sorts of rules which aren’t as severe as laws but should still be followed, he walks ahead of the older man, that’s right, a total rebel and not waiting for the crosswalk sign to tell him to go (though he totally checks both sides of the road three times before he dares take a step on the street) only to feel a hand find the small of his back to guide him along. And, despite the previous banter, he feels that it’s more of a David Cook thing, because he seems to be rather affectionate towards people, rather than a David-Archuleta-can’t-cross-the street-by-himself thing. He’s always shaking hands with people or hugging them, doing something to create physical contact, and the teenager wonders if it’s because the rocker receives the same sort of warmth that his hand is sinking into his back, seeping through his shirt, comfortable and feathery light. It could be the California sun beating down on him, but he’s pretty convinced that it’s somehow being emitted through David Cook’s fingertips, kind of like that one super power that that one guy has in that one comic.
Once he steps onto the curb and releases a breath he didn’t know he had been holding, the teenager turns to the older man with a triumphant smile. “See, told you.” He wonders if this is one of those moments where guys his age are supposed to puff up their chests or whatever to make them look like a puffed up monkey, but decides that he doesn’t want to chance embarrassing himself.
The guitarist claps his hands in what the teenager is pretty sure is meant to be mocking, only in that good way. How that worked he didn’t really know, but then again, he didn’t know a number of things. Like if the world really was round as they said why weren’t they standing sideways and falling off (that had probably to do with gravity, but that first part, he didn’t get), where in the world was Timbuktu, and why did people always laugh at the word “thick”.
“So, I’m pretty sure that if you can handle walking the big bad streets of LA, you can take on that Idol stage.” The rocker says confidently and David wonders how he can just say it so casually, like it’s obvious and as if it’s the equivalent to tearing a band-aid off of a scabbed knee. If not easier. “What do you say?”
“I say that the crew should keep a trash can next to the stage just in case,” David says with an unsure smile.
“Well then,” The older man tosses an arm around the teen’s shoulders loosely, leading him back towards the studio. “Let’s go see what can be arranged for you, huh? Just in case.”
And David really doesn’t know why, but he starts laughing then. Since he’s David, it’s more of a giggle, but it’s warm like the California heat and he thinks that, now that he’s actually spent some time with this weird-haired guy, that he definitely wasn’t scary. Or really that intimidating. In fact, he was kind of funny, in that goofy way.
And he thinks that maybe, maybe he’d like getting to know the older David a little better.
-------------------------
That next night, when Chikezie is performing and David Cook is going backstage to tune his guitar since he is up next, David’s cell phone vibrates from his pocket. Which he should keep on silent during times like these or just leave it in his room, but his father sometimes liked to offer him last minute advice, so he always kept it on him. And feeling like he’s back in school again, he sneakily checks his phone (only not, because he kept his cell phone in his backpack at school, because yeah, it was less of a class distraction that way and that’s what the administration asked of him unlike on Idol when they never really specified anything regarding cell phone use so he didn’t have to feel all that guilty) to find that it isn’t his father texting him at all. He doesn’t recognize the number or even the area code, but somehow, he just has to read the text to know who it is (though he does wonder how he got his number in the first place…)
Hey, Archuleta, up for a game of cards after the show?
Looking at the line of guys beside him, David appreciates his height for one of the few rare times in his life, figuring that his form is pretty well hidden behind the others, so no one will really catch onto him replying (because even if there is no rule about him doing it, it would probably look really, really rude to a lot of people if they saw him texting during a performance and even he felt sort of bad for doing it, but while he may not look like he would be the type, David is a rather fast texter because, um, a lot of his friends were girls, and they liked to text a lot and since he was normally super busy, he had learned how to expand his texting abilities rather quickly because he doesn’t ever want to be late but he also doesn’t want to ignore them, so he guessed in that aspect, he is kind of a typical teenager, sort of.)
um, sure? haha. if i’m not too busy throwing up my guts.
He clicks send, hoping that he is being as inconspicuous as possible.
Because, yeah, he is still beyond nervous, especially since he is after David Cook, which mounts the pressure enough the way that it was because he was awesome and stuff, but also because he is the last to perform, and apparently that is some kind of coveted spot that only the frontrunners got or whatever (which he wasn’t sure if he could believe that, because, come on, had everyone else been listening to the other nineteen people he was competing against?), and what if he screws up? And it is a John Lennon song, one of his favorites ever, and it was a really pretty song with a good message and if he screwed it up, he would feel just terrible and he would feel like he disappointed a lot of people, including his father, and then he would have to listen to the judge’s criticism and he has always been a sensitive guy and he wasn’t sure if he could handle that and - oh yeah, he was feeling nauseous.
And oh, he has another text. He should just leave it as it is and pay attention to the performances. He should just put his cell phone back into his pocket and -
He opens the text.
Not needed mental image there, buddy. But, I was thinking Crazy Eights. =D
That definitely doesn’t help David’s stomach any, being reminded of that movie. But he doesn’t mention that to the older man, because then he may feel bad, and David doesn’t want that.
hahahahahaha,you’re so funny.
Only, it totally isn’t, so the teen ends up sending him another text consecutively after that one.
that was meant to be sarcastic, btw.
Apparently, David isn’t the only one who’s a speed texter, because soon enough, he’s opening his flip phone again.
I never would have guessed.
Seconds after he finishes reading the first text, another one is sent in, and David decides to put his phone on silent, because even when it’s on vibrate it makes noise and he doesn’t want it too. He can feel a few people eyeing him from beside him, but he manages to shake it off.
That was meant to be sarcastic, by the way. ;]
David has to bite back a giggle.
are you mocking me?
Of course not, dude.
Chikezie has finished performing and David Cook’s segment about word searches is going on the huge screen, so the teenager doesn’t have to feel nearly as bad about texting, since the older man is the one that keeps it going.
So, Archuleta, why are musicians so cool?
David, David’s never been good at jokes or at guessing their punch lines, so his response is practically automatic.
idk, haha.
No laughing before the punch line!
David blinks and he has to wonder how the older male is managing to text when he’s supposed to be amping his guitar or whatever it’s called, but he goes with it.
…okay?
And the teenager, his nerves at a short fuse, not because of the anxiety at hearing the butt of the joke but because, oh boy, he’s up in a couple of minutes and he can just feel his hands starting to perspire and become clammy and this is it and oh goodness, he wishes now that he really would have told the crew to keep a trashcan nearby because he’s going to be sick and -
His cell phone blinks.
He opens the text with a shaky breath, trying to remain calm but gosh, this is really it, and he doesn’t think that he can do this and --
Because they have so many fans! Get it?!
oh. yeah. haha.
With a loud laugh at the corny joke, getting the punch line but not really seeing how it is funny, but he is so tickled by the attempt that his nerves were forgotten for the moment. He offers David Cook a thumbs up as he is situated to go on stage next, mouthing a ‘good luck.’ But, somehow, the teenager knows that he really won’t need it.
And with a mere few texts, David doesn’t think that he really is going to need it either.
His stomach feels a bit lighter as does the weight that was on his shoulders and David wonders.
Maybe laughter sometimes really could be the best medicine after all.