(no subject)
Anger Management (1/4)
Rating: PG-13?
Pairing: Pierre/Chuck
Summary: Based loosely on the Adam Sandler movie of the same title, because Pat as the crazy doctor was too good to resist. Or: Chuck’s repressed and Pierre’s ready to go to extreme lengths to fix it. Enter a therapist who almost needs help more than his patients.
Disclaimer: Don’t know/own, this didn’t happen.
---
The airport was busy, like it always was. It had that seemingly universal piss-coffee-BO smell. In the midst of the bustle, Chuck Comeau was having his usual kind of day. A bad one.
He knew that Pierre’s closeness was only an attempt to soothe him - he hated planes, even after the countless flights he’d had to take alone - but he couldn’t help but feel like every third person was glaring at them. It didn’t help that he was on the phone with his boss, who, four years after he’d started working at the firm, still couldn’t remember his first name or pronounce his last. Pierre was sitting close enough to hear his boss botch Chuck’s last name yet again, and he wasn’t about to sit there.
“Coem-oh,” Pierre said loudly, leaning towards the cell phone. “It’s Chuck Comeau. It’s fucking alliterative. Should it be that hard to remember?”
Chuck winced and transferred the cell to his other ear. “I’m sorry, sir. No, it was… It’s my little brother. He’s just a kid. Yes, sir, I know his voice is deep for fourteen. He… has a cold.”
Pierre sighed sulkily and buried his face in Chuck’s neck, squeezing his hand.
It was at that moment that an elderly woman walked past, glaring at them. “Perverts,” she spat venomously.
Pierre flipped her off. “Dried up old hag!”
Chuck winced, trying to continue his conversation as if nothing had happened. “Yes, Mr. Lemoire, I know…” And then he heard a click on the other end of the line and the phone began playing a dial tone. Not wanting to deal with another spiel from Pierre on the way his boss treated him, he pretended the conversation had ended with some kind of warning. “All right. No, I understand, you’re a busy guy. Yes, I’ll see you in Toronto, then. All right. Good bye.”
As flipped his cell phone back, the look Pierre was giving him told him Pierre knew what had happened. “Chuck,” Pierre sighed, leaning in and brushing his lips across Chuck’s. “You shouldn’t let him treat you like that. Find another job; let him find out how much he needs you.”
For a moment, there was a sharp retort on the tip of his tongue. The band wasn’t keeping a roof over their heads. But Pierre knew it, and Chuck didn’t feel the need to rub it in. Instead, he just sighed and moved away from Pierre a little. “I can’t, Pie; you know that,” he said tiredly. “And what’s with that bruise on your chest?”
“Adrian,” Pierre explained quickly, eager to move on. Adrian was his band’s drummer, and was on all counts an unpleasant person. “The fuck you can’t, Chuck,” Pierre said, a little angrily. “You have a paper due Monday, and that asshole knew it. You can’t keep this up much longer, you know. You’re doing law school and a full-time job all at once. It’s not healthy.”
“Pierre, please,” Chuck pleaded quietly, massaging his temples. “I don’t want to leave like this. Just calm down.”
But for all his rashness and his lack of ambition when it came to anything but music, Pierre was, if nothing else, the perfect caretaker. Before Chuck was even certain what he was doing, there was a bottle of water at his lips and pills being popped into his mouth. Two gravols and a Tylenol. Both medicines he was very familiar with. He’d be sleeping most of his flight, all right. When he swallowed, Pierre kissed him once more.
“I’m sorry,” Pierre said, a little dispiritedly. “I just fuckin’ hate seeing you like this all the time.”
Chuck didn’t answer, but he tolerated it when Pierre nuzzled against him again.
They said their goodbyes when Chuck got on the plane, but there was no more conversation.
Chuck had every intention of sleeping through the flight, and for awhile it looked like it was entirely possible. He was sitting next to a guy about his age, with light brown hair streaked with blonde, who was wearing a baggy pair of cargo pants and a red t-shirt emblazoned with “Role Model Clothing” across the front.
The guy in the Role Model t-shirt was silent until the plane’s engine growled to life. Trying to ignore his own apprehension, Chuck almost didn’t notice when he spoke.
“Hey,” he said softly, in an almost conspiratory tone. “You know, I hate this part. I always feel like we’re gonna crash.”
Chuck swallowed hard, nodding rapidly. “Y-Yeah,” he said shakily.
“But you know… The stewardesses are fucking hot, and some of those flight attendant guys aren’t so bad, either,” the guy continued in the same tone. He reached out and slapped one of the men on the ass as he passed. The flight attendant turned around and gave Chuck a baleful look. Chuck could only shrug and gesture towards the guy sitting next to him.
“My God,” a familiar voice croaked from across the aisle. “I’m surrounded by fags!”
It was the old woman from before. Chuck blushed a dark red, but the guy stood up and hollered at her. “Shut up, old bag!”
Chuck wanted to melt into his seat.
“Sirs, you’re going to have to behave,” the flight attendant that the guy had groped informed them in a tense tone. “And you, you’ll have to do up your seatbelt.”
The guy sat down and did. “Sorry,” he whispered to Chuck. “I can’t stand old women. My grandma used to beat me, you know.”
“Oh, well, that’s…” Chuck faltered. “That’s awful.”
“Uh huh,” the guy nodded. “But don’t worry; I got her back.” Then he offered his hand. “Patrick. Patrick Cunningham. My friends call me Patrick.”
Chuck took it, a little warily. “Chuck.” Then, against his better judgement, “Chuck Comeau.” Great, now the crazy guy knew his full name.
The plane had begun to lift off, and Patrick offered him a pack of gum. “Here. To keep your ears from popping,” he explained. Chuck tried to take a stick, but when he pulled on it he got a spray of water to the face.
“Gah!” He threw his hands in front of his face, flinching backwards. Patrick laughed.
“Hey, I’m sorry, dude,” he apologized, and Chuck felt a pang of worry when he grabbed his shoulders. “Here, let me actually give you a piece.” And then the crazy guy leaned in and kissed him, forcing his tongue between his lips. Chuck tried to sputter something around his mouth, but failed miserably. When the guy pulled back, there was a piece of gum, still crunchy with sugar, in Chuck’s mouth.
“Listen here, you,” Chuck said hastily. “I’m not… Wait, I am gay. I have a boyfriend! And that was so unsanitary it’s unbelievable!”
Patrick just laughed. “Sorry, dude. There’s something about that business suit that just gets me all worked up, you know?”
Chuck just blushed again and pretended to be fascinated with the window, until he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around and found himself face to face with the same flight attendant that had addressed them twice. “Yes?”
“Yoy guys will have to settle down,” the steward said. “I’m getting complaints from the other passengers.”
“I’m sorry,” Chuck apologized, his ears burning. “But it wasn’t me.”
“Sir, honesty would become you at the moment,” the attendant said calmly.
“It was that guy,” Chuck insisted. He leaned in towards the steward, whispering, “he’s kind of molesting me.”
The attendant was unaffected. “Sir, there is to be no further PDA.”
Patrick looked offended. “What, because we’re both guys?” He challenged.
Looking at it that way, Chuck couldn’t help but feel a little pissed off. “He’s crazy, but he does have a point. Unless you were to apply the same rule to that couple over there,” he gestured towards a young couple, a man and a woman, who were making out, “we have the grounds for a lawsuit. It’s discrimination.”
The attendant’s eyebrows shot up. “Is that a threat, sir?”
“If that guy actually meant anything to me, it would be,” Chuck said, hoping he sounded convincing rather than small and scared as he felt.
“Sir, calm down,” the attendant was gripping him by the shoulders then, just a little too roughly for his tastes. “Insulting your… partner is not the answer here.”
“Chuck, dude, just chill,” the crazy guy looked worried. “I know this guy’s a dick, but…”
“I’m not angry,” Chuck retorted irritably, trying to wrench the man’s hands from his shoulders. He wanted Pierre there to stand up for him almost more than anything at that moment, but he knew it wasn’t going to happen. “And it would be much appreciated if you’d quit manhandling me!” He jerked away from the steward violently.
“That’s it,” the steward said gravely. “I’ll have to get security.”
Chuck was silent. Surely the angry, homophobic steward didn’t actually have anything on him.
***
If the angry homophobic steward hadn’t had anything on him at first, he did then. He’d come back with a security guard at exactly the same moment Chuck remembered where the gum in his mouth had come from, and when Chuck had spit it out… it ended up being in the man’s face. The crazy guy, at this point, was engrossed by the in flight movie. Not that it particularly mattered, because Chuck didn’t think he would have helped.
The airplane had actually been turned around en route, and that was what led to him where he was now: sitting in Pierre’s car, trying to explain himself.
“I didn’t do anything, Pierre,” he said quietly, feeling defeated. “I spit out the gum because it came from that crazy Patrick guy’s mouth when he was molesting me, and it could have hit anyone at the time. I just wanted it out of my mouth.”
Pierre smiled a little grimly. “Well, at least you get the weekend off, babe,” he said in a forced cheerful tone. Chuck didn’t think Pierre entirely believed him.
“I didn’t do it,” he insisted, a little defeatedly. Pierre brushed his bangs from his forehead and kissed him.
“I know, Chuck,” he said tolerantly.
Chuck slept the whole way back to their apartment.
***
Over the past week, his friends had made countless jokes about how he’d at least be able to observe a court case in person. Yeah, well, that was great, Chuck thought, but somehow I’d rather wait for my placement.
“Now, Mr. Comeau,” the judge was a very respectable looking black woman who was all business. Would have been his kind of woman, if he weren’t sitting in her defendant’s box. Good at conversation, intelligent, and too old to make any moves on him. “You claim that your attack-“ Gotta love court lingo, Chuck thought wryly. Any other place, flying bubble gum is just called flying bubble gum. “On this steward was strictly an attempt to expel the gum from your mouth.”
“Yes, Your Honour,” Chuck said humbly, feeling a little ridiculous. “There was a man on the plane who… Well, he molested me, that’s basically it from a legal standpoint. But in this case, let’s assume it was consensual. If that had been the case, then the airline would have been guilty of a crime against human rights. There was a heterosexual couple not far away…”
“Mr. Comeau,” the judge interrupted sharply. “Let me remind you that at this point, we are not here to debate human rights, and neither are you here as your own attorney. Let’s move on.” She turned that steely gaze in Pierre’s direction. “Now, Mr. Bouvier, what is your relationship to the accused?”
“Been my best friend since the first day of high school, my boyfriend for the past four years,” he paused at that one, as if daring anyone to say something, “and… what’s that called… common-law spouse for the past year and a half.”
“Do you feel you can vouch for his character from an unbiased point of view?”
Pierre shook his head, and Chuck’s heart sunk. “No,” Pierre said, staring back at the judge unblinkingly. “Because he’s the most responsible, level-headed person I’ve ever met and that’s all there is to it.”
“In other words, the classic figure to snap like this,” the judge countered. Chuck had thought it at the exact moment she’d said it. At least that whole “think like a lawyer” thing was sinking in.
“Now,” she continued. “We weren’t here to discuss the defendant’s innocence or guilt. That’s been proven enough by Mr. Marshall’s ocular surgery bill. Thus, my sentence is this: given the less than admirable treatment Charles Comeau was given, he will be required to pay Mr. Marshall’s surgery bill and to attend thirty days of anger management therapy.”
Given the strangeness of the situation, Chuck was just glad it hadn’t been worse.
***
“Chuck,
Hope you had a good day at school. Dinner’s keeping warm in the oven. Had a show to play downtown. Good luck with your therapy, baby. Love,
Pie”
Chuck sighed, pulling his food from the oven. Pierre had tried, but he’d forgotten to cover it, and it was almost too dry to eat. He ate it anyway. He had to go to his therapy, come home and do his homework, and then forge his boss’s signature on about twenty different sheets of paper. If he was lucky, Pierre would be home by then and they could have a few minutes to talk before he had to go to bed and repeat the whole thing.
He caught the bus to the complex where his group was, but he ran into someone a little surprising in the lobby.
“David?” He asked, even though it was redundant. There was no mistaking him, what with the long, shaggy black hair and makeup covered face. “Dave, what are you doing here?”
“I was…” David looked a little uncomfortable. “I was the guest speaker at a Rainbow Youth meeting,” he blurted, blushing.
Chuck felt his eyebrows shoot up. “Come on, I’m supposed to be surprised? David, you’re basically gayer than I am, and I’ve been living with my boyfriend for a year and a half.”
David gave him a sulky pout. “So, you here for your counselling thing?”
Chuck blushed. “Nice comeback.”
David flicked his wrist in a particularly flamboyant way. “Nah, it wasn’t supposed to be,” he shrugged. “Personally, I think that’s bullshit. The one time you stick up for yourself, they stick you in counselling.”
“But I didn’t do anything,” Chuck insisted for what felt like the hundredth time.
David shrugged again. “I don’t really care if you did. If *you* snapped, the fucker probably deserved it.”
Chuck sighed, relenting. “Okay, whatever, Dave. I gotta go. My group starts in five.”
“Yeah, seeya, Comeau. Hey! Tell the boytoy I’ve gotta talk to him, eh?”
Chuck waved over his shoulder. “Uh huh.”
The room he was supposed to go into was clearly marked with a sheet of neon red paper. “Anger Management Group: Dr. Patrick Langlois,” it read, with an angry smiley face sketched underneath it. Chuck rolled his eyes. This was looking like it would be a colossal waste of time. He stepped into the room, and immediately he wanted to scream.
Standing there, talking to a man in leather bondage pants and silver spikes, was the crazy guy from the plane.
Rating: PG-13?
Pairing: Pierre/Chuck
Summary: Based loosely on the Adam Sandler movie of the same title, because Pat as the crazy doctor was too good to resist. Or: Chuck’s repressed and Pierre’s ready to go to extreme lengths to fix it. Enter a therapist who almost needs help more than his patients.
Disclaimer: Don’t know/own, this didn’t happen.
---
The airport was busy, like it always was. It had that seemingly universal piss-coffee-BO smell. In the midst of the bustle, Chuck Comeau was having his usual kind of day. A bad one.
He knew that Pierre’s closeness was only an attempt to soothe him - he hated planes, even after the countless flights he’d had to take alone - but he couldn’t help but feel like every third person was glaring at them. It didn’t help that he was on the phone with his boss, who, four years after he’d started working at the firm, still couldn’t remember his first name or pronounce his last. Pierre was sitting close enough to hear his boss botch Chuck’s last name yet again, and he wasn’t about to sit there.
“Coem-oh,” Pierre said loudly, leaning towards the cell phone. “It’s Chuck Comeau. It’s fucking alliterative. Should it be that hard to remember?”
Chuck winced and transferred the cell to his other ear. “I’m sorry, sir. No, it was… It’s my little brother. He’s just a kid. Yes, sir, I know his voice is deep for fourteen. He… has a cold.”
Pierre sighed sulkily and buried his face in Chuck’s neck, squeezing his hand.
It was at that moment that an elderly woman walked past, glaring at them. “Perverts,” she spat venomously.
Pierre flipped her off. “Dried up old hag!”
Chuck winced, trying to continue his conversation as if nothing had happened. “Yes, Mr. Lemoire, I know…” And then he heard a click on the other end of the line and the phone began playing a dial tone. Not wanting to deal with another spiel from Pierre on the way his boss treated him, he pretended the conversation had ended with some kind of warning. “All right. No, I understand, you’re a busy guy. Yes, I’ll see you in Toronto, then. All right. Good bye.”
As flipped his cell phone back, the look Pierre was giving him told him Pierre knew what had happened. “Chuck,” Pierre sighed, leaning in and brushing his lips across Chuck’s. “You shouldn’t let him treat you like that. Find another job; let him find out how much he needs you.”
For a moment, there was a sharp retort on the tip of his tongue. The band wasn’t keeping a roof over their heads. But Pierre knew it, and Chuck didn’t feel the need to rub it in. Instead, he just sighed and moved away from Pierre a little. “I can’t, Pie; you know that,” he said tiredly. “And what’s with that bruise on your chest?”
“Adrian,” Pierre explained quickly, eager to move on. Adrian was his band’s drummer, and was on all counts an unpleasant person. “The fuck you can’t, Chuck,” Pierre said, a little angrily. “You have a paper due Monday, and that asshole knew it. You can’t keep this up much longer, you know. You’re doing law school and a full-time job all at once. It’s not healthy.”
“Pierre, please,” Chuck pleaded quietly, massaging his temples. “I don’t want to leave like this. Just calm down.”
But for all his rashness and his lack of ambition when it came to anything but music, Pierre was, if nothing else, the perfect caretaker. Before Chuck was even certain what he was doing, there was a bottle of water at his lips and pills being popped into his mouth. Two gravols and a Tylenol. Both medicines he was very familiar with. He’d be sleeping most of his flight, all right. When he swallowed, Pierre kissed him once more.
“I’m sorry,” Pierre said, a little dispiritedly. “I just fuckin’ hate seeing you like this all the time.”
Chuck didn’t answer, but he tolerated it when Pierre nuzzled against him again.
They said their goodbyes when Chuck got on the plane, but there was no more conversation.
Chuck had every intention of sleeping through the flight, and for awhile it looked like it was entirely possible. He was sitting next to a guy about his age, with light brown hair streaked with blonde, who was wearing a baggy pair of cargo pants and a red t-shirt emblazoned with “Role Model Clothing” across the front.
The guy in the Role Model t-shirt was silent until the plane’s engine growled to life. Trying to ignore his own apprehension, Chuck almost didn’t notice when he spoke.
“Hey,” he said softly, in an almost conspiratory tone. “You know, I hate this part. I always feel like we’re gonna crash.”
Chuck swallowed hard, nodding rapidly. “Y-Yeah,” he said shakily.
“But you know… The stewardesses are fucking hot, and some of those flight attendant guys aren’t so bad, either,” the guy continued in the same tone. He reached out and slapped one of the men on the ass as he passed. The flight attendant turned around and gave Chuck a baleful look. Chuck could only shrug and gesture towards the guy sitting next to him.
“My God,” a familiar voice croaked from across the aisle. “I’m surrounded by fags!”
It was the old woman from before. Chuck blushed a dark red, but the guy stood up and hollered at her. “Shut up, old bag!”
Chuck wanted to melt into his seat.
“Sirs, you’re going to have to behave,” the flight attendant that the guy had groped informed them in a tense tone. “And you, you’ll have to do up your seatbelt.”
The guy sat down and did. “Sorry,” he whispered to Chuck. “I can’t stand old women. My grandma used to beat me, you know.”
“Oh, well, that’s…” Chuck faltered. “That’s awful.”
“Uh huh,” the guy nodded. “But don’t worry; I got her back.” Then he offered his hand. “Patrick. Patrick Cunningham. My friends call me Patrick.”
Chuck took it, a little warily. “Chuck.” Then, against his better judgement, “Chuck Comeau.” Great, now the crazy guy knew his full name.
The plane had begun to lift off, and Patrick offered him a pack of gum. “Here. To keep your ears from popping,” he explained. Chuck tried to take a stick, but when he pulled on it he got a spray of water to the face.
“Gah!” He threw his hands in front of his face, flinching backwards. Patrick laughed.
“Hey, I’m sorry, dude,” he apologized, and Chuck felt a pang of worry when he grabbed his shoulders. “Here, let me actually give you a piece.” And then the crazy guy leaned in and kissed him, forcing his tongue between his lips. Chuck tried to sputter something around his mouth, but failed miserably. When the guy pulled back, there was a piece of gum, still crunchy with sugar, in Chuck’s mouth.
“Listen here, you,” Chuck said hastily. “I’m not… Wait, I am gay. I have a boyfriend! And that was so unsanitary it’s unbelievable!”
Patrick just laughed. “Sorry, dude. There’s something about that business suit that just gets me all worked up, you know?”
Chuck just blushed again and pretended to be fascinated with the window, until he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around and found himself face to face with the same flight attendant that had addressed them twice. “Yes?”
“Yoy guys will have to settle down,” the steward said. “I’m getting complaints from the other passengers.”
“I’m sorry,” Chuck apologized, his ears burning. “But it wasn’t me.”
“Sir, honesty would become you at the moment,” the attendant said calmly.
“It was that guy,” Chuck insisted. He leaned in towards the steward, whispering, “he’s kind of molesting me.”
The attendant was unaffected. “Sir, there is to be no further PDA.”
Patrick looked offended. “What, because we’re both guys?” He challenged.
Looking at it that way, Chuck couldn’t help but feel a little pissed off. “He’s crazy, but he does have a point. Unless you were to apply the same rule to that couple over there,” he gestured towards a young couple, a man and a woman, who were making out, “we have the grounds for a lawsuit. It’s discrimination.”
The attendant’s eyebrows shot up. “Is that a threat, sir?”
“If that guy actually meant anything to me, it would be,” Chuck said, hoping he sounded convincing rather than small and scared as he felt.
“Sir, calm down,” the attendant was gripping him by the shoulders then, just a little too roughly for his tastes. “Insulting your… partner is not the answer here.”
“Chuck, dude, just chill,” the crazy guy looked worried. “I know this guy’s a dick, but…”
“I’m not angry,” Chuck retorted irritably, trying to wrench the man’s hands from his shoulders. He wanted Pierre there to stand up for him almost more than anything at that moment, but he knew it wasn’t going to happen. “And it would be much appreciated if you’d quit manhandling me!” He jerked away from the steward violently.
“That’s it,” the steward said gravely. “I’ll have to get security.”
Chuck was silent. Surely the angry, homophobic steward didn’t actually have anything on him.
***
If the angry homophobic steward hadn’t had anything on him at first, he did then. He’d come back with a security guard at exactly the same moment Chuck remembered where the gum in his mouth had come from, and when Chuck had spit it out… it ended up being in the man’s face. The crazy guy, at this point, was engrossed by the in flight movie. Not that it particularly mattered, because Chuck didn’t think he would have helped.
The airplane had actually been turned around en route, and that was what led to him where he was now: sitting in Pierre’s car, trying to explain himself.
“I didn’t do anything, Pierre,” he said quietly, feeling defeated. “I spit out the gum because it came from that crazy Patrick guy’s mouth when he was molesting me, and it could have hit anyone at the time. I just wanted it out of my mouth.”
Pierre smiled a little grimly. “Well, at least you get the weekend off, babe,” he said in a forced cheerful tone. Chuck didn’t think Pierre entirely believed him.
“I didn’t do it,” he insisted, a little defeatedly. Pierre brushed his bangs from his forehead and kissed him.
“I know, Chuck,” he said tolerantly.
Chuck slept the whole way back to their apartment.
***
Over the past week, his friends had made countless jokes about how he’d at least be able to observe a court case in person. Yeah, well, that was great, Chuck thought, but somehow I’d rather wait for my placement.
“Now, Mr. Comeau,” the judge was a very respectable looking black woman who was all business. Would have been his kind of woman, if he weren’t sitting in her defendant’s box. Good at conversation, intelligent, and too old to make any moves on him. “You claim that your attack-“ Gotta love court lingo, Chuck thought wryly. Any other place, flying bubble gum is just called flying bubble gum. “On this steward was strictly an attempt to expel the gum from your mouth.”
“Yes, Your Honour,” Chuck said humbly, feeling a little ridiculous. “There was a man on the plane who… Well, he molested me, that’s basically it from a legal standpoint. But in this case, let’s assume it was consensual. If that had been the case, then the airline would have been guilty of a crime against human rights. There was a heterosexual couple not far away…”
“Mr. Comeau,” the judge interrupted sharply. “Let me remind you that at this point, we are not here to debate human rights, and neither are you here as your own attorney. Let’s move on.” She turned that steely gaze in Pierre’s direction. “Now, Mr. Bouvier, what is your relationship to the accused?”
“Been my best friend since the first day of high school, my boyfriend for the past four years,” he paused at that one, as if daring anyone to say something, “and… what’s that called… common-law spouse for the past year and a half.”
“Do you feel you can vouch for his character from an unbiased point of view?”
Pierre shook his head, and Chuck’s heart sunk. “No,” Pierre said, staring back at the judge unblinkingly. “Because he’s the most responsible, level-headed person I’ve ever met and that’s all there is to it.”
“In other words, the classic figure to snap like this,” the judge countered. Chuck had thought it at the exact moment she’d said it. At least that whole “think like a lawyer” thing was sinking in.
“Now,” she continued. “We weren’t here to discuss the defendant’s innocence or guilt. That’s been proven enough by Mr. Marshall’s ocular surgery bill. Thus, my sentence is this: given the less than admirable treatment Charles Comeau was given, he will be required to pay Mr. Marshall’s surgery bill and to attend thirty days of anger management therapy.”
Given the strangeness of the situation, Chuck was just glad it hadn’t been worse.
***
“Chuck,
Hope you had a good day at school. Dinner’s keeping warm in the oven. Had a show to play downtown. Good luck with your therapy, baby. Love,
Pie”
Chuck sighed, pulling his food from the oven. Pierre had tried, but he’d forgotten to cover it, and it was almost too dry to eat. He ate it anyway. He had to go to his therapy, come home and do his homework, and then forge his boss’s signature on about twenty different sheets of paper. If he was lucky, Pierre would be home by then and they could have a few minutes to talk before he had to go to bed and repeat the whole thing.
He caught the bus to the complex where his group was, but he ran into someone a little surprising in the lobby.
“David?” He asked, even though it was redundant. There was no mistaking him, what with the long, shaggy black hair and makeup covered face. “Dave, what are you doing here?”
“I was…” David looked a little uncomfortable. “I was the guest speaker at a Rainbow Youth meeting,” he blurted, blushing.
Chuck felt his eyebrows shoot up. “Come on, I’m supposed to be surprised? David, you’re basically gayer than I am, and I’ve been living with my boyfriend for a year and a half.”
David gave him a sulky pout. “So, you here for your counselling thing?”
Chuck blushed. “Nice comeback.”
David flicked his wrist in a particularly flamboyant way. “Nah, it wasn’t supposed to be,” he shrugged. “Personally, I think that’s bullshit. The one time you stick up for yourself, they stick you in counselling.”
“But I didn’t do anything,” Chuck insisted for what felt like the hundredth time.
David shrugged again. “I don’t really care if you did. If *you* snapped, the fucker probably deserved it.”
Chuck sighed, relenting. “Okay, whatever, Dave. I gotta go. My group starts in five.”
“Yeah, seeya, Comeau. Hey! Tell the boytoy I’ve gotta talk to him, eh?”
Chuck waved over his shoulder. “Uh huh.”
The room he was supposed to go into was clearly marked with a sheet of neon red paper. “Anger Management Group: Dr. Patrick Langlois,” it read, with an angry smiley face sketched underneath it. Chuck rolled his eyes. This was looking like it would be a colossal waste of time. He stepped into the room, and immediately he wanted to scream.
Standing there, talking to a man in leather bondage pants and silver spikes, was the crazy guy from the plane.