and i don't feel a thing except your hand in mine (tell me nothing will ruin us) part one
Title: and i don’t feel a thing except your hand in mine (tell me nothing will ruin us) - part one
Rating: PG-13 for angst and swear words and a little violence.
Pairing: Sean/Tom, Spencer/Ryan
Characters: Sean, Tom, Jon, Pete, Nick, Butcher, girl!Spencer, girl!Ryan, girl!Brendon, and Mike Carden.
Author: Me! (mindscomeloose)
Disclaimer: I can assure you, this never happened.
Word Count: 13,000
A/N: Enormous thanks to Deb, Erika, Nancy and Stephanie for your devotion, enthusiasm, ideas, and flails about this fic. I love you guys. ♥
Also, “thevanvlizzle" as Sean’s screenname - entirely Deb’s fault.
Beta: Erika (restlesslikeme) ♥ and Stephanie - thank you for doing this on such short notice.
Credit: The Fold and Gold Motel for the use of their words in my title.
Summary: it had been an unspoken agreement that they would go to ihop and not one of those swanky steak joints. it was just understood; like everything else about their prom experience, they weren’t going to settle for something conventional. it was almost like they were refilling their nerve at the pancake house with sugar, not booze. plus, they really liked ihop.
the party reminded tom of why he hated parties. truthfully, there was nothing he could say that he was actually enjoying about it, except maybe the fact that sean was with him. the reason he was there, in fact. it was happening at the house of some girl whose parents were too rich to care. tom didn’t know her name but he knew it was something like tina. mina? catrina? she was what any casual observer would call a poseur; she lacked the it factor of the popular girls, always trying harder than seemed necessary to obtain it. her golden ticket, as it were, into the group was her parents’ tendency to be generous with the money they gave her, and the fact that they could be counted on to be too preoccupied to ask what she spent it on (beer and chips for the parties), as well as their frequent absences.
there was nothing notable about the parties, in tom’s opinion. to him it felt like tina-mina-catrina -- cathleena! that was it! - had watched a series of teen party movies and gathered all the essential elements. it was the stage upon which most of the drama and scandal were performed; if the parties didn’t exist, then the teens would have to find somewhere else to assemble to get drunk and do stupid things. to “hook up” (what did that even mean?) and make up and make out and invent all of their little inside jokes.
while no one had waltzed up to tom and told him he wasn’t welcome, no one thus far who’d talked to him had been sober, and it was pretty clear that he didn’t belong. he’d already known that coming in, but sean had asked him - nay, begged him - to come with for moral support, so he’d said yes. he hadn’t had a gig, and it’d been a while since he’d been to a party. he was regretting it now, though, watching flirty girls with dubious reputations dancing on tables - if you could call it that - to the house band. they’re gonna regret that in the morning.
if he was to give cathleena any credit, it would be for her refrigerators, all three of them. the beer was sour, but at least it was cold, and it gave tom something with which to occupy his hands. the band took a much needed break - not because they had been jamming so hard (the drummer didn’t even play), but because tom was tired of hearing them. tom listed the things he would rather have been doing: trying out a new charcoal technique, strumming his fender, sleeping, doing anything with sean except for being here and so on.
speaking of sean, where was he? it took some jostling into a den in the back of the house to find him, and when tom did, he felt his heart sink. even though he couldn’t hear the conversation over the commotion, he could see that once again, sean was trying to join a group of his teammates in conversation and failing miserably. every time he tried to get their attention, they would look at him like he was no more than the freshmen they would taunt to get their kicks.
tom held his hands close to his sides, certain that if he didn’t, he would probably lash out in that way he’d been discouraged to, no matter how much the person deserved it. it was a few minutes before sean saw tom over the heads of a couple making out against a doorway and when he did, he elbowed through, head ducked so tom couldn’t see his face until he reached him.
“let’s go.” sean’s face was flushed, though not from alcohol, since he was tonight’s driver. the sad look on sean’s face made tom want to give him a hug, but of course he couldn’t, not here, not now.
“i thought you’d never ask.”
sean held onto tom’s shoulder as he guided them out of there, keeping quiet as they walked the block to the car, the frigid night air making them wish they’d thought to bring hats. the kia sean's dad had lent him usually ran pretty reliably, but come winter you could bet money that it would be a bitch to unlock. sean’s gloves kept his hands from freezing as he slapped snow off the driver’s side lock and window. sean needed a solid minute to get the car open, a moment that dragged by in slow motion. on the second attempt to turn the car over, sean banged a hand on the dashboard and cursed. tom was bothered enough to renege on his decision to himself not to say anything until sean did: sean was rarely like this. tom was the one who lost his shit.
“babe, i -- ” tom sighed: took off his left glove and sean’s right so he could lock their fingers together. “i’m sorry about what happened. those guys are dicks. they have to be blind, to see you, to have you right there and not line up to be your friend. you’re so much better than them, you’re so much more. you don’t need the validation of a bunch of boneheads who are going to be sitting on their asses still living in their parents’ houses in ten years while you’re out there, living, doing great things. you don’t need them.” tom kept his eyes on sean as he said this; maybe that way they’d go through to take away the sting of rejection, the two-facedness. tom knew they would go back to being teammates and nothing more once the spring sessions started; they would act as if they hadn’t given sean a chilly reception, hadn’t pretended they weren’t even on the same planet when they would pass him in the halls. just like a team striving for the same goal should.
“and besides. you’ve got jon and nick and pete and andy.” it was a small car, so it didn’t take much for tom to get into sean’s space to press his forehead against his. then, quietly, “and you’ve got me.”
“okay,” sean said after a moment.
“okay?” tom was a little surprised; sean had been especially stubborn on this subject these past months, persisting and persisting on the subject of the boys several social rungs up. he’d claim they had goodness to them, always excusing their behaviour toward him and toward others. he’d told tom he thought he could get along with them, even as tom protested that they were clearly not interested; that he was different and while that wasn’t bad at all, they weren’t looking for different. they were looking for another all-american boy who could appreciate the same things they did: parties, girls, and games. and one out of three was not enough.
sean had pretended that he liked those guys. tom knew that he just wanted to be accepted, plain and simple.
“yeah. okay. i’m done with them.” sean looked at tom with an earnest expression.
tom sat back in his seat, finding a satisfied grin without much effort. but his work was not done.
“say it.” he challenged.
“say what?” sean asked, brow furrowing. tom had been purposely vague because sean’s confused look was really cute.
“that you don’t need them.”
“i don’t need them.” sean said evenly.
“good.” tom leaned back over to kiss sean on the mouth, thought he needed something warm in the coldness of everything. “now let’s get out of here.”
~
tom really liked sean’s room for a reason he couldn’t quite articulate though he thought about it a lot whenever he was in it. he liked returning to it and feeling the strange jumble of where kid-sean met teenager-sean. in some ways it hadn’t changed: a collection of model planes; faded baseball posters on the walls; superhero stickers on his furniture. but teenager-sean certainly had his claim on the room, too: posters of grunge rockers among the sports superstars; composition notebooks in a neat pile next to his bed; ticket stubs of the r-rated movies he’d been allowed into legally since his seventeenth birthday almost six months ago. it felt like having one foot in the past and the other foot in the present.
tom dwelled on that as he waited for sean to answer him, hoping sean could see just how much he wasn’t going to take no as an answer.
~
it had started innocently enough, carden approaching tom at lunch and asking if he’d take a walk around the block with him. it was spring, sunny and ambrosial, and since carden was usually his friend, tom said yes.
then carden dropped it: the band didn’t want tom anymore, didn’t like the image he was projecting by being with sean. not many people knew for certain that sean and tom were more than just friends, but as with anything, there was speculation. most of the people who knew the facts had found out by accident; overhearing a conversation, opening a door too quickly. what carden was saying was simply: we don’t want you because of what people are speculating, regardless of the fact that we as your band know it’s actually true.
tom wanted to punch him out, and seriously considered it for a few seconds before realizing that he should probably exhaust all avenues first. see, he said to the sean in his head, i’m getting better. and then he punched out the taunting carden-in-his-head. it soon became clear that carden was resolved in outing tom, and when he offered tom a consolation prize, tom wanted to laugh.
“don’t worry, we won’t tell anyone. and you can still tech for us, if you want.”
tom stopped walking, half of him convinced that mike was kidding, while the other half pitied that mike might actually be serious. pathetic.
“no, i don’t want to tech for you, are you insane? i just want be able to play music in a fucking band without being judged and compartmentalized like i am by every person i know, but apparently that’s too much to ask. you enjoy the fucking band for as long as it lasts, because it’s not going to get past the garage without me. i’d give it six months.” tom crossed his arms across his chest, feeling the surge of confidence that came from being in the right. he knew, though, as with most good things, that this feeling wouldn’t last.
tom spat at carden’s feet - the last time he’d spat at someone’s face he’d gotten in trouble; he figured he could make the same sentiment this way --and walked away without a second glance.
~
tom returned to the lunch table, taking a seat next to andy just as sean was talking about his new idea. he was speaking low in case he would be heard by the jocks at the next table but his voice kept rising excitedly. he was planning a story about a man, an engineer, who builds a machine that winds him up in hell, where he has to face down demons, literal and abstract.
“it's pretty ambitious," sean said, the smile pulling up his mouth expressing that he was proud of such a project, “but i'm planning to do the research online, like, of the machinery because i'm planning to detail it -- that's what the internet's for, right?"
“i bet nick would argue that the ‘net has far greater uses." pete quipped.
everyone around the table laughed but tom couldn't even bring himself to smile.
“you walked right into that one, dude," andy giggled. the idea earned mixed reviews from the group. nick felt it would work better in cinema or a graphic novel (reading was not his favourite activity). pete said the idea was great but a little dull (he was used to neon-coloured robot dinosaurs and space creatures). andy thought it was intense, but in a rad way, and insisted that he be the guy for the job if sean needed illustrations. jon really liked the idea, and disagreed with andy: he thought the writing would stand for itself.
when they got to tom, though, he mumbled something about it sounding promising and jabbed his chicken salad with his fork. it was obvious that something had gone awry when tom had spoken to mike, judging by the certain stoniness that had replaced the light in his eyes that was always there when sean talked about his writing.
tom, want of an outlet to express just how he felt about the talk with carden, simmered until sixth period where he boiled over. mr. vendett ran his classroom with utmost precision. it was the one class where no one dared speak until spoken to, where everyone came to class with all of their books and didn’t get up until mr. vendett dismissed them. this was not so much a self-control method as a mode of self-preservation; it was well-known that if you did anything mr. vendett found unsavory, he’d have your ass in detention faster than you could spell the word “detention”.
needless to say, tom had never liked him --didn’t like anyone who held the phrase “rules are meant to be kept” in high regard --but after getting thrown out of class every day for the first two weeks of school, he’d bitten the bullet and held his tongue. that day, however, tom was in no mood to keep quiet. one smart-ass remark back to mr. vendett and that was that. he was back on the hard chair in the office, the one that felt like the ones at the doctor’s. the receptionist spared him a snarky comment, looked at him sternly over her thick black-rimmed glasses and handed him the card that meant he had to show up for detention, marked down for that day after school.
the last period of the day passed without incident; tom doodled his way to the final bell and gathered his things heavily. sean hadn't been in either of the classes so tom sent him a quick text before his phone was collected by the proctor. this proctor, he knew, was one of the nicer ones, let them do homework instead of having to just sit there and “think about what they did". the bad proctors made them mop the floors while watching them with eagle eyes to make sure they didn't mess around, sometimes even made them scrub sharpie off the desk surfaces or scrape gum off the undersides. tom's reading didn't take long, and he shoved the calc assignment into the recesses of his backpack, where he'd decide later whether he felt like doing it or not.
tom fulfilled half of what he thought was the purpose of detention; he thought about what he'd done to get there, but he didn't feel sorry for doing it and wouldn't apologize. mr. vendett seemed a man who didn't know his limits and tom felt smug in bringing him down a peg, even though it was arguable that he was the right person to do so.
~
tom headed to sean’s after school instead of his own house -- tom’s dad made sean feel uneasy with his small talk, and sean was the one with a working record player. sean was more into the older music, the stuff made when they were just kids, but would listen to whatever tom brought home from the record store he worked at. the discount was “awesome”, in tom’s words and he’d come back with the “latest and greatest" dressed in glossy or matte sleeves, bands with singers not much older than them, plastic coverings that crinkled as you slid the record out.
sean had, in fact, noticed something off with tom the rest of the day but hadn’t wanted to say anything in front of the others. when tom told him exactly why he was upset, sean was, of course, shocked and angered, but didn’t see that there was anything to be done about it.
“why don’t you talk to the others, see what they have to say about the situation? maybe mike’s bluffing.” sean asked matter-of-factly as he sat on the edge of his bed.
tom stopped spinning in sean’s desk chair long enough to answer.
“you don’t know mike.” he said with more snark than he’d intended.
“you’re right, i don’t. all i know is what you’ve told me.” sean in a tone that clearly asked, did you forget?
duh, of course, tom thought, feeling dense. he tended to keep mike and sean out of the same vicinity because he felt mike was consistently giving him a more severe version of his mother’s “i-am-disappointed-in-you” look. he didn’t want sean to have to feel that as well.
tom didn’t want to press it with the group because mike seemed to really want him out of there --why else would he have volunteered to be the bearer of bad news? if tom went back to them and tried to work things out, mike would badmouth him enough until he got his way and it just wouldn’t be worth it. mike’s vote overrode the others’ all the time; it was as if his voice was equal to their three. he told sean this.
sean shrugged; for once, he didn’t have a plan for this predicament.
“but we can show them that they’re wrong.” tom got up, then, because that was what he did when he got excited about something: he paced. walking around gave him more room to move his hands around, and that was how sean knew that what tom would say was going to be important.“i want to go to prom.”
“what?” sean was certain he’d heard tom incorrectly; all he’d heard from tom on the subject since the official date for prom had been announced was how prom was just another vehicle for that shallow teenage phase that they had already left behind. the need to impress people, the need to get dressed up to pretend you were something you weren’t, or something more than you felt inside; it was something they couldn't even relate to anymore. you were led to believe that this one night marked your life forever and that if you didn’t want to go, you were known forever as “the person who didn't go to prom”. it was stupid and juvenile, tom said. the world was bigger than that and they both knew it.
personally, sean could take or leave prom: he appreciated it for what it was. while he didn’t think he’d be missing out if he didn’t go, he would have liked to, felt that it was just the thing everybody did. just like you didn’t skip out on graduation, you didn’t skip out on prom. he thought he would have felt more normal by going, but didn’t argue with tom about it because he obviously had stronger feelings on the subject.
“you heard me, i want to go to prom. i’m sick of this. i’m tired of getting whispered about behind my back. i’m tired of feeling ashamed. i’m tired of secrecy. i want to settle these rumors once and for all, and i want you to do it with me.” tom’s voice was steady, firm, bitter. a tone sean had only heard a handful of times. it seemed to leave no room for discussion, and sean didn’t think there even would have been one if tom hadn’t needed him as a date.
“but what happened to our anti-prom party?” was all sean could manage in terms of tom’s seeming entire 180 degree turn. party was a loose term; they’d planned to drive out to the old theatre on southport like they did some weekends, see whatever was playing, and toast to being cooler than everyone else who had stressed out over some silly dance.
tom waved his hand dismissively, like sean was bringing up something that was already decided upon.
“we can do that another time. prom only happens once." tom had been so preoccupied with his pacing and studying his hands that it wasn’t until he realized sean hadn’t answered him that tom registered the look of shock on his face. “what? what d’you have to say?” the impatience indicated tom’s excitement; he needed somewhere to put that energy and that was where it ended up.
“i need a minute, tomrad, you can’t just expect an answer.”
tom got like this with his tunnel vision sometimes, and usually sean could talk him through it objectively but it was an entirely different situation when it directly involved him. sean was acutely aware of tom’s stare and the way his own eyes were still bugging out as he struggled to process what tom was proposing. “so -- so you’re saying we should just go? just like that, two boys, and expect no one to say anything?” sean looked up at tom and for the first time registered that look in his eyes, the one that meant that he had a wild and crazy idea and he knew it, but he wasn’t giving up so fast.
“yes, that’s exactly what i’m saying. it would be a risk, i know, but sean, this is so important. it’s not just gonna affect us, it’s gonna affect tons of people after us. this hasn’t been done before. everyone who does something for the first time takes a risk. what --what we go through, i don’t want that to happen to other people too, having to hide who they are because people haven’t evolved enough to wrap their heads around it.
“and yeah, yeah, i know what you’re gonna say, that we don’t have it that bad. but that’s only because people need us -- because they need one more guy for the team, they need someone to do their posters and art projects and put up with their b.s. and if they’re totally crappy to us, we aren’t gonna work with them. there’s still the staring and the whispering, that’s something, it is. and the fact that we --that we aren’t accepted. that sucks and no one should have to go through that.
“it could get so much worse, we don’t know that it won’t, next year or the year after that. some girl --she might dread going to school because she likes another girl and the one person she told, who promised not to tell, they told everyone and now everyone makes fun of her, calls her names, shoves her around. we could change that.” if there had been any ambiguity in tom’s decision, his words had swept it away.
“i don’t know. i have to think about it.” sean looked down at the carpet: didn’t want to see tom’s disappointed face.
tom got to his feet and gathered his things not slowly but with an abruptness that meant he was upset. it was raining, a cold downpour, but tom walked home anyway, despite sean’s insistence that he would catch pneumonia.
~
tom didn’t catch pneumonia, but sean could see the next day in school that tom was anxious, jumpy, and would answer questions louder or with more force than necessary. that was when he knew that until they talked about it, tom wouldn’t act normal. it wasn’t true with everyone, but it was true with tom: if he couldn’t say how he felt, it was like something in his brain short-circuited under the pressure of being stifled.
they went to the library, because by then almost everyone had gone home, and because it felt right, safe, there more than anywhere else.
the library was their sanctuary. in the library they could hide amongst the shelves and not have to worry about being caught in each other’s arms in a way that suggested anything other than best friends. there they could be alone, act like themselves. they could kiss and whisper to their heart’s content until the bell sounded and they had to face reality. despite that they were seniors and class was pretty much a fantasy that the teachers had nurtured but eventually given up on.
the library was a necessity because neither of them owned a car exclusively and their busy houses made for a constant barrage of interruptions, even in the basement. no one ever went into the library, considering the most recent book they had was from 1998.
they discussed it sitting on the little chairs at the miniature table. the school had gotten the stuff from an elementary school that had closed down and they'd never bothered to replace the set. the conversation had started out fine, but then they’d started to raise their voices and things had gotten messy.
“you’re worried about what people will say, aren’t you?” tom leaned on the tabletop, palms flat, high above sean sitting in the tiny chair with his knees bumping against it.
“no!” sean said emphatically, which meant he was lying.
“you tell me that you’re over giving a crap what people have to say, about who you are and what you do, but i think deep down you really do care and you don’t want to do this because you still want to be accepted and you think that if you go to prom with me, your boyfriend, then your chances at ever being ‘ normal‘’ are shot to hell!”
while sean knew it wasn’t personal, just how tom’s multitude of feelings had manifested themselves, he felt shame rise to his cheeks, pink and hot.
“that’s not what it is, tom!” sean dropped his gaze and his feet to the floor, truly hopeless at being a convincing liar.
“really? then what is it?”
sean paused. the seconds ticked by like the sound of the clock was amplified, and sean knew he had no other choice than to come clean.
“fine. that’s what it is.” he met tom‘s eyes, more words spilling out of his mouth, out of his control. “but tom -- it, this...it’s so easy for you to say, you have nothing to lose, your family supports you, you don’t have to worry about getting beaten up over this.”
tom stood up, and that was when sean knew he had touched on a raw nerve.
“you think this is easy for me? you think i like this? getting stared at like a circus animal every single fucking time i go near that school? you think i’m not scared? ” tom’s voice cracked, like a windowpane fallen victim to a hurled stone.
sean sighed, said slowly, “that wasn’t what i said.” he wished he could start this conversation over. he was exhausted, didn’t have the energy to talk tom down this time, so he watched and waited for the storm to blow over.
“and my family supports me? my dad cowers under my mom’s slightest gaze and he won’t even support his son who so desperately needs it, because he doesn’t want to start up with her. and my mom, don’t even get me started. every time she looks at me, i feel like she’s silently judging me, like she thinks i’m a failure just because i’m not what she always hoped for, like i’m not normal. i am normal, we, we are normal, sean, just in our own way don’t you ever forget that.
“i just want to make her proud.” tom’s voice became gentle, then, and sean felt relief surge through him: maybe this would pass on its own. “i want to be looked at as brave, not weird or wrong. i want to be appreciated and i want people to look at our love as what it is: just love. i don’t want to be seen as some abnormality, a lab test gone horribly, horribly wrong.
“it’s really hard to pretend not to care what people think, good or bad, but it’s even harder to actually believe it and to not slip up, ruling out what they think entirely. not giving a shit has its benefits, but what about the good things? you don’t feel the good things either and i’ve just been thinking, what if they could think good things about us? i’ve never given anyone that chance but i think now, it’s time.” tom held out his hands as if to accept a gift, and sean recognized it for what it was: a white flag. i’ve said all i can say, it’s in your hands now. tom ran his hand through his hair, making it spike up in all directions, and walked to the opposite side of the room to let sean think. tom’s speech had hit him like a slap in the face, resonated completely with its truth. he could see just how important this was to tom.
“okay. i’ll go with you,” sean said finally, unceremoniously.
tom would not be so easily appeased.
“i want you to do it because you want to, not because you feel like i’m pressuring you or because you don’t want to let me down.”
“it’s both of those things. i want to do this, and at the same time i think whether you want to admit it or not, if i say no it’ll be this -- this speed bump between us, and you’ll resent me just a little because i wasn’t willing to give you the answer you wanted. tom, my reasons aren’t going to change. you can’t convince me that i shouldn’t be scared of what my parents and peers will think, or of what’s going to happen after this. but what i’m saying is that i agree with your reasoning and that i’ll go despite all that. ” sean shrugged a little bit. “you have to make sacrifices sometimes.”
~
tommyrad: how did it go?
thevanvlizzle: well, not as bad as i thought it would.
tommyrad: did your mom cry?
thevanvlizzle: she held off on the waterworks. she was too busy getting out her little black book to suggest girls for me to go with instead.
tommyrad: ouch.
thevanvlizzle: the worst part was that all the girls she suggested were those girls that frequent the mall and talk about lipgloss all the time.
thevanvlizzle: it was insulting!
tommyrad: i can imagine.
thevanvlizzle: and my dad thinks we're going to show solidarity for each other or something because we couldn't find any girls to go with.
thevanvlizzle: he just doesn’t listen.
tommyrad: does that mean we should take the requisite pictures at my house?
tommyrad: wouldn't want to give your dad a culture shock.
thevanvlizzle: ha! probably. how were your folks?
tommyrad: same old. my mother wrung her hands and glared, like i was doing this all just to spite her, and my dad tried to be stern and failed, as always.
tommyrad: she says jump, and he says how far.
thevanvlizzle: but it's always been like that, hasn't it?
tommyrad: yeah, i guess. i don't know, it could be worse i suppose.
thevanvlizzle: hey, i’m sorry to do this to you, but i’m being summoned. my parents are having what must be a really important “trash emergency."
tommyrad: like it always is, right? later!
~
“what is it, weirdo spring cleaning day?” tom muttered, plucking out a tie with a tearful clown on it, holding it up to his neck. they'd gone to the salvation army in the hopes of finding some formalwear that fit. their dads’ clothes were not going to cut it this year.
"i don't think it's your colour. what about this?" sean tossed tom a flamboyant bow tie with a hawaiian print; tom stuck his tongue out.
"okay, we can come back to ties."
they moved to the next aisle, grimacing at some comically huge shoes and several ugly couches.
it took sean less than five minutes to find something.
. “it’s perfect!” in his hand, sean held a baby blue suit, the cut of which looking like it would probably fit tom.
tom looked at the suit, then back at sean, then back at the suit.
“is it? really?”
“yes.” a smile threatened sean's lips, escaping as a chortle.
“oh, fine. you only live once.” tom humored sean (he could have picked some yellow monstrosity), who fist-bumped the air triumphantly. then he said, “you know i’m gonna find something worse for you, right?"
“try me,” tom thought was sean’s response, but the sound had gotten lost because sean had shoved his nose in the collar of a loud, striped jacket, trying to find the tag. it took some more rummaging, but tom emerged victorious.
"i think i found it." the suit was a deep burgundy, the colour of red wine; it was a colour better suited to a brick house or fingernail polish than clothing. sean rolled his eyes, but fair was fair.
they browsed a little while longer, ending up back where they'd started. sean looked aghast when tom tried on a beanie, wondering what people had ever seen in the shapeless hats.
"take off that hat, right now."
"why?"
"you could get alopecia and you can die from that, so please, take off the hat."
"what? what even is that? i've never heard of it."
"it exists, tom! trust me! and you can die! so take it off, otherwise i'll be left without a date." tom made a face and replaced the hat on the hook.
"the parents will be very happy, i'm sure," sean said drily as they checked out (thirty dollars for the suits, three for the ties).
"that was the general idea." tom's tone inferred that their opinion on prom fashion was his last concern.
~
curse that doorbell. tom was utterly convinced that his family had the most annoying doorbell in the world, and even when sean was behind that door, it didn’t cease to drive tom crazy. on any other day, tom would have raced down the stairs in his socked-feet, to answer it before any member of his family got there. but this was prom night and tom was dressed up and wearing nice shoes, so he maneuvered down the stairs as best he could, but not soon enough. his mother had reached it first and stood before sean, surely sizing him up. sean didn’t seem to notice: was looking over her shoulder at tom, who straightened his jacket and smiled.
“hello, sean.” mrs. conrad’s body language was almost frigid; arms crossed, meeting sean’s eyes as if to tell him to watch his back; that no matter how much she disapproved of this date, tom was still her son and he’d best not try anything.
“good evening, mrs. conrad,” sean said, falling into this new, formal role quite well. tom almost wanted to laugh, thinking about him dusty and muddied after he’d slid to third base, last game of the season. he cleaned up well.
“mom, a minute?” tom asked tightly, biting his lip, a sure sign of nervousness. mrs. conrad backed into the hallway behind them, less close but still not quite obliging to what tom had asked. she was still looking at sean with narrowed eyes, like she felt the need to frisk him for alcohol and condoms (negative and negative).
“you look. fantastic, ” sean marveled, holding onto tom’s shoulders as if to steady him.
tom was grateful for that, because he didn’t exactly feel fantastic; he felt more like he was standing on the edge of a ten-story building. he felt like his organs and bones had been replaced with liquid worry, quivery and precarious. the tables had turned, tom more apprehensive than he’d expected, a dangerous combination when mixed with his bewilderment at how suave sean had turned out to be.
before tom could tell sean how good he looked, sean said, “hey, i have something for you.” he rooted around for a box in his jacket pocket. “almost forgot. it’s your corsage. they’re white chrysanthemums.” four miniature chrysanthemums, pure white and fragrant, were tied together with a sky-blue ribbon. sean glanced at scrawled instructions to pin it on properly, and then leaned in close to tom‘s ear so no one else could hear. the smell of lemon soap and woodsy aftershave wafted up and while that was certainly a change from sean’s usual, tom liked it. “they mean truth .”
the release of tension in tom was immediately obvious: hands unclenching, shoulders loosened. it was like sean had let loose all the pressure.
“i was told there was a special occasion?” mr. conrad joked as he walked into the foyer, camera in hand. tom’s dad had offered to take the pictures last night as he and his wife had sat reading the day’s newspapers. this was a big step for him: he’d always seemed to accept her word as gospel and while this was not, son, i’m proud of you , it sure felt like its equivalent. mrs. conrad had protested that she was certainly capable of handling a camera and mr. conrad calmed her, saying that she was competent, but that cameras were his hobby: why not let him have his little moment of glory? tom was sure his dad was thinking the same thing as he was: his mom would surely have tried to worm her way out of having pictures altogether, or else have taken them of the ceiling and not of sean and tom.
mr. conrad hadn’t seen prom pictures since his own, back in the eighties, so he couldn’t really be blamed if his directions were a tad outdated. tom could feel his mother’s hot stare, could see her tart face in his peripheral vision, but didn’t dwell on it too long because his father was making bad jokes to get them to laugh. the jokes themselves were not particularly bad, it was just that tom had heard them a million and a half times.
after they had finished, mrs. conrad ushered them out, insisting they would be late if they didn’t leave right then. tom thought she’d probably been thrown off a little bit by sean’s unwillingness to be shy in holding tom’s hand. tom let out a huge breath as they walked toward the car.
“i skimped a little on the limo,” sean admitted. “but i got a car wash.” tom didn’t say anything, just held onto sean’s arm and thought, you can’t even see the car but you got a car wash anyway and hell, i don’t need a limo, i don’t need a corsage, seriously, i just need you, and i have you. tom could see, though, when they pulled into the ihop parking lot, that the car did look shinier.
it had been an unspoken agreement that they would go to ihop and not one of those swanky steak joints. it was just understood; like everything else about their prom experience, they weren’t going to settle for something conventional. it was almost like they were refilling their nerve at the pancake house with sugar, not booze. plus, they really liked ihop.
“i want a motorcycle,” tom said, motioning in the air with his fork. eggs flew off, landing on the placemat he’d inexplicably been given even though he was no longer four years of age.
sean gave him the look and matching head tilt that tom often said he should have patented.
“what does that look mean? you’re looking at me like you’d rather give up your left foot than let me anywhere near a motorcycle.”
“last year at the spring formal, you tried to dance and knocked ten people over in a domino effect. you twisted a girl’s ankle and had to reimburse three girls for their ruined dresses.” sean reminded tom, pointing at him with his straw as if doing so would further validate his point.
“that’s not clumsiness, that’s just why i don’t dance! and i’ve gotten be tter!” tom protested around a mouth full of pancake.
“you fall down while playing your guitar, still,” sean pointed out. “even when you’re sitting,” he added. tom shrunk a little in his seat.
“but --!” tom sighed. “i’ll get lessons and wear a helmet !” tom said in his best duh tone.
sean just sent tom another look that said that tom wouldn’t ever get a motorcycle, not if he had anything to do with it.
~
they walked into the building at a time nick would have called “fashionably late,” had he been with them. the school was dim and the hallways bare, so tom had no reservations about kissing sean and said, “one night could change it all, isn’t that what they say?”
when you entered the “transformed” gymnasium, your senses were overwhelmed, there was no way around that. the decorations were thankfully less garish than usual, but they were still eye-catching: shiny balloons you could see your reflection in, a bubble machine, a purple disco ball to replace last year’s fallen one. tom scowled as his gaze was drawn to his ex-band (whatever their name was this week; that was something they had never been able to agree on, so they’d alternated names) on the stage. he did take some satisfaction in their lackluster cover of baby, one more time , knowing that if he’d still been in the band, he never would have allowed them to sink to such depths as cheesy pop covers.
contrary to what they’d both half-expected, the music did not suddenly stop as they were seen arm-in-arm; the bass did not stop thumping and no one fainted. more realistically, there were scores of double-takes from kids in the midst of getting their groove on. they scanned the throngs of people for familiar faces, settling in with a group of people they vaguely knew from art class. it could just have been tact, but judging by their jokes and the looks on their faces, they seemed more surprised that tom had gotten fancy for the occasion than anything else. and that was when tom realized: people were not staring because they were surprised that sean was his date. they were staring because they’d come out as a couple on prom night, the biggest night of the year.
the band finished with their last song, your love, and the dj took over, a band geek who was great with playlists. nick wandered over to sit with tom as sean went off to see what there was to eat. while pete, andy, and jon had nixed the prom to see an art presentation, nick had asked a girl way out of his league and she had,shockingly, said yes. nick was a classic floater who fit in with all groups, yet at the same time, none of them. his date was not only more popular than he, but also half a head taller than him and in heels. nick patted tom on the back and congratulated him on his nerve.
sean came back and informed tom that the committee had forgone the bowls of chex mix and cheese curls --usually a staple no matter what the theme was. he’d come back with exotic crackers and obscure foreign cheeses and a wobbly plastic glass of not punch, but sparkling cider. due to the theme, there were several different varieties of pseudo--alcoholic beverages, which none of the girls touched because they didn’t want to get it on their dresses. the boys, however, drank it so often you would have thought there was a golden ticket involved somewhere; really, they hoped that someone had spiked it or put actual wine in the bowl, so they’d kept checking. shrugging off the committee’s “rules,” many of the boys had snuck in pocket flasks to cover themselves.
an hour later, sean and tom were in roughly the same spot, though they had attempted a slow dance or two (those were easy; all they required was swaying). sean got up for “more of those cheese thingies," and tom’s stomach lurched as he saw mike push toward them through the sea of heads.
“you shouldn’t be here,” mike said with a swagger tom recognized. that was enough for tom to grasp the words he needed to say.
"pretty sure this is a school-run event for students. last i checked we were students here too, so you can fuck off." mike was starting to piss off tom, like he thought that his disapproval and the presumed disapproval of tom’s ex-bandmates would be enough to keep tom from doing what he wanted to do. “now if you’ll excuse me, i’m going to dance with my boyfriend.”
said boyfriend had appeared at tom’s side as if he’d been summoned, so tom took the opportunity to lead him away, into a cluster of people. he regretted not being able to see mike’s sour face, but he could picture it quite well.
“what was that all about?” sean asked as the song changed to a stripped-down cover of teenage dream that tom liked, with shared girl and boy vocals.
“i think mike’s jealous. he hasn’t found a girl who’ll put up with him yet.” tom cozied up to sean, conscious of the eyes on their backs and the way all of the people within a two-foot radius had subtly moved away.
sean snorted. “more like put out.”
“have i mentioned that i love you?”
“you might have. once or twice,” sean said mock-casually, with a shrug to complete it, and tom tossed out every social norm he’d considered obliging to in favor of kissing him.
the reactions -- or lack thereof -- were astounding. everyone knew the prom committee was strict about touching among the hormone-ridden pairs, but it was as if when they’d seen sean and tom, they simply hadn’t known what to do. tom would later say it was because they hadn’t wanted to interrupt such a “tender, perfect moment,” but sean thought it was as if two boys kissing had just not been in their manual. they hadn’t been prepared.
sean and tom danced a little more, ate a little more, and left before the prom queen was announced. as everyone would gossip about tomorrow, the shoo-in for the crown had been usurped by her best friend; the highest form of backstabbing when you were a teenage girl. they weren’t too sad they’d missed it.
~
as far as prom nights went, it wasn’t too exciting, but it was undeniably theirs. they went back to sean’s, tom took off his jacket, his bow tie, put on some of sean’s clothes, and put a record on the turntable before laying down. sean was already half- asleep when he shoved into the bed. (technically tom was supposed to sleep on the floor when he was over, but it was a rule that was largely ignored.)
"so what happens now?" sean mumbled, eyes closed as he shifted closer to tom.
in all truthfulness, tom wasn’t sure what sean wanted to hear, but he figured it was akin to a child waking from a bad dream. they wanted to be comforted; to recognize the sky above their head, the ground beneath their feet, and know nothing had changed. so he said what came to mind.
“well, after school ends you’re gonna go with your family on the trip you go on, because your mom’s insisting -”
“even though i’m just going off to college, not africa,” sean added as emphatically as he could while being sleepy, as if tom was the one who had the final say on this decision, not his mother.
“right. and i’m gonna work at the park district because they like me there and after you get back you’re gonna leave to beloit and i’m gonna leave to columbia but we’ll still talk all the time and visit on weekends, so, like, things will change but it won’t be different, not really.”
“that doesn’t sound so bad.” sean was quiet, after that, moving only to steal more covers from tom.
and they slept, peaceful and deep, deserved.
~
tom had never been one of those guys to whom “landing a chick" was the ultimate goal. sure, he appreciated girls aesthetically; liked their light, airy perfume, the way they looked when they walked, their curly cursive. but seeing as his only romantic experience had been with bren, who'd only been interested in him to spite her strict parents, he'd found that it just wasn't enough. they weren’t enough. and over time, it became clear. he was not into tinkling laughter and lilac shampoo, french manicures and slim-cut jeans; he was into mussed hair and dirty sneakers, musky sweat and coffee, black, two sugars. in other words: sean.
and sean, well, sean had only been around since freshman year, but it felt like he'd been around forever. for years tom had been sent from therapist to therapist to address his "anger management problems" and "struggles with authority figures", and none of them had had any measure of success. tom would clam up, play the sullen teenager card which had come easily as a rite of passage, age thirteen. the shrinks had had no choice but to throw up their hands and suggest someone else. his parents would always take the shrink up on their recommendation, failing to realize that by definition, therapists were authority figures, and tom would never talk. he felt like he was constantly scrutinized and misunderstood, especially by them.
then came sean. as a peer, he already had a foot in the door, and as a friend, it was a done deal. sean encouraged tom to analyze what he was feeling before turning that into action, not the other way around. sean showed tom, by example, not to do things rashly; to consider the "after" instead of just the impulse.
sean was the only one who had cared enough, even though he didn't have to.
tom was still an outsider, but he’d grown to embrace that. though he hadn’t reinvented himself enough to lose the negative stuff, the past fury and fighting, it seemed to matter less. because his classmates had not bothered to register that he had changed, gotten better with people, they still largely avoided him. but if they needed some art done, they came straight to him. he helped, gladly, as they were showing interest in his interest.
so considering this, tom wasn't exactly to blame when he'd come to sean, confessing past the speed bump in his throat, "i think i’m in love with you. i mean. is that okay?”
sean could see that this was not a joke; the earnestness on tom's face, his hands laced tightly together, a dead giveaway.
"uh," sean was slightly terrified and praying his voice did not show it: he knew what he had to do. "i think i'm in love with you too." the words came out too quickly, a rush like last-minute gift shopping,
but sean knew that to tom, it didn't matter. he'd gotten what he wanted, a yes.
sean knew in his bones he'd done the right thing as he watched tom smile and mustered up one of his own. tom looked almost shy as he asked,
"can i kiss you?"
"yes."
tom was gentle, tentative even, as he touched sean's face and brought their lips together.
to sean, it was simple. he would rather have pretended to be in love with tom and taken the chance that his emotions would eventually mimic his actions, than tell tom the truth [that he hadn’t felt much except skin on skin], hurt him and had that sit between them forever. or even have lost tom’s friendship over it.
~
it didn't happen overnight, but gradually, the love did grow. things became endearing: the swipe of paint tom never remembered to wash off, the way he had a witty remark for every occasion, how his eyes changed colour in the sun. and if sean had needed any more convincing, tom was always there to be his sounding board. the first year of sophomore baseball, his teammates' chronic snubbing had left sean frustrated, like whatever he said bounced off them like a rubber ball thrown against a wall. tom (and this went on well past sophomore year, as things hadn't changed much) always seemed to know what to say tomake him feel better; what strengths to remind him of to make him feel of worth.
“you really think that telling me how awesome i am is going to change the fact that you're the only one that thinks so?" sean muttered, but loud enough for tom to hear.
“yeah, i do,” tom said. "because when someone believes in you, even just one person, it can make all the difference in the world." he said this with such sincerity, sean didn't dare doubt him.
by junior year, they were inseparable.
~
Part Two