Through The Static
Reread Part Two.
*
Preston watches Oz at the microphone, sitting in the dim spotlight he convinced the barman to put there. He watches the way the light falls down the back of his neck, the curved shadow the collar of his shirt makes, the dark freckle at the base. He’s barely paying attention to what he’s playing, fingers moving on their own accord. He should know these songs backwards and forwards by now anyway so it hardly matters.
Oz’s mouth is brushing against the microphone as he sings, fingers plucking out the notes on his banjo. He doesn’t look over at Preston.
As the song ends along with what little set they’ve managed to procure for that night, Preston unhooks his guitar and watches as Oz hops off the stage and is immediately greeted by a group of girls wanting to talk to him. Preston’s chest contracts almost painfully as he forces himself off the stage and manages to squeeze around them and head for the bar.
The bar looks eerily similar to all its predecessors and Preston climbs up on a stool, nodding down the bartender who is, for once, younger than fifty. He’s chatting with a woman at the other end of the bar but comes over when Preston sighs.
“What can I get you?” he asks with a friendly smile that Preston barely even notices.
He pushes his hair back distractedly and can’t help the way he glances back to the stage where Oz is still talking to the girls. Annoyed at himself, he forces himself to turn away, glancing at the bartender’s smile.
“Just get me a shot of anything strong.”
“Bad day?”
Preston wonders if that phrase is in the bartender handbook or if they just rip it off from movies. He eyes the guy, slightly suspicious, as he grabs a bottle of tequila and pours it into a shot glass on the counter.
Preston wouldn’t say it’s been a good day. He’s definitely had better, and he’s certainly had worse. Of course, none of those days included a kiss with his best friend that neither of them have mentioned all day.
If Preston didn’t remember it clearly, he would think he’d dreamt the whole thing.
He doesn’t reply to the bartender as the man slides over his drink. He doesn’t see the need to since it’s probably obvious what the answer is from the way he downs the shot and sucks on the lime with a grimace.
“You can keep them coming,” he tells him, setting his elbows on the bar and staring at the empty liquor bottles that line the wall.
He’s deaf to the people talking around him, to the glasses clinking against the counter, the bartender flirting with the woman at the end of the bar. He doesn’t look up until he hears a familiar laugh close by, and his stomach twists dangerously.
“My name’s Oz,” Oz says as he steps up to the bar with one of the girls, the prettiest one with red lipstick and sparkly eye shadow. She just giggles as he gestures at the bartender.
“Like the wizard?”
“I have been told I’m pretty magical.”
The girl giggles and Preston can’t help the loud scoff as he turns on his stool to sneer at them both. Oz has his arm around the girl’s waist and her hand is on his shoulder, leaning against him.
“Please, your name is Oswald Isaiah Lewiston. Your initials spell out ‘oil,’” Preston says sharply, ignoring the surprised look on the girl’s face and instead watching the way Oz stares at him for a second, a flicker of confusion before it’s gone and his arm is tightening over the girl’s waist. Preston’s heart tightens too at the movement and he forces himself to look away.
“What do you say we get some air?” Oz asks the girl. “You said you lived nearby?”
The girl’s face lights up and Preston’s lip curls despite himself. He forcefully turns back to the bar and the new shot that’s in front of him.
“Yeah, it’s just around the corner,” she says eagerly, and Oz doesn’t say goodbye to Preston as they leave.
Preston hears them walking away, still talking, but he doesn’t look up until they’re gone. There are still plenty of people in the bar, and the bartender has a whole bottle of tequila left, but Preston doesn’t feel like drinking. Instead, he throws down a few bills and makes his way out of the bar.
The night is warm and the parking lot is a small square crammed with dusty cars. There are only a few orange streetlamps but one flickers feebly and the other lights only a small circle near the front entrance.
Above, Preston can see the stars and he wishes he knew more than just how to find the Big Dipper. Kicking the gravel, Preston heads to their car which fits in perfectly with the rest in the dusty lot. Oz is nowhere to be found but Preston doubted he would be.
He throws his guitar in the backseat but doesn’t get in, instead climbing onto the hood. Leaning back against the windshield, he stares up at the stars. It’s been a while since he’s been alone like this, but it’s not nearly as relieving as it should be. Instead, everything feels worse.
The night is quiet, the noise from bar muffled, occasionally leaking out when someone opens the door. It’s peaceful but Preston feels restless all the same. He doesn’t jump when his phone goes off, ringing shrilly in his pocket and he stretches to fish it out.
Paige’s name is flashing across the screen and Preston sighs. He isn’t really in the mood to hear anymore filtered parental threats. It keeps ringing, though, and he finally presses the button.
“Yeah?” he asks unwillingly, reclining back against the windshield again. There are crickets somewhere - he can hear them chirping in the bushes.
“Preston?” Paige sounds stuffy, voice rough, almost as if she’s been crying, and Preston frowns.
“What’s going on?”
There’s a pause and he hears Paige take a breath and sniff lightly. “Dad just came home.” She pauses again, and Preston sits up slightly. “We’re moving again.”
“Oh, Paige,” he says slowly, hearing her sniff again. He’s not surprised that she’s upset, but she’s always been one of the strongest girls he knows. He doesn’t remember her crying any of the times before. Then again, he’d always been too wrapped up in his own problems to pay attention to his baby sister. She is five years younger than him after all.
“He promised,” she says desperately. “He promised we could stay here.”
Preston doesn’t know what to say. He’s heard that promise many times before and each time, they just moved further than before.
“Well, what’s really the difference anyway?” Preston asks although he knows it’s not the right thing to say, but he doesn’t know if there is a right thing to say here.
“The difference is I actually have friends for once,” Paige says plaintively. “And I know the school and I just signed up for four AP classes and stopped taking ballet because of him! I have a boyfriend. I don’t want to leave!”
“Wait a minute,” Preston says sharply. “Boyfriend? Since when? Why have I not heard about this?”
“Preston,” Paige whines, frustrated. “Don’t try to pretend to be the overprotective big brother now. That’s not the point.”
“Well, I don’t know how to help you,” Preston admits. “If I did, I would have helped myself a long time ago. You know how Dad is. You can’t argue with him.”
“You know, I just thought you’d understand,” Paige replies angrily. “But I guess no one’s been important enough to you to want to stay with them except Oz and Oz doesn’t even know about your feelings.”
“Look, Oz and I are-”
“Just friends, yeah, whatever. You can tell yourself that forever but it doesn’t change anything. At least I have a real reason for wanting to stay.”
Preston can feel a bristle of anger prickling under his skin. “Stop making assumptions about my life. You’re too young to understand what I feel, and staying somewhere for a guy is a stupid idea.”
“You ran away on a road trip for a guy,” Paige accuses him. “You’ve always followed him.”
“That isn’t true,” Preston argues sharply, sitting up and staring hard at the soles of his shoes. “I didn’t even want to be his friend in the beginning.”
He hears Paige’s disgusted scoff and he’s sure she’s rolling her eyes.
“I don’t know why I called you,” she mutters. “You don’t understand anything.”
“Like you’re so much more mature than I am,” Preston scoffs. He wipes at the dirt on the edge of his shoe.
“At least I’m not afraid to try for what I want.”
“Uh, ballet?” Preston reminds her obviously, and she growls in frustration.
“You’re useless!” The phone clicks as she hangs up and Preston sighs, ending the call too.
A burst of noise fills the night as the door to the bar swings open and a few people come out. They cross the parking lot and disappear towards town, not even noticing Preston on the car.
Alone in the empty parking lot, Preston can’t help but feel that things are not going the right way.
*
The landscape outside the window is still thick-green masses of trees despite the fact that they’re probably less than fifty miles from the ocean and heading north. Preston has seen the same billboard advertising some kind of Mexican theme park five times in the past hundred miles and the radio has been on static since they left Georgia.
They’ve barely talked that morning and Preston spends most of his time staring out the window. He hears Oz shifting, fiddling uselessly with the radio, rolling down and up the window. He glances over once, but Oz’s eyes are on the road.
As they pass the sign welcoming them to North Carolina, Preston sighs. He can’t get Paige’s voice out of his head, accusing him of all the things he’d never own up to. She’s right, of course. She always is, no matter how annoying he finds it.
There’s a dead cat on the road as Preston looks out but it’s gone in a swoosh, lost with everything else on the roadside.
“I think I need to go home,” he says, eyes out the window, and he sees Oz’s sharp movement, but when he looks over, Oz is just watching the road.
“Right now?” he asks, and Preston pushes at his hair.
He’s pretty sure that Oz is never going to mention the other night again, but the awkwardness is always there now. He wants to say something but he doesn’t know what and maybe it’s just better this way. He’s been expecting something like this (although definitely not this exactly) to happen. He’s been waiting for it since the first time Oz talked to him.
“Soon,” he says. “I’m sure there’s an airport somewhere.”
Oz frowns slightly, glancing at Preston. He doesn’t say anything, though, and Preston pushes away the uneasy clench to his stomach as they continue down the road.
*
“It’s a beach,” Preston deadpans as he stares out the front window at the beige, sandy spread of the beach before them, the ocean in the short distance. There aren’t many people there, but it is a weekday and barely noon.
“Indubitably, dear Watson,” Oz replies with a horrific English accent, already swinging the door open and stepping out.
Preston follows reluctantly but only because he’s tired of sitting. It isn’t cold like the beaches he’s used to at home and the wind coming off the water is actually pleasant considering the sun overhead. He’s forced to take off his shoes as Oz leads the way onto the sand.
He doesn’t know why they’re there when they could be looking for an airport and saving themselves the pain of drawing this out any longer.
“I’ve missed the ocean,” Oz says as he stands in an inch of water, jeans rolled up to his ankles. A seagull cries sharply overhead and Preston squints into the sun.
It seems ridiculous that just a few days ago, he kissed Oz in that park, just a few days ago that Oz actually looked at him as more than a friend even if he’d been high at the time. A twinge of pain steals through his heart as he stares out at the ocean and Oz stands beside him.
Oz hasn't said a thing about it and it's been three days.
Preston doesn't reply, turning away and walking off down the beach. The sand is warm underfoot, soft and sinking down with each step he takes and he doesn't look back. He doesn't want to look back because he knows what he'll see and he doesn't need to.
“Where are you going?” Oz asks a few seconds later as Preston trudges through the sand in no particular direction.
“I don't know,” Preston replies shortly, not looking at him although he knows Oz is right beside him, close enough to touch if he wanted. “Maybe I'll walk into the ocean and see what happens if I never stop.”
The silence is covered up by the whistling of the wind past his ears.
“That's not funny,” Oz says after a long moment and Preston just shrugs. He's not serious, but he has been before on those days when it just felt like nothing in his life was going right. It's been years since he even thought about that, that crushing feeling of loneliness that used to fill his chest every night before he went to sleep, that desperate longing for something he could never have.
Oz is looking at him as if he's never truly seen him before now, a strange flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, and Preston hates it. It makes him feel as if this is his fault when it's not. It's not his fault, not this time.
“What's wrong with you?” Oz asks finally, grabbing Preston's arm as Preston tries to walk away from him, to put some distance between himself and the weight slowly crushing him. Oz's fingers press into his forearm, pressing against the dark ink of his tattoo, strong and holding him back, stopping him.
“Nothing,” Preston replies shortly, pushing his hair out of his eyes and wishing Oz would let go. “I just don't want to be here.”
“Here on this beach?”
“Here on this beach, in that car, on this trip!” He sighs, frustrated, and Oz's fingers slip away from his arm. “It's been three fucking months and where are we? Nowhere. I just can't do this anymore.”
His eyes meet Oz's and he wishes he would understand, but he knows that he doesn't. The kiss meant nothing to Oz, had probably never crossed his mind before that moment, and it's not crossing his mind now.
“So you're really done?” Oz asks slowly and Preston swallows, eyes following the way the wind blows a lock of Oz's hair into his eyes and he doesn't even notice, hazel eyes staring at Preston.
Preston looks away, biting his lip and breathing through the constriction in his throat. “I have to be. It's time to grow up, Oz.”
Oz laughs then, short and quiet, like it's a joke. “You were never a kid, Pres. I tried my hardest, I really did.”
Preston frowns, watching the waves sweeping onto the shore, shorebirds poking around in the swirling seaweed. Of all the patience he's had for Oz, which has really not been that much, always expecting him to come to his senses and leave him behind, he can't just wait for him this time.
“You failed then,” he says as another wave crashes down and the birds take flight, scattering into the sun.
*
His mother looks around his tiny dorm room, hands on her hips and a twist to her lips that Preston has seen a thousand times before. Crowded with his boxes, of which there really aren't many, the room looks smaller than it is although it's not exactly huge to begin with. The walls are wood-paneled and the bed looks well-worn by years of past students. The room is stuffed with a double set of everything from the beds to the desks and sets of drawers, shoved awkwardly in corners to make space to actually move around.
“How did you get so much stuff?” Paige asks as she lugs the last suitcase into the room and dumps it near the door. “And why do I have to carry it?”
“You're really going to live here?” his mother asks and Preston doesn't sigh. Instead, he looks around at the boxes and the clean, empty surfaces of the two desks pushed back to back. They've got dents and scratches on the edges but he loves them even more for it.
“Yeah,” he replies simply, seeing Paige roll her eyes behind their mother's back.
“Come on,” she says, tugging at her mother's arm. “We still have to buy my new leotard.”
Preston's mother still has the twist to her lips, though. It's slightly disapproving, a hint of worry behind it, and Preston waits uneasily for the lecture about doing well in school and not messing up after everything they've been through.
“Yo, Pres!” comes a new voice, though, and Preston's heart jumps a little, half-excited, half-scared.
Oz appears at the door, a grin plastered on his face and he barely knocks on the frame before stepping inside, looking around the room.
“You got here okay. Awesome!”
Preston's mother doesn't look as though she agrees but Oz doesn't even notice. Behind Oz, Paige is making kissy faces and Preston glares, vowing to kill her the next chance he gets. He stops glaring, though, when Oz slings an arm around his shoulders, still grinning widely.
“Don't worry, Mrs. Chambers,” he assures her, “I'll take good care of Preston.”
Her eyebrow goes up and Preston can see the disapproval etched in the expression but she doesn't say anything, and he prays that they can just get through this day without any incidents. His dad is downstairs probably interrogating the campus police on their security and Preston just wants this over with. He doesn't need the messy goodbyes.
“Mom,” Paige says again, tugging at her sleeve impatiently. “My leotard.”
His mom ignores her for a moment, gazing at Preston. “Preston,” she starts, and Preston sighs.
“I know, I know. Study hard and don't mess anything up. Don't stay up late or get addicted to video games. Go to class and don't procrastinate. Did I forget anything?”
“Yes,” she says after a second and Preston braces himself for some new facet of the same spiel he's heard for years. “I love you, and I'm proud of you.”
Taken aback, Preston can't say anything as she hugs him and steps back. Paige is already out the door and waiting in the hall. Oz grins next to him, arm still around his shoulders.
As she leaves, stepping out, and Paige's call of, “Bye, Pres! I'm taking your room,” coming back to him, Preston lets out a slow breath of relief.
“So,” Oz says after a second as they stand there in the cluttered dorm room. “Are you ready for this?”
“No,” Preston answers honestly and Oz just grins.
*
“Thanks,” Preston mutters as the woman behind the counter hands him his boarding pass and the conveyor belt reels his suitcase slowly back behind her. Turning away, he's met with Oz's furrowed eyebrows, and he just looks away, fingers tightening over the handle of his guitar case.
They don't speak as he leads the way towards the security checkpoint, putting it off a little longer. They're surrounded by people, but all Preston feels is the tension between him and Oz. As they reach the wide, open area crisscrossed with dividers, the line winding serpentine-like back towards them, Preston hesitates.
Oz sighs as Preston pauses, fingers tightening over the ticket in his hand.
“Don't look like that,” Preston says finally when Oz frowns at the line. “We knew this was coming.”
“What was coming?” Oz asks, arching an eyebrow, and Preston is jostled into him as a family with too many suitcases comes rushing past to get in line. Extricating himself, Preston moves off to the side and Oz follows, a confused look on his face.
Preston sighs, shaking his head. “This, our friendship. I mean, really, I never expected it to last.”
Oz looks even more confused now. “Wait, what?”
“And that kiss was just... just the nail in the coffin, I guess. I don't know what I was thinking. I was stupid. I should have known better what with my life pattern.” He smiles sardonically despite Oz's frown deepening. “So you're free, you're off the hook. You don't have to deal with me anymore.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Oz demands a second later, staring at Preston. “Off the hook of our friendship? You think I'm just going to abandon you after all this time?”
Preston shrugs darkly. “It had to happen sometime; you just took longer than anyone else. But it doesn't matter. It's happening now.”
“Are you-you're insane,” Oz says simply. “Why would I do that?”
“Come on,” Preston replies scornfully, fingers crumpling the edges of the ticket in his hand and he hears a voice on the loudspeaker announcing a last boarding call for a flight to Miami. “You were only friends with me because you felt sorry for me, and after last week, it's obvious I'm just in over my head. I let myself get in over my head with you and it was stupid.”
“Are you talking about that kiss?” Oz asks slowly and Preston shakes his head, sighing.
“We were high, I know. I know. That's the problem, or maybe just the point. I don't know. But why bother pretending we didn't ruin everything? So we'll just go our separate ways, okay?”
Oz stares at him incredulously, but Preston doesn't see what's so shocking. He's just trying to avoid an ugly scene and he can already feel it deep down inside, in the tremble of his fingers.
“Look, it didn't mean anything,” Oz says and Preston sighs.
“Of course it didn't for you,” he replies, a hint of scorn tinting his voice, and he glances at the line for security. It's gotten longer as they've stood there.
Oz frowns, eyebrows furrowing as he searches Preston's face, and Preston looks away.
“Are you saying it meant something for you?” he asks slowly, and Preston doesn't want to answer, but he doesn't need to for Oz to get it. He sees Oz's expression change slowly, understanding dawning in his eyes followed by a spark of unease, and it's that that makes Preston's heart contract and he takes a step back.
“I have to get my plane,” he says instead, and if it comes out cold, he doesn't correct himself.
“Wait, wait, wait a minute,” Oz says quickly, and Preston doesn't wince at the sharpness in his voice. “You can't just walk away. Not after... that.”
“Well, I am,” Preston says firmly. “So you don't have to deal with it or me.”
He takes another step back and Oz's face is strangely blank. Preston tells himself he knew this was coming, tells himself that it's better this way for both of them. He's not sure how much he believes it, but anything is better than the way his chest feels like it's about suffocate him. He doesn't let Paige's annoying voice talking about running from his problems get in his head. He's doing what's best for both of them. It's time to move on.
Even though he tells himself it's for the best, he can't help the sharp stab of disappointment when Oz doesn't stop him from getting in line for security. He doesn't look back until he's through the detectors, but Oz is gone and only strangers pass the place he'd been standing. Sighing, he turns away. It isn't as though he'd expected anything different after all.
*
“Paige!” Preston snaps angrily as he trips over the book bag dumped carelessly on the floor and nearly falls headfirst into the coat rack by the door. Frustrated, he kicks it out of the way and shuts the door behind him. “Don't you remember the rules of this agreement?”
“No bodily injury?” Paige's voice pipes up from the couch where she's flipping through the channels idly and barely glances back at Preston near the door.
Huffing, Preston pulls off his coat and hangs it on the beat-up looking rack. Paige's shoes are in a pile near the door too and he reminds himself to dump them all on her bed later.
“I just had to be the nice, older brother,” he mutters to himself, heading for the fridge and staring at the woefully empty shelves. “Why couldn't I have just let you suffer like I had to?”
“Because you love me,” Paige replies sagely, turning around on the couch and tossing her long, blond hair over her shoulder. “Besides, it's only for this year until I finish school.”
Preston doesn't reply as he grabs a can of soda and shuts the fridge.
The apartment is small with only two miniscule bedrooms and one bathroom that is overflowing with too many hair and skin products. The furniture is all second-hand and there are stains on the carpet from previous tenants, but it's an apartment and it's what Preston can afford at the moment.
Paige is watching him now, head tilted to the side, a curious tilt to her eyebrows.
“Bad day at work?”
“Bad day to be awake,” Preston mutters, cracking open the soda and listening to the fizz die down slowly. “I can't believe I-you know, it's like the universe actually hates me.”
“Probably does,” Paige agrees. “Like karma.”
Preston arches a skeptical eyebrow. “And what is this karma for?”
Paige shrugs, rolling off the couch and padding to where here book bag is now lying in a crumpled heap by the door. She pushes the books back in and picks up a few scattered pens. “I don't know.”
Rolling his eyes, Preston leans back against the couch, watching her haul the bag up onto her slim shoulder.
“Don't you have class soon?”
“Half an hour,” she replies. “And I'm staying later for extra practice with Madame.”
Preston eyes her suspiciously as she heads for her bedroom. He follows, pausing in the doorway. The room is small and even more when cluttered with all of Paige's things. The bedspread is white with little purple flowers and the walls are plastered with ballet posters.
“You're staying after for more practice, not to sneak off with Nick?”
Paige's eyebrow arches defiantly, a hand rising to her hip. “Yes,” she replies challengingly. “I thought you liked Nick.”
Preston leans against the door frame, crossing his arms. “You remember the other part of our agreement?”
Paige rolls her eyes, digging through the pile of clothes on the bed and coming up with a pink leotard. “No boys when you're not around. Geez, I'm not gonna get pregnant. That would ruin everything. You think pregnant girls get into ABA?”
“I don't know anything about the American Ballet Academy,” Preston replies, “but that's not the point. Mom and Dad only agreed to this because we guilted them into it, and if you get pregnant or drop out of school or if anything goes wrong at all, it'll be on my head.”
“Would you relax?” Paige asks, rolling her eyes as she stuffs the leotard into a gym bag. “Nothing is going to happen. I'm not an idiot.”
“You're still my little sister,” Preston points out, and Paige shakes her head, searching for her ballet slippers.
“Funny how now I'm your little sister but two months ago, you couldn't care less about all this.”
“That's not true,” Preston protests. “I've always cared about you.”
“Not enough to actually come back and get a real job for me. What happened to Oz anyway?”
“Oz?” Preston asks, heart stumbling over a beat. Paige nods.
“Yeah, your best friend? The one you haven't talked to in two months?”
Preston frowns, eyebrows furrowed. “Why do you think that?”
“Because you haven't called him and he hasn't called you, and you just showed up at home two months ago with no explanation and you haven't mentioned him at all.” Paige arches a challenging eyebrow.
“I-don't you have class to get to?” Preston asks sharply, turning and walking away from the door, but Paige follows him, gym back swung over her shoulder.
“What happened? Did you guys have a fight?”
“No,” Preston replies shortly, wishing she would go away.
“Did you finally tell him you love him and he rejected you?”
It's shocking, how fast the pain shoots through his heart, like an old wound being ripped open by a jagged knife. He falters in his step towards the living room.
“Paige, stop it!” he snaps sharply and she frowns.
“I was just curious.” She eyes Preston, who's turned away from her.
Preston can feel her gaze but he doesn't turn, staring unseeingly at the television in front of him. It's some talk show that he doesn't watch, full of people complaining about their problems and looking for sympathy. Preston isn't looking for sympathy. He just wants to forget what happened this summer.
“There's a company meeting tomorrow,” he says finally, eyes on the TV. “So I'll be home late.” He looks at Paige, who looks both confused and suspicious. “Nick stays one hundred feet from this apartment at all times.”
Paige immediately scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Just 'cause you're not getting any-”
“Paige,” he warns. The thought of Paige actually being with a boy is something he never wants to think about in his lifetime. She will always be the eight year old dancing around the living room in a tutu.
“Fine, fine,” she replies unwillingly, picking a pair of shoes out from the pile and slipping them on. “But I bet if you'd had a boyfriend in high school, you would have snuck him home.”
As she leaves, the door squeaking into place behind her, Preston wonders if that would be true, but the honest conclusion is that he never had a boyfriend for a reason, and it's that thought that causes him to sigh and flop down in front of the TV at five in the afternoon and gorge himself on meaningless talk shows.
*
Preston’s pencil tapping against his notebook is the only sound in the room aside from the droning voice of the bank manager reciting company policy and explaining the new interest rates. Half the people around the oblong table have glazed expressions and the woman next to him is gazing at her perfectly manicured nails before shooting Preston’s pencil a sharp look.
Preston lets it fall from between his fingers and it drops and rolls off the page.
The clock ticks further and further past six and Preston tries to suppress a yawn. Across the table, Willow, the girl who generally works the counter next to him, sends him a sympathetic look as the manager drones on.
Half an hour later, Preston is climbing the three flights of stairs to the apartment and unlocking the door. He manages to avoid tripping on the bag dropped near the door and lets the door shut a little harder than it needs to behind him. He dumps his own bag on the stool near the counter.
“Paige!” he calls, grabbing the phone book out from under a pile of old magazines, mostly Cosmo and the occasional Rolling Stone, and flipping open to the restaurant section.
“She went to ballet class.”
It isn’t a voice Preston is expecting and he freezes, one hand in the middle of turning a page and it flutters down as his heart begins to race and he turns around slowly.
Oz is leaning against the back of the couch as if he’s been there a hundred times and this is all old hat. He hasn’t changed since Preston last saw him except maybe he’s gotten a haircut. He’s wearing the same shirt he wore all summer and his flip-flops are worn as he stands there, waiting for Preston to say something, but Preston doesn’t.
“She said I could wait,” Oz goes on after a second. “Nice suit.” His eyes are on the buttons of Preston’s jacket and Preston jerks to movement, pulling it off.
“What are you doing here?” he asks as he lays the jacket over the stool on top of his briefcase.
Oz hasn’t moved from the couch but he uncrosses his feet and spreads his arms. “Came to see your new digs. Definite step up from a car backseat.”
There’s no anger in his voice but the words still sting somehow as Preston looks away, like it’s his fault they’re in this mess. It kind of is, though.
“And you’re living with Paige,” Oz says, watching Preston carefully. “A surprising turn of events. How’d you even manage it?”
Preston shrugs. He doesn’t know what to do with Oz there. He’d hoped this day would never come although he’d known it would. Oz didn’t give up easily.
“I appealed to their guilty conscience,” he replies. “And I had to swear she’d keep her grades up and not get pregnant and at least get into some sort of college.”
Oz nods slowly, glancing around the sparsely-furnished apartment. “And here was me thinking you wanted to get out of here.”
Preston looks over sharply but Oz doesn’t react, merely arching an eyebrow. He pushes off the couch finally and steps over to where Preston is still standing by the counter, the phone book splayed open before him.
“Let’s cut the crap, Preston. You know why I’m here.”
“No, actually, I don’t,” Preston says, stepping around Oz and heading for his bedroom where he toes off his shoes and starts to untuck his starchy, white shirt. Oz stops in the doorway behind him.
“Okay,” Oz says as Preston rummages in his drawers for a shirt that doesn’t make him look like a salesman. “But I’m pretty sure you do, otherwise you wouldn’t be trying so hard to ignore me.”
Turning around, a shirt gripped in his hand, he glares at Oz. “You didn’t have to come back here,” he points out, throwing the shirt back in the drawer. “There was no reason to. We said all we needed to months ago.”
“No, we didn’t,” Oz objects as Preston passes him back to the living room and he follows doggedly. “You just dropped a bomb and left.”
“Well, I,” Preston says, but he doesn’t have a response for that, and he huffs, yanking open the fridge door, more for something to do than anything else.
“You’re a coward,” Oz says plainly and Preston frowns at the half-empty carton of milk. Straightening up, he turns around, slamming the door shut behind him.
“What?”
Oz’s eyes are hard, arms crossed but he drops them down to his side as they stand four feet from each other in that room that’s always been small but seems claustrophobic now.
“You always run away and push people away like you think they don’t care about you, and it would be really easy for me to just walk away and let you go on thinking that.”
Preston looks away then, a burst of hot guilt filling his stomach. Oz’s eyes have softened and he takes a step forward, but Preston shifts back, away from him. Oz pauses.
“I didn’t forget the kiss,” he says quietly. “I was trying to ignore it.”
“I figured,” Preston mutters. There’s no reason why Oz would want to think about it, nothing good that could have come from it. “Why would you want to anyway.”
Oz hesitates, running a hand through his hair. “It’s more about why I didn’t want to think about it.”
Preston frowns, wishing he wasn’t stuck in the kitchen, but there’s no way to get around Oz to the living room.
“Pres, you’re my best friend and you’ve been my best friend for almost five years, and I never wanted anything to mess it up. Honestly, I always thought if anyone did, it would be you.”
“Your prediction came true, then,” Preston replies sardonically, but Oz shakes his head.
“No, no, no,” he says, turning finally and walking back to the couch, hands rubbing at his face as though he’s having trouble getting his point across. Preston steps out of the kitchen carefully. “I mean, yeah, you did have a hand in all this, but I let you do it. I always knew that if you were going to stay, I would have to make you. Why do you think I just pushed my way into your life? Because you would never do it on your own.”
Preston shakes his head, confused.
“At that airport,” Oz says, staring plaintively at Preston, “I just let you go and didn’t even try to stop you, and I can’t stop kicking myself for being so stupid.”
“There was nothing you could have done,” Preston admits slowly, although his heart is still beating wildly against his Adam’s apple.
Oz looks at him and the pause lengthens between them.
“Actually, I think there was one thing,” Oz replies finally, stepping up to Preston, and Preston doesn’t step back this time. He can’t bring himself to say anything or move, eyes flicking over Oz’s face as it draws nearer.
Preston isn’t shaking as Oz closes the distance, mouth pressing to his slowly. It isn’t like the first time. It’s much too careful, like Oz is afraid Preston is going to break if he presses too hard.
“I was too afraid to do that,” Oz murmurs when he pulls back and Preston lets out a shaky breath.
He isn’t sure what to do, if there’s anything he should do. He has no idea what any of it means, and he’s never been the brave one to ask.
Oz is watching him, hands by his sides, waiting. “Aren’t you gonna say anything?”
“I… don’t know what to say,” Preston says finally, unease nipping at his stomach as they stand there.
“If you tell me you’ve finally got a boyfriend after all this time, I swear to God-”
“No, of course I don’t,” Preston interrupts him. “I can’t even be friends with anyone let alone boyfriends.”
“Yes, you can,” Oz insists, and Preston wants to believe him but it’s been so many years of that little voice in his head telling him that friends are a waste of time. “You always could. You’re just…”
“A loser?” Preston fills in the blank, not missing the way Oz rolls his eyes.
“No,” he replies obviously. “You just don’t believe in yourself.”
Preston shrugs because that’s nothing new. It isn’t as if constantly being the new kid gave him much confidence.
“Which is why you have me,” Oz says simply, and Preston glances at him slowly. There’s a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.
“I don’t have you,” he replies, trying not to sound quite as sad as he feels. He knows what Oz means, but he also knows what he wishes he meant.
“Yeah, idiot, you do,” Oz says softly, grabbing his chin and pulling him in for an unexpected kiss that catches Preston off guard and he doesn’t think to pull away from Oz’s warm mouth pressed against his, rough fingers sliding up his jaw and to the nape of his neck. It’s Oz that pulls away first again, breath warm against Preston’s bottom lip as they stand close together. “I’ve been trying to tell you that for years. I guess I just didn’t figure out the right way until now.”
A part of Preston simply doesn’t believe this is happening, but it’s the same part that’s told him for years that friends only drag you down, that staying in one place for too long is dangerous, that Oz would always leave him eventually.
Oz is watching him closely, though, eyes searching his for any flicker of unease.
“Don’t you think about running away again. It was hell without you out there.”
“Yeah?”
Oz nods as Preston’s mouth quirks. “People do not want to hire a one-man banjo band no matter how handsome he is.”
Preston can’t help the smile that surfaces as he shakes his head. “I could have told you that.”
“You probably tried to.” Oz shrugs easily. “But you know me, I’m stubborn.”
“Yeah, I know,” Preston agrees and Oz grins, hooking a hand around the back of his neck and jerking him forward.
“It’s one of my more appealing qualities, wouldn’t you say?” he murmurs against Preston’s mouth, and he never gives him the chance to respond as he kisses him for the third time that day.
It’s been two months since Preston has really seen Oz but it only takes an instant for everything to fall back into place, and this time there’s no weed clouding his judgment. For once in his life, he lets himself relax into someone else, gives up control, and he doesn’t regret it as he feels Oz’s tongue licking into his mouth.
“Ha!”
A sudden voice breaks them apart and Preston whips his head around to see Paige standing in the doorway, a smirk beginning to curl her bright red lips, hair still tied in a bun on top of her head.
“Paige!” he says sharply, but she’s already grinning and stepping back out the door.
“I’ll be at Nick’s,” she says cheerily as she leaves, shutting the door behind her.
“Hey, wait!” Preston calls, but Oz catches his arm before he can go after Paige, smoothing his fingers down his absurd tattoo.
“Just let her go,” he says, and Preston glances back, catching Oz’s mischievous smile, and pauses.
“If she gets pregnant, it’s on your head,” he says finally, turning, and Oz nods his head.
“Deal.”
Preston nods too, reaching for the hem of Oz’s shirt and smoothing it down.
“I didn’t miss you, you know.”
Oz just grins and pushes him back against the couch. “Sure you didn’t.”
Preston smiles down at the floor. He’ll admit the truth later but for now, it just doesn’t matter.
*
FIN.
*
Preston watches Oz at the microphone, sitting in the dim spotlight he convinced the barman to put there. He watches the way the light falls down the back of his neck, the curved shadow the collar of his shirt makes, the dark freckle at the base. He’s barely paying attention to what he’s playing, fingers moving on their own accord. He should know these songs backwards and forwards by now anyway so it hardly matters.
Oz’s mouth is brushing against the microphone as he sings, fingers plucking out the notes on his banjo. He doesn’t look over at Preston.
As the song ends along with what little set they’ve managed to procure for that night, Preston unhooks his guitar and watches as Oz hops off the stage and is immediately greeted by a group of girls wanting to talk to him. Preston’s chest contracts almost painfully as he forces himself off the stage and manages to squeeze around them and head for the bar.
The bar looks eerily similar to all its predecessors and Preston climbs up on a stool, nodding down the bartender who is, for once, younger than fifty. He’s chatting with a woman at the other end of the bar but comes over when Preston sighs.
“What can I get you?” he asks with a friendly smile that Preston barely even notices.
He pushes his hair back distractedly and can’t help the way he glances back to the stage where Oz is still talking to the girls. Annoyed at himself, he forces himself to turn away, glancing at the bartender’s smile.
“Just get me a shot of anything strong.”
“Bad day?”
Preston wonders if that phrase is in the bartender handbook or if they just rip it off from movies. He eyes the guy, slightly suspicious, as he grabs a bottle of tequila and pours it into a shot glass on the counter.
Preston wouldn’t say it’s been a good day. He’s definitely had better, and he’s certainly had worse. Of course, none of those days included a kiss with his best friend that neither of them have mentioned all day.
If Preston didn’t remember it clearly, he would think he’d dreamt the whole thing.
He doesn’t reply to the bartender as the man slides over his drink. He doesn’t see the need to since it’s probably obvious what the answer is from the way he downs the shot and sucks on the lime with a grimace.
“You can keep them coming,” he tells him, setting his elbows on the bar and staring at the empty liquor bottles that line the wall.
He’s deaf to the people talking around him, to the glasses clinking against the counter, the bartender flirting with the woman at the end of the bar. He doesn’t look up until he hears a familiar laugh close by, and his stomach twists dangerously.
“My name’s Oz,” Oz says as he steps up to the bar with one of the girls, the prettiest one with red lipstick and sparkly eye shadow. She just giggles as he gestures at the bartender.
“Like the wizard?”
“I have been told I’m pretty magical.”
The girl giggles and Preston can’t help the loud scoff as he turns on his stool to sneer at them both. Oz has his arm around the girl’s waist and her hand is on his shoulder, leaning against him.
“Please, your name is Oswald Isaiah Lewiston. Your initials spell out ‘oil,’” Preston says sharply, ignoring the surprised look on the girl’s face and instead watching the way Oz stares at him for a second, a flicker of confusion before it’s gone and his arm is tightening over the girl’s waist. Preston’s heart tightens too at the movement and he forces himself to look away.
“What do you say we get some air?” Oz asks the girl. “You said you lived nearby?”
The girl’s face lights up and Preston’s lip curls despite himself. He forcefully turns back to the bar and the new shot that’s in front of him.
“Yeah, it’s just around the corner,” she says eagerly, and Oz doesn’t say goodbye to Preston as they leave.
Preston hears them walking away, still talking, but he doesn’t look up until they’re gone. There are still plenty of people in the bar, and the bartender has a whole bottle of tequila left, but Preston doesn’t feel like drinking. Instead, he throws down a few bills and makes his way out of the bar.
The night is warm and the parking lot is a small square crammed with dusty cars. There are only a few orange streetlamps but one flickers feebly and the other lights only a small circle near the front entrance.
Above, Preston can see the stars and he wishes he knew more than just how to find the Big Dipper. Kicking the gravel, Preston heads to their car which fits in perfectly with the rest in the dusty lot. Oz is nowhere to be found but Preston doubted he would be.
He throws his guitar in the backseat but doesn’t get in, instead climbing onto the hood. Leaning back against the windshield, he stares up at the stars. It’s been a while since he’s been alone like this, but it’s not nearly as relieving as it should be. Instead, everything feels worse.
The night is quiet, the noise from bar muffled, occasionally leaking out when someone opens the door. It’s peaceful but Preston feels restless all the same. He doesn’t jump when his phone goes off, ringing shrilly in his pocket and he stretches to fish it out.
Paige’s name is flashing across the screen and Preston sighs. He isn’t really in the mood to hear anymore filtered parental threats. It keeps ringing, though, and he finally presses the button.
“Yeah?” he asks unwillingly, reclining back against the windshield again. There are crickets somewhere - he can hear them chirping in the bushes.
“Preston?” Paige sounds stuffy, voice rough, almost as if she’s been crying, and Preston frowns.
“What’s going on?”
There’s a pause and he hears Paige take a breath and sniff lightly. “Dad just came home.” She pauses again, and Preston sits up slightly. “We’re moving again.”
“Oh, Paige,” he says slowly, hearing her sniff again. He’s not surprised that she’s upset, but she’s always been one of the strongest girls he knows. He doesn’t remember her crying any of the times before. Then again, he’d always been too wrapped up in his own problems to pay attention to his baby sister. She is five years younger than him after all.
“He promised,” she says desperately. “He promised we could stay here.”
Preston doesn’t know what to say. He’s heard that promise many times before and each time, they just moved further than before.
“Well, what’s really the difference anyway?” Preston asks although he knows it’s not the right thing to say, but he doesn’t know if there is a right thing to say here.
“The difference is I actually have friends for once,” Paige says plaintively. “And I know the school and I just signed up for four AP classes and stopped taking ballet because of him! I have a boyfriend. I don’t want to leave!”
“Wait a minute,” Preston says sharply. “Boyfriend? Since when? Why have I not heard about this?”
“Preston,” Paige whines, frustrated. “Don’t try to pretend to be the overprotective big brother now. That’s not the point.”
“Well, I don’t know how to help you,” Preston admits. “If I did, I would have helped myself a long time ago. You know how Dad is. You can’t argue with him.”
“You know, I just thought you’d understand,” Paige replies angrily. “But I guess no one’s been important enough to you to want to stay with them except Oz and Oz doesn’t even know about your feelings.”
“Look, Oz and I are-”
“Just friends, yeah, whatever. You can tell yourself that forever but it doesn’t change anything. At least I have a real reason for wanting to stay.”
Preston can feel a bristle of anger prickling under his skin. “Stop making assumptions about my life. You’re too young to understand what I feel, and staying somewhere for a guy is a stupid idea.”
“You ran away on a road trip for a guy,” Paige accuses him. “You’ve always followed him.”
“That isn’t true,” Preston argues sharply, sitting up and staring hard at the soles of his shoes. “I didn’t even want to be his friend in the beginning.”
He hears Paige’s disgusted scoff and he’s sure she’s rolling her eyes.
“I don’t know why I called you,” she mutters. “You don’t understand anything.”
“Like you’re so much more mature than I am,” Preston scoffs. He wipes at the dirt on the edge of his shoe.
“At least I’m not afraid to try for what I want.”
“Uh, ballet?” Preston reminds her obviously, and she growls in frustration.
“You’re useless!” The phone clicks as she hangs up and Preston sighs, ending the call too.
A burst of noise fills the night as the door to the bar swings open and a few people come out. They cross the parking lot and disappear towards town, not even noticing Preston on the car.
Alone in the empty parking lot, Preston can’t help but feel that things are not going the right way.
*
The landscape outside the window is still thick-green masses of trees despite the fact that they’re probably less than fifty miles from the ocean and heading north. Preston has seen the same billboard advertising some kind of Mexican theme park five times in the past hundred miles and the radio has been on static since they left Georgia.
They’ve barely talked that morning and Preston spends most of his time staring out the window. He hears Oz shifting, fiddling uselessly with the radio, rolling down and up the window. He glances over once, but Oz’s eyes are on the road.
As they pass the sign welcoming them to North Carolina, Preston sighs. He can’t get Paige’s voice out of his head, accusing him of all the things he’d never own up to. She’s right, of course. She always is, no matter how annoying he finds it.
There’s a dead cat on the road as Preston looks out but it’s gone in a swoosh, lost with everything else on the roadside.
“I think I need to go home,” he says, eyes out the window, and he sees Oz’s sharp movement, but when he looks over, Oz is just watching the road.
“Right now?” he asks, and Preston pushes at his hair.
He’s pretty sure that Oz is never going to mention the other night again, but the awkwardness is always there now. He wants to say something but he doesn’t know what and maybe it’s just better this way. He’s been expecting something like this (although definitely not this exactly) to happen. He’s been waiting for it since the first time Oz talked to him.
“Soon,” he says. “I’m sure there’s an airport somewhere.”
Oz frowns slightly, glancing at Preston. He doesn’t say anything, though, and Preston pushes away the uneasy clench to his stomach as they continue down the road.
*
“It’s a beach,” Preston deadpans as he stares out the front window at the beige, sandy spread of the beach before them, the ocean in the short distance. There aren’t many people there, but it is a weekday and barely noon.
“Indubitably, dear Watson,” Oz replies with a horrific English accent, already swinging the door open and stepping out.
Preston follows reluctantly but only because he’s tired of sitting. It isn’t cold like the beaches he’s used to at home and the wind coming off the water is actually pleasant considering the sun overhead. He’s forced to take off his shoes as Oz leads the way onto the sand.
He doesn’t know why they’re there when they could be looking for an airport and saving themselves the pain of drawing this out any longer.
“I’ve missed the ocean,” Oz says as he stands in an inch of water, jeans rolled up to his ankles. A seagull cries sharply overhead and Preston squints into the sun.
It seems ridiculous that just a few days ago, he kissed Oz in that park, just a few days ago that Oz actually looked at him as more than a friend even if he’d been high at the time. A twinge of pain steals through his heart as he stares out at the ocean and Oz stands beside him.
Oz hasn't said a thing about it and it's been three days.
Preston doesn't reply, turning away and walking off down the beach. The sand is warm underfoot, soft and sinking down with each step he takes and he doesn't look back. He doesn't want to look back because he knows what he'll see and he doesn't need to.
“Where are you going?” Oz asks a few seconds later as Preston trudges through the sand in no particular direction.
“I don't know,” Preston replies shortly, not looking at him although he knows Oz is right beside him, close enough to touch if he wanted. “Maybe I'll walk into the ocean and see what happens if I never stop.”
The silence is covered up by the whistling of the wind past his ears.
“That's not funny,” Oz says after a long moment and Preston just shrugs. He's not serious, but he has been before on those days when it just felt like nothing in his life was going right. It's been years since he even thought about that, that crushing feeling of loneliness that used to fill his chest every night before he went to sleep, that desperate longing for something he could never have.
Oz is looking at him as if he's never truly seen him before now, a strange flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, and Preston hates it. It makes him feel as if this is his fault when it's not. It's not his fault, not this time.
“What's wrong with you?” Oz asks finally, grabbing Preston's arm as Preston tries to walk away from him, to put some distance between himself and the weight slowly crushing him. Oz's fingers press into his forearm, pressing against the dark ink of his tattoo, strong and holding him back, stopping him.
“Nothing,” Preston replies shortly, pushing his hair out of his eyes and wishing Oz would let go. “I just don't want to be here.”
“Here on this beach?”
“Here on this beach, in that car, on this trip!” He sighs, frustrated, and Oz's fingers slip away from his arm. “It's been three fucking months and where are we? Nowhere. I just can't do this anymore.”
His eyes meet Oz's and he wishes he would understand, but he knows that he doesn't. The kiss meant nothing to Oz, had probably never crossed his mind before that moment, and it's not crossing his mind now.
“So you're really done?” Oz asks slowly and Preston swallows, eyes following the way the wind blows a lock of Oz's hair into his eyes and he doesn't even notice, hazel eyes staring at Preston.
Preston looks away, biting his lip and breathing through the constriction in his throat. “I have to be. It's time to grow up, Oz.”
Oz laughs then, short and quiet, like it's a joke. “You were never a kid, Pres. I tried my hardest, I really did.”
Preston frowns, watching the waves sweeping onto the shore, shorebirds poking around in the swirling seaweed. Of all the patience he's had for Oz, which has really not been that much, always expecting him to come to his senses and leave him behind, he can't just wait for him this time.
“You failed then,” he says as another wave crashes down and the birds take flight, scattering into the sun.
*
His mother looks around his tiny dorm room, hands on her hips and a twist to her lips that Preston has seen a thousand times before. Crowded with his boxes, of which there really aren't many, the room looks smaller than it is although it's not exactly huge to begin with. The walls are wood-paneled and the bed looks well-worn by years of past students. The room is stuffed with a double set of everything from the beds to the desks and sets of drawers, shoved awkwardly in corners to make space to actually move around.
“How did you get so much stuff?” Paige asks as she lugs the last suitcase into the room and dumps it near the door. “And why do I have to carry it?”
“You're really going to live here?” his mother asks and Preston doesn't sigh. Instead, he looks around at the boxes and the clean, empty surfaces of the two desks pushed back to back. They've got dents and scratches on the edges but he loves them even more for it.
“Yeah,” he replies simply, seeing Paige roll her eyes behind their mother's back.
“Come on,” she says, tugging at her mother's arm. “We still have to buy my new leotard.”
Preston's mother still has the twist to her lips, though. It's slightly disapproving, a hint of worry behind it, and Preston waits uneasily for the lecture about doing well in school and not messing up after everything they've been through.
“Yo, Pres!” comes a new voice, though, and Preston's heart jumps a little, half-excited, half-scared.
Oz appears at the door, a grin plastered on his face and he barely knocks on the frame before stepping inside, looking around the room.
“You got here okay. Awesome!”
Preston's mother doesn't look as though she agrees but Oz doesn't even notice. Behind Oz, Paige is making kissy faces and Preston glares, vowing to kill her the next chance he gets. He stops glaring, though, when Oz slings an arm around his shoulders, still grinning widely.
“Don't worry, Mrs. Chambers,” he assures her, “I'll take good care of Preston.”
Her eyebrow goes up and Preston can see the disapproval etched in the expression but she doesn't say anything, and he prays that they can just get through this day without any incidents. His dad is downstairs probably interrogating the campus police on their security and Preston just wants this over with. He doesn't need the messy goodbyes.
“Mom,” Paige says again, tugging at her sleeve impatiently. “My leotard.”
His mom ignores her for a moment, gazing at Preston. “Preston,” she starts, and Preston sighs.
“I know, I know. Study hard and don't mess anything up. Don't stay up late or get addicted to video games. Go to class and don't procrastinate. Did I forget anything?”
“Yes,” she says after a second and Preston braces himself for some new facet of the same spiel he's heard for years. “I love you, and I'm proud of you.”
Taken aback, Preston can't say anything as she hugs him and steps back. Paige is already out the door and waiting in the hall. Oz grins next to him, arm still around his shoulders.
As she leaves, stepping out, and Paige's call of, “Bye, Pres! I'm taking your room,” coming back to him, Preston lets out a slow breath of relief.
“So,” Oz says after a second as they stand there in the cluttered dorm room. “Are you ready for this?”
“No,” Preston answers honestly and Oz just grins.
*
“Thanks,” Preston mutters as the woman behind the counter hands him his boarding pass and the conveyor belt reels his suitcase slowly back behind her. Turning away, he's met with Oz's furrowed eyebrows, and he just looks away, fingers tightening over the handle of his guitar case.
They don't speak as he leads the way towards the security checkpoint, putting it off a little longer. They're surrounded by people, but all Preston feels is the tension between him and Oz. As they reach the wide, open area crisscrossed with dividers, the line winding serpentine-like back towards them, Preston hesitates.
Oz sighs as Preston pauses, fingers tightening over the ticket in his hand.
“Don't look like that,” Preston says finally when Oz frowns at the line. “We knew this was coming.”
“What was coming?” Oz asks, arching an eyebrow, and Preston is jostled into him as a family with too many suitcases comes rushing past to get in line. Extricating himself, Preston moves off to the side and Oz follows, a confused look on his face.
Preston sighs, shaking his head. “This, our friendship. I mean, really, I never expected it to last.”
Oz looks even more confused now. “Wait, what?”
“And that kiss was just... just the nail in the coffin, I guess. I don't know what I was thinking. I was stupid. I should have known better what with my life pattern.” He smiles sardonically despite Oz's frown deepening. “So you're free, you're off the hook. You don't have to deal with me anymore.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Oz demands a second later, staring at Preston. “Off the hook of our friendship? You think I'm just going to abandon you after all this time?”
Preston shrugs darkly. “It had to happen sometime; you just took longer than anyone else. But it doesn't matter. It's happening now.”
“Are you-you're insane,” Oz says simply. “Why would I do that?”
“Come on,” Preston replies scornfully, fingers crumpling the edges of the ticket in his hand and he hears a voice on the loudspeaker announcing a last boarding call for a flight to Miami. “You were only friends with me because you felt sorry for me, and after last week, it's obvious I'm just in over my head. I let myself get in over my head with you and it was stupid.”
“Are you talking about that kiss?” Oz asks slowly and Preston shakes his head, sighing.
“We were high, I know. I know. That's the problem, or maybe just the point. I don't know. But why bother pretending we didn't ruin everything? So we'll just go our separate ways, okay?”
Oz stares at him incredulously, but Preston doesn't see what's so shocking. He's just trying to avoid an ugly scene and he can already feel it deep down inside, in the tremble of his fingers.
“Look, it didn't mean anything,” Oz says and Preston sighs.
“Of course it didn't for you,” he replies, a hint of scorn tinting his voice, and he glances at the line for security. It's gotten longer as they've stood there.
Oz frowns, eyebrows furrowing as he searches Preston's face, and Preston looks away.
“Are you saying it meant something for you?” he asks slowly, and Preston doesn't want to answer, but he doesn't need to for Oz to get it. He sees Oz's expression change slowly, understanding dawning in his eyes followed by a spark of unease, and it's that that makes Preston's heart contract and he takes a step back.
“I have to get my plane,” he says instead, and if it comes out cold, he doesn't correct himself.
“Wait, wait, wait a minute,” Oz says quickly, and Preston doesn't wince at the sharpness in his voice. “You can't just walk away. Not after... that.”
“Well, I am,” Preston says firmly. “So you don't have to deal with it or me.”
He takes another step back and Oz's face is strangely blank. Preston tells himself he knew this was coming, tells himself that it's better this way for both of them. He's not sure how much he believes it, but anything is better than the way his chest feels like it's about suffocate him. He doesn't let Paige's annoying voice talking about running from his problems get in his head. He's doing what's best for both of them. It's time to move on.
Even though he tells himself it's for the best, he can't help the sharp stab of disappointment when Oz doesn't stop him from getting in line for security. He doesn't look back until he's through the detectors, but Oz is gone and only strangers pass the place he'd been standing. Sighing, he turns away. It isn't as though he'd expected anything different after all.
*
“Paige!” Preston snaps angrily as he trips over the book bag dumped carelessly on the floor and nearly falls headfirst into the coat rack by the door. Frustrated, he kicks it out of the way and shuts the door behind him. “Don't you remember the rules of this agreement?”
“No bodily injury?” Paige's voice pipes up from the couch where she's flipping through the channels idly and barely glances back at Preston near the door.
Huffing, Preston pulls off his coat and hangs it on the beat-up looking rack. Paige's shoes are in a pile near the door too and he reminds himself to dump them all on her bed later.
“I just had to be the nice, older brother,” he mutters to himself, heading for the fridge and staring at the woefully empty shelves. “Why couldn't I have just let you suffer like I had to?”
“Because you love me,” Paige replies sagely, turning around on the couch and tossing her long, blond hair over her shoulder. “Besides, it's only for this year until I finish school.”
Preston doesn't reply as he grabs a can of soda and shuts the fridge.
The apartment is small with only two miniscule bedrooms and one bathroom that is overflowing with too many hair and skin products. The furniture is all second-hand and there are stains on the carpet from previous tenants, but it's an apartment and it's what Preston can afford at the moment.
Paige is watching him now, head tilted to the side, a curious tilt to her eyebrows.
“Bad day at work?”
“Bad day to be awake,” Preston mutters, cracking open the soda and listening to the fizz die down slowly. “I can't believe I-you know, it's like the universe actually hates me.”
“Probably does,” Paige agrees. “Like karma.”
Preston arches a skeptical eyebrow. “And what is this karma for?”
Paige shrugs, rolling off the couch and padding to where here book bag is now lying in a crumpled heap by the door. She pushes the books back in and picks up a few scattered pens. “I don't know.”
Rolling his eyes, Preston leans back against the couch, watching her haul the bag up onto her slim shoulder.
“Don't you have class soon?”
“Half an hour,” she replies. “And I'm staying later for extra practice with Madame.”
Preston eyes her suspiciously as she heads for her bedroom. He follows, pausing in the doorway. The room is small and even more when cluttered with all of Paige's things. The bedspread is white with little purple flowers and the walls are plastered with ballet posters.
“You're staying after for more practice, not to sneak off with Nick?”
Paige's eyebrow arches defiantly, a hand rising to her hip. “Yes,” she replies challengingly. “I thought you liked Nick.”
Preston leans against the door frame, crossing his arms. “You remember the other part of our agreement?”
Paige rolls her eyes, digging through the pile of clothes on the bed and coming up with a pink leotard. “No boys when you're not around. Geez, I'm not gonna get pregnant. That would ruin everything. You think pregnant girls get into ABA?”
“I don't know anything about the American Ballet Academy,” Preston replies, “but that's not the point. Mom and Dad only agreed to this because we guilted them into it, and if you get pregnant or drop out of school or if anything goes wrong at all, it'll be on my head.”
“Would you relax?” Paige asks, rolling her eyes as she stuffs the leotard into a gym bag. “Nothing is going to happen. I'm not an idiot.”
“You're still my little sister,” Preston points out, and Paige shakes her head, searching for her ballet slippers.
“Funny how now I'm your little sister but two months ago, you couldn't care less about all this.”
“That's not true,” Preston protests. “I've always cared about you.”
“Not enough to actually come back and get a real job for me. What happened to Oz anyway?”
“Oz?” Preston asks, heart stumbling over a beat. Paige nods.
“Yeah, your best friend? The one you haven't talked to in two months?”
Preston frowns, eyebrows furrowed. “Why do you think that?”
“Because you haven't called him and he hasn't called you, and you just showed up at home two months ago with no explanation and you haven't mentioned him at all.” Paige arches a challenging eyebrow.
“I-don't you have class to get to?” Preston asks sharply, turning and walking away from the door, but Paige follows him, gym back swung over her shoulder.
“What happened? Did you guys have a fight?”
“No,” Preston replies shortly, wishing she would go away.
“Did you finally tell him you love him and he rejected you?”
It's shocking, how fast the pain shoots through his heart, like an old wound being ripped open by a jagged knife. He falters in his step towards the living room.
“Paige, stop it!” he snaps sharply and she frowns.
“I was just curious.” She eyes Preston, who's turned away from her.
Preston can feel her gaze but he doesn't turn, staring unseeingly at the television in front of him. It's some talk show that he doesn't watch, full of people complaining about their problems and looking for sympathy. Preston isn't looking for sympathy. He just wants to forget what happened this summer.
“There's a company meeting tomorrow,” he says finally, eyes on the TV. “So I'll be home late.” He looks at Paige, who looks both confused and suspicious. “Nick stays one hundred feet from this apartment at all times.”
Paige immediately scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Just 'cause you're not getting any-”
“Paige,” he warns. The thought of Paige actually being with a boy is something he never wants to think about in his lifetime. She will always be the eight year old dancing around the living room in a tutu.
“Fine, fine,” she replies unwillingly, picking a pair of shoes out from the pile and slipping them on. “But I bet if you'd had a boyfriend in high school, you would have snuck him home.”
As she leaves, the door squeaking into place behind her, Preston wonders if that would be true, but the honest conclusion is that he never had a boyfriend for a reason, and it's that thought that causes him to sigh and flop down in front of the TV at five in the afternoon and gorge himself on meaningless talk shows.
*
Preston’s pencil tapping against his notebook is the only sound in the room aside from the droning voice of the bank manager reciting company policy and explaining the new interest rates. Half the people around the oblong table have glazed expressions and the woman next to him is gazing at her perfectly manicured nails before shooting Preston’s pencil a sharp look.
Preston lets it fall from between his fingers and it drops and rolls off the page.
The clock ticks further and further past six and Preston tries to suppress a yawn. Across the table, Willow, the girl who generally works the counter next to him, sends him a sympathetic look as the manager drones on.
Half an hour later, Preston is climbing the three flights of stairs to the apartment and unlocking the door. He manages to avoid tripping on the bag dropped near the door and lets the door shut a little harder than it needs to behind him. He dumps his own bag on the stool near the counter.
“Paige!” he calls, grabbing the phone book out from under a pile of old magazines, mostly Cosmo and the occasional Rolling Stone, and flipping open to the restaurant section.
“She went to ballet class.”
It isn’t a voice Preston is expecting and he freezes, one hand in the middle of turning a page and it flutters down as his heart begins to race and he turns around slowly.
Oz is leaning against the back of the couch as if he’s been there a hundred times and this is all old hat. He hasn’t changed since Preston last saw him except maybe he’s gotten a haircut. He’s wearing the same shirt he wore all summer and his flip-flops are worn as he stands there, waiting for Preston to say something, but Preston doesn’t.
“She said I could wait,” Oz goes on after a second. “Nice suit.” His eyes are on the buttons of Preston’s jacket and Preston jerks to movement, pulling it off.
“What are you doing here?” he asks as he lays the jacket over the stool on top of his briefcase.
Oz hasn’t moved from the couch but he uncrosses his feet and spreads his arms. “Came to see your new digs. Definite step up from a car backseat.”
There’s no anger in his voice but the words still sting somehow as Preston looks away, like it’s his fault they’re in this mess. It kind of is, though.
“And you’re living with Paige,” Oz says, watching Preston carefully. “A surprising turn of events. How’d you even manage it?”
Preston shrugs. He doesn’t know what to do with Oz there. He’d hoped this day would never come although he’d known it would. Oz didn’t give up easily.
“I appealed to their guilty conscience,” he replies. “And I had to swear she’d keep her grades up and not get pregnant and at least get into some sort of college.”
Oz nods slowly, glancing around the sparsely-furnished apartment. “And here was me thinking you wanted to get out of here.”
Preston looks over sharply but Oz doesn’t react, merely arching an eyebrow. He pushes off the couch finally and steps over to where Preston is still standing by the counter, the phone book splayed open before him.
“Let’s cut the crap, Preston. You know why I’m here.”
“No, actually, I don’t,” Preston says, stepping around Oz and heading for his bedroom where he toes off his shoes and starts to untuck his starchy, white shirt. Oz stops in the doorway behind him.
“Okay,” Oz says as Preston rummages in his drawers for a shirt that doesn’t make him look like a salesman. “But I’m pretty sure you do, otherwise you wouldn’t be trying so hard to ignore me.”
Turning around, a shirt gripped in his hand, he glares at Oz. “You didn’t have to come back here,” he points out, throwing the shirt back in the drawer. “There was no reason to. We said all we needed to months ago.”
“No, we didn’t,” Oz objects as Preston passes him back to the living room and he follows doggedly. “You just dropped a bomb and left.”
“Well, I,” Preston says, but he doesn’t have a response for that, and he huffs, yanking open the fridge door, more for something to do than anything else.
“You’re a coward,” Oz says plainly and Preston frowns at the half-empty carton of milk. Straightening up, he turns around, slamming the door shut behind him.
“What?”
Oz’s eyes are hard, arms crossed but he drops them down to his side as they stand four feet from each other in that room that’s always been small but seems claustrophobic now.
“You always run away and push people away like you think they don’t care about you, and it would be really easy for me to just walk away and let you go on thinking that.”
Preston looks away then, a burst of hot guilt filling his stomach. Oz’s eyes have softened and he takes a step forward, but Preston shifts back, away from him. Oz pauses.
“I didn’t forget the kiss,” he says quietly. “I was trying to ignore it.”
“I figured,” Preston mutters. There’s no reason why Oz would want to think about it, nothing good that could have come from it. “Why would you want to anyway.”
Oz hesitates, running a hand through his hair. “It’s more about why I didn’t want to think about it.”
Preston frowns, wishing he wasn’t stuck in the kitchen, but there’s no way to get around Oz to the living room.
“Pres, you’re my best friend and you’ve been my best friend for almost five years, and I never wanted anything to mess it up. Honestly, I always thought if anyone did, it would be you.”
“Your prediction came true, then,” Preston replies sardonically, but Oz shakes his head.
“No, no, no,” he says, turning finally and walking back to the couch, hands rubbing at his face as though he’s having trouble getting his point across. Preston steps out of the kitchen carefully. “I mean, yeah, you did have a hand in all this, but I let you do it. I always knew that if you were going to stay, I would have to make you. Why do you think I just pushed my way into your life? Because you would never do it on your own.”
Preston shakes his head, confused.
“At that airport,” Oz says, staring plaintively at Preston, “I just let you go and didn’t even try to stop you, and I can’t stop kicking myself for being so stupid.”
“There was nothing you could have done,” Preston admits slowly, although his heart is still beating wildly against his Adam’s apple.
Oz looks at him and the pause lengthens between them.
“Actually, I think there was one thing,” Oz replies finally, stepping up to Preston, and Preston doesn’t step back this time. He can’t bring himself to say anything or move, eyes flicking over Oz’s face as it draws nearer.
Preston isn’t shaking as Oz closes the distance, mouth pressing to his slowly. It isn’t like the first time. It’s much too careful, like Oz is afraid Preston is going to break if he presses too hard.
“I was too afraid to do that,” Oz murmurs when he pulls back and Preston lets out a shaky breath.
He isn’t sure what to do, if there’s anything he should do. He has no idea what any of it means, and he’s never been the brave one to ask.
Oz is watching him, hands by his sides, waiting. “Aren’t you gonna say anything?”
“I… don’t know what to say,” Preston says finally, unease nipping at his stomach as they stand there.
“If you tell me you’ve finally got a boyfriend after all this time, I swear to God-”
“No, of course I don’t,” Preston interrupts him. “I can’t even be friends with anyone let alone boyfriends.”
“Yes, you can,” Oz insists, and Preston wants to believe him but it’s been so many years of that little voice in his head telling him that friends are a waste of time. “You always could. You’re just…”
“A loser?” Preston fills in the blank, not missing the way Oz rolls his eyes.
“No,” he replies obviously. “You just don’t believe in yourself.”
Preston shrugs because that’s nothing new. It isn’t as if constantly being the new kid gave him much confidence.
“Which is why you have me,” Oz says simply, and Preston glances at him slowly. There’s a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth.
“I don’t have you,” he replies, trying not to sound quite as sad as he feels. He knows what Oz means, but he also knows what he wishes he meant.
“Yeah, idiot, you do,” Oz says softly, grabbing his chin and pulling him in for an unexpected kiss that catches Preston off guard and he doesn’t think to pull away from Oz’s warm mouth pressed against his, rough fingers sliding up his jaw and to the nape of his neck. It’s Oz that pulls away first again, breath warm against Preston’s bottom lip as they stand close together. “I’ve been trying to tell you that for years. I guess I just didn’t figure out the right way until now.”
A part of Preston simply doesn’t believe this is happening, but it’s the same part that’s told him for years that friends only drag you down, that staying in one place for too long is dangerous, that Oz would always leave him eventually.
Oz is watching him closely, though, eyes searching his for any flicker of unease.
“Don’t you think about running away again. It was hell without you out there.”
“Yeah?”
Oz nods as Preston’s mouth quirks. “People do not want to hire a one-man banjo band no matter how handsome he is.”
Preston can’t help the smile that surfaces as he shakes his head. “I could have told you that.”
“You probably tried to.” Oz shrugs easily. “But you know me, I’m stubborn.”
“Yeah, I know,” Preston agrees and Oz grins, hooking a hand around the back of his neck and jerking him forward.
“It’s one of my more appealing qualities, wouldn’t you say?” he murmurs against Preston’s mouth, and he never gives him the chance to respond as he kisses him for the third time that day.
It’s been two months since Preston has really seen Oz but it only takes an instant for everything to fall back into place, and this time there’s no weed clouding his judgment. For once in his life, he lets himself relax into someone else, gives up control, and he doesn’t regret it as he feels Oz’s tongue licking into his mouth.
“Ha!”
A sudden voice breaks them apart and Preston whips his head around to see Paige standing in the doorway, a smirk beginning to curl her bright red lips, hair still tied in a bun on top of her head.
“Paige!” he says sharply, but she’s already grinning and stepping back out the door.
“I’ll be at Nick’s,” she says cheerily as she leaves, shutting the door behind her.
“Hey, wait!” Preston calls, but Oz catches his arm before he can go after Paige, smoothing his fingers down his absurd tattoo.
“Just let her go,” he says, and Preston glances back, catching Oz’s mischievous smile, and pauses.
“If she gets pregnant, it’s on your head,” he says finally, turning, and Oz nods his head.
“Deal.”
Preston nods too, reaching for the hem of Oz’s shirt and smoothing it down.
“I didn’t miss you, you know.”
Oz just grins and pushes him back against the couch. “Sure you didn’t.”
Preston smiles down at the floor. He’ll admit the truth later but for now, it just doesn’t matter.
*
FIN.