I Can’t Prove This Makes Any Sense
Title: I Can’t Prove This Makes Any Sense
Characters: Bill Kaulitz, Nate Novarro, Gerard Way, Lyn-Z, Demj Lovato, OFC.
Pairing: Nate/OFC, Bill Kaulitz/ OFC, Demi/Nate, Gerard/ LynZ
Rating: PG-13
Warning: This is not in any way realistic. In what AU would Demi, Nate, Bill and Gerard even be MENTIONED in the same sentence?
Author: Me! (xmexandxyoux)
A/N: Rachel gave me this prompt:
dancing fancy pirouettes, bill kaulitz, demi lovato, ballet!nate, and gerard’s sister as a ballerina.
Second A/N: Ballet!Nate spawned from "I’m Yours", my Gabe/Vicky-T.
Credit: Panic at the Disco for their lyric in my prompt and the title.
Disclaimer: This is complete AU. Except for the fact that Gerard/LynZ are married.
Summary: "So let me get this straight. You can’t stop thinking about this emo-goth-prettyboy-stalker-weirdo when you have a very cute guy at your command who would steal you the moon if that was what you wanted." Demi couldn’t believe her ears.
"You an’ Novarro have a couple more minutes and then Linds wants to practice her shredding, ‘kay?" Gerard informed Brooke, as if practicing bass in a ballet studio (it has great acoustics, okay?) was normal. Brooke and Nate finished their routine quicker than usual and changed out of their dancers’ garb (beaded peach-colored leotard, Brooke’s, tights, thankfully black, Nate’s) and into their street clothes.
"See you at home, ‘Gee!" Brooke stepped out onto the sidewalks of her New Jersey suburb, her hot pink duffle bag hanging on her arm. A stranger emerged from the shadows on the side of the studio that her brother had inherited from their late mother, and approached her tentatively.
"You know, leather jackets are always badass, and on you, it’s no exception, but it kind of kills the whole delicate-flower-graceful-dancer persona." His German accent was slightly mocking, his lips curling into something resembling a grin.
"Are you . . . stalking me?" Brooke accused, gripping her bag more securely. The dark kohl smudged around his eyes was only exacerbated by the dusky almost-dark.
"No," he lied blatantly, his pale skin adopting a rather pretty flush that clashed with his all-black ensemble. "I just . . . happen to see you every day on my way home, dancing fancy pirouettes and such." He knew she knew he was omitting the truth, the truth being that he passed the studio every day on purpose, mesmerized by her grace, half-hoping she wouldn’t see him peeking through the big window in front, half-hoping she would.
"‘You just so happen’, eh? Is that code for ‘ I go out of my way to spy on you’? I see you peeking when you think I’m not looking! What’s your deal?" She looked him over, seemingly unimpressed by his clothes, his pencil-straight hair, the midnight blue polish on his nails.
"Your dancing doesn’t do your split-personality justice. I mean, we have elegant Swan Lake and then we have ‘Miss-Don’t-Piss-Me-Off-Or-I’ll-Kick-Your-Ass-With-My-High-Tops’."
"You’re pretty." Brooke responded, taking offense, her voice filled with malice. Bill chuckled wryly.
"You think Robin Hood, Man in Tights in there is more man than I am?"
"You don’t even know me!" Brooke sputtered, wondering who the hell this guy thought he was.
"Hi, I’m Bill. Now you know me." Bill replied. Brooke stalked away, huffing.
"Goodbye, Bill!"
"Who are you?" he called to her swiftly retreating back.
"Someone you’ll never know!" she shouted, not looking back.
~
"Why don’t you go out with Nate? He’s ridiculously smitten with you." Gerard pressed over take-out that night.
"There are so many things wrong with what you just said. Firstly, since when did you become Dr. Phil?" Gerard cringed at the jab. "Secondly, I don’t date guys in tights. I don’t care if I’ve defended him in the past, I don’t care how dedicated he is to the art, I don’t date dance guys. Thirdly, how do you know? I thought he was gay." Gerard choked briefly on his egg roll.
"He’s not gay! He’s in love with you, have you not noticed? Even Lindsay mentioned it to me, and she’s kinda slow with the details, you know." Lindsay smacked her husband and in turn, he looked at her and they had a conversation only with their eyes. Gerard apologized; he didn’t mean harm and Lindsay kissed him: apology accepted. Brooke decided that the ideal relationship was one in which you didn’t even have to talk.
"So I’m the only one on Earth who hasn’t realized this?" Brooke poked at her General Tso’s, feeling a bit sick. He brother and almost-sister shrugged.
"Yeah, pretty much."
~
"So let me get this straight. You can’t stop thinking about this emo-goth-prettyboy-stalker-weirdo when you have a very cute guy at your command who would steal you the moon if that was what you wanted." Demi couldn’t believe her ears. She was partial to gossip, but she had her eye on Nate, and even she had to feign disbelief that Brooke didn’t like dancers- big surprise, for Brooke had dated her fair share of boys with that common interest, all turned out to be playing for the other team- she was going to get him.
"Yeah, except he’s the kind of male-model pretty, not the Fabio kind of pretty you seem to be implying." Brooke corrected, although she couldn’t believe she was saying this about him.
"Well, I think it’s kinda cute that you have a little not-so-secret admirer." Lindsay piped in from the doorway.
"Zee! Did you not see the sign on the door?" Brooke exclaimed. Lindsay shrugged.
"It was open."
"What, like, a centimeter?"
"That’s not important." Lindsey dismissed the subject of her snooping with a wave of her hand. "The important thing is," She was interrupted by a call from downstairs.
"Linds’, where’s my sketchbook?" Lindsey smiled apologetically.
"The man is thirty-one and he still can’t keep track of his shit."
"That’s what he has you for."
"Coming, Sweetie! We’ll continue this later." She whispered to Brooke and left the room to go assist her poor husband.
~
"Brooke, what’s with you today?" Nate asked, concerned. "You’ve been off this whole practice!"
"I just have a lot on my mind." She muttered under her breath.
"Like what? Things not going well with Gee and Zee?" Nate snickered inwardly at his ‘brilliant’ couple name joke and then remembered the problem at hand.
"No, they’re great, but I’m just pondering something he said."
"Which was?" Nate prodded. Brooke forced herself to look at his face.
"He said you’re in love with me." Nate looked down at his bare feet, shuffling them with sheepish embarrassment.
"Oh."
" ‘Oh’ is right." She stared at him, as if to say, "what do you have to say for yourself?", but the words wouldn’t emerge. Nate decided to divert the center-of-attention with a digression.
"What was with you and that guy yesterday?"
"What guy?"
"The one who looked gay."
"He did not! And he’s no one." Brooke failed to convince Nate. Nate tsk-tsked and Lindsey marched in, sporting what she and Gerard had deemed her "ass-kicking boots," her bass slung across her chest.
~
Hmm, Nate wondered. If I were a gay gothic weirdo stalker, where would I hide?
Twenty minutes later . . .
Nate tiptoed down the dark alley, scared out of his wits. Apparently Brooke had stayed behind for some reason or another, so he was left to scout out the true-love-stealing-stranger himself. Why were dark alleys so dark?
"BOO!" Suddenly it was completely dark. Nate screamed but then realized it was only someone’s hands over his eyes. "You scream like a girl, man." Demi jumped off Nate’s back and wiped her now-sweaty hands on her pants. "Why were you in a dark alley, anyway? It’s almost dark." Nate shuddered.
"Promise you won’t tell Bee?" Demi held up her pinky in response. "I’m looking for her emo boy toy." Demi snickered at the absurdity of Brooke having a "boy toy."
"Oh, by the way, Gerard was looking for you a minute ago. Something about dinner."
"See you ‘round."
~
"This is good, Zee." Nate gesticulated to his sub sandwich. Lindsey beamed. She’d never admit it at gunpoint, but she actually sort of liked the role of Domestic Housewife, even if that role didn’t involve a frilly apron and perpetual dishpan hands. There was the low rumble of a Harley outside. The motor switched off and seconds later, the doorbell rang.
"I’ll get it!" Brooke rushed to answer the door, her favorite household activity by far. However, this time, she wished she’d let it ring. "Family and friend, meet Stalker. " Brooke paused for dramatic effect. "How’d you find me, anyway?"
"Yellow Pages." Bill wore a Cheshire Cat grin and feigned innocence.
"Stalker . . . " Gerard managed in between mock-coughs.
"Aww," Lindsey let out an uncharacteristic coo, receiving A Look from Gerard. "You never did that with me!"
"That was because I knew where you lived!" Gerard sputtered. Lindsey shrugged, considering. Brooke shut the door behind Bill and they both sat down, a bit awkwardly, because he hadn’t been invited and such. "What, you think this guy is better for Brooke than Nate?"
"Excuse me, dear, but he has a name. His name is Bill and he might not look so sweet, but since when are we judging the outside and not the inside?" Gerard visibly bristled.
"You think a boy who commits federal offenses is suitable for my sister?"
"Watching a beautiful girl dance is not a felony!"
"It is if she doesn’t know!" Broke cleared her throat.
"You guys know I can hear you, right?" They glanced at her and went back to discussing the matter at hand.
"And besides," Gerard continued. "Bill looks like-"
"Enough about the looks! I haven’t decided how I feel, and you two have no right to argue over a decision that isn’t yours!" Brooke hollered. "Nate, Bill." She got up from the table with a flourish and Bill and Nate obeyed, even if it was only because they were a bit scared of her. "Why did you follow me?" Brooke shrilled outside her bedroom door.
"Well, because you told us to-"
"OUT!" Brooke pushed them out, leaving them to attempt at small talk and feign masculinity.
"So, how about those . . . " Nate tried the obvious male cliche’ before realizing neither of them knew any sports teams.
~
Meanwhile, in her room, Brooke paced frantically, fretting over how to let Nate down easily without revealing Demi’s crush and how to explain to Bill that she didn’t really need a boyfriend at this point in time and she needed to focus on her dancing- mostly true, fair enough. Lindsey burst through the door without knocking, as always, and steadied Brooke.
"Just tell them."
"But that’s rude . . . "
"Fuck rude. Bill, Nate!" Lindsey cupped her handed over her mouth and bellowed as if she were calling across a crowded room and not through a door. They walked in, both staring at their feet anxiously. "Okay, you." Lindsey pointed a plum fingernail at Nate. "She doesn’t like you, her best friend does. And you," Lindsey winked saucily at Bill. "Brooke’s trying to think of an excuse not to like you but she really does and it’s all bullshit." Lindsey’s hands went to her hips and she surveyed the three aghast faces, triumphant. "There, that’s over with. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a pie to bake." Brooke grabbed her hand in hindrance.
"What did you do?"
"You’ll thank me later." Lindsey replied and made her hasty escape, yelling across the house to Gerard, asking him what kind of pie he wanted.
"So." Brooke began, awkward and sheepish.
"I should go. To Demi’s." Brooke smiled, not sure if that was a positive thing but sure she’d hear about it at length later. The second the door closed after Nate, Bill kissed Brooke long and sweet and didn’t stop until some time later when they were interrupted by Lindsey. She hadn’t knocked. Again.
"Who wants pie?" Lindsey singsonged, apron and all.