play crack the sky [1/3]
It all starts because of a Louis Vuitton belt. Danny becomes friends with Alex and Jack on the second day of freshman year. He’s sitting in Intro to Philosophy with his notebook out and his messenger bag tucked underneath his legs when they climb over him into the last available seats and promptly start a rousing game of Hangman instead of paying attention to the lecturer. Actually, he doesn’t really blame them. This lecturer is about as interesting as watching grass grow, and the grass would be better to look at. So he watches them out of the corner of his eye and three things immediately become clear about the two of them: First, they’ve got the raunchiest sense of humour of anyone he’s ever met. Second, they’ve obviously known each other a long time to be able to do this wordlessly. Third, they’re very definitely together in the romantic sense. He can tell from the way they look at each other. Plus, they’re kind of holding hands under the desk and making eyes at each other. It’s sweet, in a horrible, disgusting kind of way.
He’s not sure whether or not to try and befriend them and is debating the best way to break the ice in his head when Alex leans over and says, “What the fuck are you wearing, man?” He glances down at his own clothes, then over to Alex’s and Jack’s. They’re pretty much the same. And then he realizes he’s wearing that stupid fucking belt, immediately feeling embarrassed because he knows that that thing says ‘trying too hard’ in a bad way. He’s embarrassed now because his family is filthy fucking rich and he doesn’t want any of it. He’s embarrassed because he’s so naive about the world and now these really cool guys are making fun of him and he doesn’t know what to do.
So, what comes out is awkward and sarcastic. “Oh, this old thing? I got it at Goodwill.” Which is a half-truth; Goodwill is where it’s headed. Possibly directly after this class, because he never wants to see it again and he certainly never wants to wear it. His mother bought it for him, actually, and he never really paid attention to it because he never really paid much attention to where his clothes were coming from. College kind of changes everything. There are so many people here with great style, and here he is with his prep school wardrobe feeling completely out of place. Alex’s brows disappear beneath his fringe; he and Jack look at each other and grin. When the lecture ends - and thank god it’s only an hour long or he’d end up using his bag as a pillow, seriously - Alex grabs his arm after he’s packed his stuff away. “Hey, what?” he says, feeling slightly startled.
“He’s going to make you come to lunch with us,” Jack answers matter-of-factly. He looks totally unconcerned by the heart Alex has drawn on the back of his hand; actually, he seems kind of pleased about it. “I’m Jack, by the way, and this is Alex, and - ow, don’t hit me, seriously! - umm, oh, he’s not actually making fun of your clothes. He’s just jealous ‘cause he’s obsessed with fashion and shit.”
Alex nods in agreement. “I like how you conveniently forgot to mention the part about being my boyfriend, asshole,” he grumbles. Then he gives the aforementioned boyfriend a playful shove before reaching for Jack’s hand and grabbing Danny’s arm with the other. “You are going to be our new best friend,” Alex declares, “and everyone is going to love you and think you’re fabulous. He’s cute, right Jack?” Danny has come to the conclusion that Alex is what his mother refers to as an extreme personality - loud, colourful, and always needing to be the center of attention. It’s fairly obvious that Alex is the center of Jack’s whole world, so it works well for them. He’s not so sure about this whole ‘new best friends’ business, though. The whole way to the cafeteria, Alex and Jack fill him in on the rest of their group - as if he’s going to be able to remember all of this information right away - and he’s just kind of wondering if there’s some kind of vibe queer people give off that causes them to group together or something, because seriously. He’s just been adopted by the most adorable-slash-sickening gay couple ever.
“... You forgot to tell him about the time Vinny was talking to the bottles, shitface,” Jack says as they enter the noisy, crowded space. Danny pays closer attention to them while they’re getting food; he’s trying to figure their relationship out. “Oh, dude, don’t worry if you can’t remember everyone’s name at first; I still get Alex confused with Cassadee sometimes because they have the same haircut.”
Alex rolls his eyes and mutters something darkly under his breath which Danny does not catch. They pay for everything and Danny has just put his wallet away when Alex grabs him again and hauls him to the back section of the cafeteria where the actual booths are, as opposed to the long, low tables in the main area. Jack slides into the booth first, next to a petite girl with long blonde hair, and Alex immediately slides in next to him. He sits down at the end next to Alex, still feeling incredibly awkward, and the awkwardness only increases from there when one of their friends - he hasn’t been properly introduced or anything and seriously, so, so awkward - says, “Ugh, where’d you pick up the frat boy?”
Sitting across from him is quite possibly the most stunning male he’s ever seen, scowling at him with a look that could melt the polar ice caps. Except that the guy obviously hates him - and how shitty is that, anyway, judging someone before you even know them? - so he’s going to have to hide his attraction. Luckily, he doesn’t need to think of a witty comeback because before he can say anything, Alex interjects with, “Matt, don’t be a crusty bastard. He’s nice!” It’s still embarrassing as hell. He spends the rest of lunch making solid eye contact with his fries and giving one-word responses whenever someone asks him a question.
It turns out that he has his next class with Lisa, the blonde girl, who turns out to be really nice. They walk over to the Humanities building together. “Don’t worry about what Matt thinks,” she tells him. “He’s got a bit of a chip on his shoulder ‘cause he’s here on scholarship and he works two jobs just to make rent. He’s really a sweetie once you get to know him. It’s cute, actually - he’s best friends with Grieco and he’s uber-protective. You’ll meet Grieco later, I suppose, and Rian. They’re both music majors, you know; they play drums. And Rian has a tendency to fawn over Grieco something awful, so don’t be surprised if Matt threatens to break your kneecaps if you look at him the wrong way.”
“Oh,” he says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. To change the subject, he asks, “So what’s your major? Or have you decided yet?”
She shrugs and brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “Probably something more business-oriented. I’d like to do marketing, but it seems a little hokey so I want to try a couple of classes before I decide. What about you? Obviously you’re taking Phil 101 with the idiots, but what else are you interested in?”
“Music, I guess,” he says, “and art and history and stuff. I don’t really know. Basically the only reason I came here is because my parents threatened to cut me off if I didn’t find a job or go to school and I thought taking classes would at least be interesting. They want me to major in one of the sciences, I don’t know. I’m thinking either philosophy or political science.”
“Why don’t you major in music?” Lisa asks him.
He scoffs. “I think they’d actually kick me out if I said something like that. My parents are pretty conservative. I thought my dad was going to have a heart attack when I got my nose pierced,” he says, touching the ring with his thumb absently. Pretty soon he’ll be able to change the jewellery in it, which he’s excited about. The ring it was pierced with looks kind of stupid. He ends up telling Lisa about going to private school and his parents and what it’s like living with them, and she tells him that Alex went to private school, too, and by the time their psychology lecture starts he’s learned most of the backstory of the group. Of course, he hasn’t learned what he really wants to know yet... He spends the rest of the lecture not paying attention to their professor and instead falls into a daydream about one particular scruffy, dark-haired boy with a lip ring and a scowl that rivals the Dark Lord’s. Although, Matt’s much better-looking than the Darkest wizard to ever live. He’s kind of hot in that dark, mysterious brooding way.
Honestly, though, Danny’s just relieved to have made actual friends that - mostly - seem to like him as a person and not because his parents are wealthy. It’s a little overwhelming, but comforting. Alex and Jack are adorable together, if a little overbearing, Lisa’s the sweetest girl ever, and the others seem nice too, though he hasn’t really gotten to know them yet. Well, he’s not really including Matt in the ‘seems nice’ clause, because the guy seems like he’s a real asshole, despite Lisa’s claims to the contrary. He just happens to be incredibly attractive. And have piercings. Which, to be completely honest, is one of Danny’s biggest turn-ons. Not that he’s fantasizing about making out with the guy and, like, biting at his lip ring or anything.
&
Matt dislikes his job waiting tables more than almost anything in the world. The only thing he hates more than his job is pretentious fucking hipsters, which is his justification for hating Danny Kurily, if anyone asks. But they don’t ask. They don’t ask because he will wax poetic to whoever he wants to about his hate for the guy, goddammit, and the guy is just asking for someone to hate on him. He wears stupid designer jeans and checkered scarves around his neck and half his fucking wardrobe is from American Apparel, and Matt? Fucking hates American Apparel with a passion. Every time he sees Kurily show up to the lunch table wearing one of those hoodies with the bright, sunny coloured fabric and the white drawstrings and zipper track, he fantasizes darkly about leaping over the table in a Mean Girls-style montage - which he has totally seen, for the record - and tackling him, ripping the offending garment from his body before proceeding to kiss the smirk off that pretty face and... Before that thought can finish, he’s snapped out of his reverie by his supervisor’s voice.
“Flyzik!” Nano sighs. “Stop daydreaming and go check on table four, would you?” He knows that Nano hates him; he actually believes that Nano is actively trying to get him fired, which is why he has to toe the line and take everything but his plugs out for work, which annoys him to no end. It’s not even worth the few dollars in tips he takes home at the end of every shift. He’s been trying to get hired at the place where Rian teaches drums to snotty little rich brats in the afternoons and on weekends, but again, no one wants to hire a scuzzy punk kid with piercings, so this is the best he can do. He tucks his little golf pencil behind his ear for safekeeping, flips his notepad to a fresh page, plasters the biggest, fakest smile he can muster up on, and stalks out of the back to check on the godforsaken table.
The smile falters slightly when he sees that it’s people he actually knows. Oh, fuck. And to make it even more fun, it’s the one person that being at work generally gives him a reprieve from. Lisa and Kara are sitting diagonally across from each other, flanked by Grieco - he’s happy to see his best friend, at least - and then there’s him. The enemy. If he were a dog, he’d be growling with hackles raised and backing away slowly. The corner of his mouth twitches; he wishes he had his jewellery in so he could chew on the backs of them. “Hey,” he says flatly, slouching and fumbling in the front of his coffee-stained apron for his notepad. “What can I get you guys?”
Grieco doesn’t order anything; he’s just there to hang out until Matt finishes his shift. Lisa and Kara, as usual, order a basket of fries to share - can they just start dating and put an end to the sexual tension between them, already? - and he’s honestly surprised when Kurily orders a black coffee instead of what he’s expecting, namely some complicated thing with an exotic name and five different types of cream. In other words, he’s kind of expecting the guy to order a girly drink, so when Danny says, “Coffee. Black,” he stands there for a minute blinking. “Come on,” Danny sighs, “I know that black coffee is not a foreign concept for you. It’s the same colour as your soul.”
“I kind of thought normal coffee might’ve been too mainstream for you,” he retorts lamely, tossing his notepad from hand to hand uncomfortably. “You sure you don’t want a triple-thick, no-fat caramel vanilla mint macchiato or something, frat boy?”
“You sure you don’t want some help pulling the stick out of your ass? Or is that constipated expression just your version of a smile?”
Before the argument can escalate any further, Kara gives him a dirty look and says, “Boys...” in her most authoritative tone of voice. Then he sees Nano lurking out of the corner of his eye, and he doesn’t want to give the guy any more reason to hate him, so rather than argue with someone who’s obviously not worth his time, he stomps to the back and asks for the girls’ fries and makes Danny’s coffee. He’s half-tempted to spit in it, but he doesn’t. The idea of exchanging saliva with Kurily - in any sense of the phrase - is revolting. At least, that’s the name he has for the tightening feeling in his gut whenever he thinks about the kid, which is happening a hell of a lot more often than he’d like. Because... he’d like to not think about the kid at all. He’d like to not wake up from a dream about the bastard to an erection that could put someone’s eye out ever again, thank you very much.
So, he makes Kurily’s coffee black. Like his soul. Yeah, he’s a heartless jerk at time, but it takes two to tango. Not that he wants to dance with the guy. Or do anything with him. Ever. When he returns to the table with their order in tow, Lisa and Kara are deep in conversation about some movie they’d seen over the weekend and - he feels a little twitch of pleasure at this factoid - Kurily looks bored out of his mind. Grieco is tapping out some complicated-sounding rhythm on the tabletop and frowning at a sheaf of sheet music. “Syncopation,” he explains with a sad smile. “It’s a real bitch.”
“You should ask Ri to help you with it this weekend if he’s not working,” he says. Grieco blushes and hides his face in his shirt. He’s sort of in awe of the other man, which is adorable and sweet and all kinds of cute. “Anyways, your fries, ladies, and one black coffee. I’m surprised you think I have one, though.” It’s immensely satisfying to watch Kurily inspect his coffee suspiciously before he turns on his heel and walks swiftly away, ignoring the flapping of the stupid apron against his legs. He has the worst job ever. The rest of the shift passes without event, but Matt finds himself more jumpy and irritable than usual. Fucking Kurily. Something about the kid seriously irks him and he can’t explain it.
It’s not just his clothes. It’s the fact that the kid has never had to work for anything in his life; it’s been handed to him, so far as Matt can tell, by Mommy and Daddy on a silver platter. He hasn’t a fucking clue what he wants to major in, so he’ll probably drop out by the end of the year, and it’s such a waste of time and money for everyone involved. Matt resents the way that every one of his friends is smitten with the guy, even Evan, who is his roommate and therefore should be on his side in this. Vinny actually had the gall to tell him, the other day, that “Danny isn’t so bad once you get to know him, bro. He doesn’t act like a spoiled brat at all.” Like hell he doesn’t. If he isn’t a spoiled brat, then maybe he should stop wearing fucking Dolce and Gabbana socks and shoes that cost the equivalent of Matt’s rent for an entire month. It’s all so fucking pretentious that it makes him sick. Just thinking about it turns his stomach; he feels uncomfortable, all hot and tight and itchy.
&
Danny’s next encounter with Matt is no more pleasant than the last few have been. He’s sitting in the quad going over his notes for his weekly test in Anthropology with Evan, trying to remember what the movie they watched in lecture on Monday was since he slept through it, when Evan flags Matt down. Immediately, his stomach sinks so low it’s almost at floor level; if he got up and walked away now it would drag behind him and burst, leaving a trail of slippery, oily innards.
“Consorting with the enemy, I see,” Matt grumbles, turning a chair around to straddle it, leaning over the back of it to study the text Evan’s bent over with a pink highlighter in hand. He’s wearing baggy cargo shorts, a threadbare t-shirt, and Danny has to force himself to keep focusing on his notes so he doesn’t start salivating. It’s thoroughly unfair that the hottest guy he’s ever met also has to be the nastiest. The thought has occurred to him - more than once - that perhaps Matt would be nicer if he just got laid once in a while. Preferably by someone by the name of Danny Kurily. It would be great; they could shout at each other and then randomly start making out and have really, really, ridiculously hot hate-sex. Maybe... maybe Matt has piercings in other places, too. He’d be a lot less frustrated by the whole thing if he didn’t notice every fucking thing Matt does. Like the bruise on his left shin, angry and purple against his naturally pale skin; that’s a new one, probably from working last night at his job as a bouncer at this shitty local music venue.
He doesn’t look up from his notes, which implies that he’s ignoring the other man. It’s another one of those fabulous half-truths. He’s wearing sweats and an ugly t-shirt with his high school’s logo on it. “Evan’s Switzerland,” he mutters. “Neutral territory.”
“Evan isn’t getting involved in your stupid beef,” Evan says grumpily, stabbing a sheet of notebook paper angrily with his highlighter. “Seriously, you guys should do us all a favour and make out already. It would save a lot of bickering.”
The corner of Matt’s mouth twitches like it’s full of insults just waiting to come out, and sure enough, seconds later, he spits, “Don’t be fucking disgusting, dude. Like I would ever want to make out with him. Fucking hipster douche.” The intensity of Matt’s glare makes Danny wish the earth would open up, suck him into itself, and then neatly sew itself back together again, good as new. He shoves his books into his bag hastily, slings the strap over his shoulder, and leaves wordlessly. It would be better if he could get a parting shot in, but he doesn’t dare. Matt Flyzik silently judging him for wearing sweatpants and his man-Uggs is punishment enough. They make a soft shuffling noise as he stomps across campus to the parking lot. Before he’s even gotten to his car, he can see the ticket tucked neatly under his windshield wipers.
Then, he sees the wheel clamp firmly attached to the back tire of his car, and he feels like he’s been punched in the stomach. He paid his fucking parking tickets. He paid those fucking tickets weeks ago - well, his parents did, but either way, they’re fucking paid! Now how is he supposed to get home? Angrily, he snatches up the ticket and shoves it crumpled into his pocket before stomping back across the lot with his hands balled into tight fists. His messenger bag slams into the backs of his knees with every step, and he doesn’t care. Stomp. “Fuck,” he groans. Stomp. Stomp. He nearly trips over a rock. “Fuck me,” he groans. “My parents are going to kill me.” Stomp, stomp, stomp. He wishes, not for the first time, that he owned a pair of really heavy work boots that would make noise when he stomped his feet. He wishes he weren’t so fucking naive and trusting and that there wasn’t a fucking boot on his car, leaving him with no way home.
Evan’s not there when he gets back to the quad - he’s probably halfway to his journalism class already, fuck - but Matt is still sitting there in the same chair, reading his economics textbook with possibly the most adorable look of concentration ever. He plants himself solidly in the chair he’d been using before, drops his bag on the floor, and says, “I give you full permission to make fun of me if you fuckin’ help me out this once.”
“What’s in it for me?” Matt asks, without losing his place on the page. “I mean, besides the pleasure of gloating. ‘Cause that’s kind of an obvious one.” He’s flicking his lip ring with the tip of his tongue; it’s hot and distracting and totally not. fucking. helping the situation at all.
“Depends how much help you are to me, I guess? Anyway. So I have, like, unpaid parking tickets or whatever, apparently, and the parking enforcement dicks put a boot on my car so I have no way to get home and no fucking idea what to do ‘cause I don’t have enough cash on me for a cab ride and my parents are totally going to slaughter me and.... yeah.” He stares down at his ugly-ass tan boot things and sighs. Matt isn’t going to help him; he should have expected that. They aren’t friends. He can wait for someone else to be out of class. Yeah, he’ll do that. He pulls the ticket out of his pocket, looks at it sadly. It’s not that much money. It’s the fact that, once again, his parents flat-out lied to him about taking care of shit when they clearly haven’t. So he’s pissed off at them.
To his surprise, Matt hauls him up onto his feet by the back of his shirt, looks at him condescendingly and says, “Well, come on if we’re doing this, then.”
“... Doing what?” he asks incredulously. Because - first of all, holy fuck Matt is stronger than he expected, which is a million different flavours of hot he really shouldn’t think about while wearing sweatpants - but more importantly, the guy isn’t being a dick to him for once. He has to jog to keep up, and he’s really not sure where they’re going. “Wait, wait, where the fuck are we going?”
“We’re taking the bus,” Matt informs him. “I’m assuming you know what those are.”
Danny has never taken the bus before. He’s never had to. Until he turned sixteen and got his first car, his parents drove him to school every day or else he carpooled with his friends’ parents. He watches while Matt shuffles around in the various pockets of his shorts, looking for the exact change for bus fare. “Would you fucking stop that,” he sighs, pulling a five dollar bill out of his wallet. “I’ve got this.” It’s hard to ignore the relieved look that creeps its way into Matt’s eyes. Then he feels guilty about being so well-off when other people have to work so damn hard just to make ends meet. He feels a bit like an alien when the bus finally rolls up to the curb and they board; the bus driver gives him a blank stare when he tries to hand her the bill and then realizes he’s supposed to put the money in the little box thing.
He feels even stupider when Matt snickers and says, “You might want to give me dipshit’s transfer in case he loses it.” Then Matt grabs the front of his shirt and pulls him down the aisle before crowding him into a seat. Danny puts his bag in his lap, which has surprisingly little to do with his desire to make room for the elderly lady sitting on his left and almost everything to do with the fact that Matt stands directly in front of him with one arm up, hand curled loosely around the handrail. It’s fucking torturous. Matt’s shirt has ridden up a couple of inches and he’s trying really, really hard not to think about that. But he can see skin; it’s right there, right in front of him, basically free porn. He thinks about how much he would like to touch that skin. He thinks about how Matt would probably get that really bitchy look on his face if he did it, the way his lips purse and his nose scrunches up. He’s incredibly relieved when the old lady gets off at her stop and Matt slumps quietly into the seat instead so he can stop thinking about it.
It’s not until the next day when he finds out that Matt and Evan’s apartment is only ten minutes from campus. Matt rode the entire way with him, and he didn’t have to do that. Maybe it was just so Evan wouldn’t invite him to stay at their place or anything. He doesn’t understand what he did to make Matt hate him this much besides simply existing. For a long time after he’s home, he sits in his room and plays one of his guitars, which usually makes him feel better. It doesn’t. He could play until the strings slice his fingers open and it wouldn’t make him feel any better. He’s all full of cliché teen angst and he hates his parents and he hates hot boys that make him feel things he doesn’t understand. He had kind of hoped that he could lure Matt into the house so they could make out and have hot, dirty hate-sex. Or, you know, maybe next time he’ll remember to mention the fact that he has two Fender guitars and a vintage Strat and see if he can lure Matt using that information. It’ll probably make Matt hate him even more.
&
Evan hears the lock on the door of the apartment click open when Matt comes home from work at two-thirty in the morning. He’s still awake, just lying in bed staring at the ceiling. He can’t sleep; there’s something weighing heavy on his mind but no one to talk to about it. Matt’s not going to understand, this time. And he’s sure as hell not going to talk to Grieco about this one - mostly because Matt will threaten to break his kneecaps again for attempting to poison his best friend’s innocent mind - and... Well, fuck, he can’t talk to Vinny about it because Vinny is the goddamn problem. The thing is, he didn’t mean for it to happen. He can’t straighten out his thoughts.
They were watching Cartoon Network and drinking beers, and suddenly Vinny looked at him and said, “Hey,” giving him this odd sort of look. He shifted on the couch, carefully balancing his beer between his thighs, and twisted around to look at Vinny properly. The bottle of Heineken was still cold from the fridge; there was a line of caps on the coffee table.
He said, “Hey” back and clinked his nails along the neck of his bottle.
It wasn’t like this long, drawn-out thing or anything, not like with his girlfriend. Vinny blinked, said, “I’m just going to...” and they made out. Completely uncomplicated. Except that it totally was -and it is, still - because, shit, he made out with his best friend on his and Matt’s couch and probably really needs to do something about it. Because then there were Vinny’s hands inside his shirt, they were suddenly horizontal, and he forgot completely about his beer, spilling it all over the carpet in the process. He wasn’t thinking about her then, and she’s still only a tiny afterthought in the corner of his brain now. It didn’t mean anything, right? They’re best friends.
And afterward, Vinny had been all awkward and fumbling, sliding feet into shoes with the laces flapping around his ankles undone. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said, even though it wasn’t, and he crawled into bed with the deeply unsettling feeling that Vinny wasn’t, either.
It doesn’t change anything. He still has a girlfriend. Vinny’s still his best friend. They watch Sunday Night Football together and drink the same brand of beer. But it also changes everything. They’re never going to be able to have a conversation again where he’s not looking at Vinny’s lips and thinking about what they feel like. He’d do it again. That’s the scary part. And it isn’t like he has never thought about this kind of thing before. The majority of his friends are in some way queer, so he is not really bothered by the idea. It’s the principle of the thing.
His throat feels dry and tight; he climbs out of bed and goes to the kitchen for a glass of water. Matt’s leaning against the counter, waiting for his ramen to finish cooking. The X’s on the backs of his hands are still prominent. “You’re up late,” Matt comments.
“Can’t sleep,” he replies, stretching up and over Matt’s shoulder to get a glass from the cupboard. His water is room temperature, tasting slightly metallic since neither of them remembered to change the filter on the tap. It’s the unmistakable taste of guilt on his tongue, he’s sure of it. “How was work?” he asks, perching himself on the edge of the counter.
“It was,” Matt says, a hard look on his face, “work. I threw out some asshole trying to cop a feel on this kid. Nasty fucker.” From the look on his face, Evan knows that it’s not just some kid. He knows that expression. It’s the same look he had in high school the first day they met Grieco. Matt will never admit to it, but he was maybe half in love with Alex Grieco for a long time. They’ve been friends for long enough that Evan can read him pretty well. So he doesn’t need Matt to admit it to know that the guy’s got a crush, which is why he feels okay going to bed without saying the thing bouncing around inside him and driving him crazy.
He decides he’d better brush his teeth before bed. The toothpaste is too strong; he stands in their tiny bathroom staring at his reflection in the mirror with a gob of toothpaste on his shirt and says, “Well, shit.” He doesn’t look any different, but he feels different. Same goofy-looking nose, same bad haircut, but something in him has changed. It probably says too much that he’s freaking out about a drunken kiss more than he’s ever freaked out about his girlfriend. He doesn’t want to think about that. When he finally sleeps, thankfully, it’s dreamless.
Part Two
He’s not sure whether or not to try and befriend them and is debating the best way to break the ice in his head when Alex leans over and says, “What the fuck are you wearing, man?” He glances down at his own clothes, then over to Alex’s and Jack’s. They’re pretty much the same. And then he realizes he’s wearing that stupid fucking belt, immediately feeling embarrassed because he knows that that thing says ‘trying too hard’ in a bad way. He’s embarrassed now because his family is filthy fucking rich and he doesn’t want any of it. He’s embarrassed because he’s so naive about the world and now these really cool guys are making fun of him and he doesn’t know what to do.
So, what comes out is awkward and sarcastic. “Oh, this old thing? I got it at Goodwill.” Which is a half-truth; Goodwill is where it’s headed. Possibly directly after this class, because he never wants to see it again and he certainly never wants to wear it. His mother bought it for him, actually, and he never really paid attention to it because he never really paid much attention to where his clothes were coming from. College kind of changes everything. There are so many people here with great style, and here he is with his prep school wardrobe feeling completely out of place. Alex’s brows disappear beneath his fringe; he and Jack look at each other and grin. When the lecture ends - and thank god it’s only an hour long or he’d end up using his bag as a pillow, seriously - Alex grabs his arm after he’s packed his stuff away. “Hey, what?” he says, feeling slightly startled.
“He’s going to make you come to lunch with us,” Jack answers matter-of-factly. He looks totally unconcerned by the heart Alex has drawn on the back of his hand; actually, he seems kind of pleased about it. “I’m Jack, by the way, and this is Alex, and - ow, don’t hit me, seriously! - umm, oh, he’s not actually making fun of your clothes. He’s just jealous ‘cause he’s obsessed with fashion and shit.”
Alex nods in agreement. “I like how you conveniently forgot to mention the part about being my boyfriend, asshole,” he grumbles. Then he gives the aforementioned boyfriend a playful shove before reaching for Jack’s hand and grabbing Danny’s arm with the other. “You are going to be our new best friend,” Alex declares, “and everyone is going to love you and think you’re fabulous. He’s cute, right Jack?” Danny has come to the conclusion that Alex is what his mother refers to as an extreme personality - loud, colourful, and always needing to be the center of attention. It’s fairly obvious that Alex is the center of Jack’s whole world, so it works well for them. He’s not so sure about this whole ‘new best friends’ business, though. The whole way to the cafeteria, Alex and Jack fill him in on the rest of their group - as if he’s going to be able to remember all of this information right away - and he’s just kind of wondering if there’s some kind of vibe queer people give off that causes them to group together or something, because seriously. He’s just been adopted by the most adorable-slash-sickening gay couple ever.
“... You forgot to tell him about the time Vinny was talking to the bottles, shitface,” Jack says as they enter the noisy, crowded space. Danny pays closer attention to them while they’re getting food; he’s trying to figure their relationship out. “Oh, dude, don’t worry if you can’t remember everyone’s name at first; I still get Alex confused with Cassadee sometimes because they have the same haircut.”
Alex rolls his eyes and mutters something darkly under his breath which Danny does not catch. They pay for everything and Danny has just put his wallet away when Alex grabs him again and hauls him to the back section of the cafeteria where the actual booths are, as opposed to the long, low tables in the main area. Jack slides into the booth first, next to a petite girl with long blonde hair, and Alex immediately slides in next to him. He sits down at the end next to Alex, still feeling incredibly awkward, and the awkwardness only increases from there when one of their friends - he hasn’t been properly introduced or anything and seriously, so, so awkward - says, “Ugh, where’d you pick up the frat boy?”
Sitting across from him is quite possibly the most stunning male he’s ever seen, scowling at him with a look that could melt the polar ice caps. Except that the guy obviously hates him - and how shitty is that, anyway, judging someone before you even know them? - so he’s going to have to hide his attraction. Luckily, he doesn’t need to think of a witty comeback because before he can say anything, Alex interjects with, “Matt, don’t be a crusty bastard. He’s nice!” It’s still embarrassing as hell. He spends the rest of lunch making solid eye contact with his fries and giving one-word responses whenever someone asks him a question.
It turns out that he has his next class with Lisa, the blonde girl, who turns out to be really nice. They walk over to the Humanities building together. “Don’t worry about what Matt thinks,” she tells him. “He’s got a bit of a chip on his shoulder ‘cause he’s here on scholarship and he works two jobs just to make rent. He’s really a sweetie once you get to know him. It’s cute, actually - he’s best friends with Grieco and he’s uber-protective. You’ll meet Grieco later, I suppose, and Rian. They’re both music majors, you know; they play drums. And Rian has a tendency to fawn over Grieco something awful, so don’t be surprised if Matt threatens to break your kneecaps if you look at him the wrong way.”
“Oh,” he says, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. To change the subject, he asks, “So what’s your major? Or have you decided yet?”
She shrugs and brushes a strand of hair behind her ear. “Probably something more business-oriented. I’d like to do marketing, but it seems a little hokey so I want to try a couple of classes before I decide. What about you? Obviously you’re taking Phil 101 with the idiots, but what else are you interested in?”
“Music, I guess,” he says, “and art and history and stuff. I don’t really know. Basically the only reason I came here is because my parents threatened to cut me off if I didn’t find a job or go to school and I thought taking classes would at least be interesting. They want me to major in one of the sciences, I don’t know. I’m thinking either philosophy or political science.”
“Why don’t you major in music?” Lisa asks him.
He scoffs. “I think they’d actually kick me out if I said something like that. My parents are pretty conservative. I thought my dad was going to have a heart attack when I got my nose pierced,” he says, touching the ring with his thumb absently. Pretty soon he’ll be able to change the jewellery in it, which he’s excited about. The ring it was pierced with looks kind of stupid. He ends up telling Lisa about going to private school and his parents and what it’s like living with them, and she tells him that Alex went to private school, too, and by the time their psychology lecture starts he’s learned most of the backstory of the group. Of course, he hasn’t learned what he really wants to know yet... He spends the rest of the lecture not paying attention to their professor and instead falls into a daydream about one particular scruffy, dark-haired boy with a lip ring and a scowl that rivals the Dark Lord’s. Although, Matt’s much better-looking than the Darkest wizard to ever live. He’s kind of hot in that dark, mysterious brooding way.
Honestly, though, Danny’s just relieved to have made actual friends that - mostly - seem to like him as a person and not because his parents are wealthy. It’s a little overwhelming, but comforting. Alex and Jack are adorable together, if a little overbearing, Lisa’s the sweetest girl ever, and the others seem nice too, though he hasn’t really gotten to know them yet. Well, he’s not really including Matt in the ‘seems nice’ clause, because the guy seems like he’s a real asshole, despite Lisa’s claims to the contrary. He just happens to be incredibly attractive. And have piercings. Which, to be completely honest, is one of Danny’s biggest turn-ons. Not that he’s fantasizing about making out with the guy and, like, biting at his lip ring or anything.
&
Matt dislikes his job waiting tables more than almost anything in the world. The only thing he hates more than his job is pretentious fucking hipsters, which is his justification for hating Danny Kurily, if anyone asks. But they don’t ask. They don’t ask because he will wax poetic to whoever he wants to about his hate for the guy, goddammit, and the guy is just asking for someone to hate on him. He wears stupid designer jeans and checkered scarves around his neck and half his fucking wardrobe is from American Apparel, and Matt? Fucking hates American Apparel with a passion. Every time he sees Kurily show up to the lunch table wearing one of those hoodies with the bright, sunny coloured fabric and the white drawstrings and zipper track, he fantasizes darkly about leaping over the table in a Mean Girls-style montage - which he has totally seen, for the record - and tackling him, ripping the offending garment from his body before proceeding to kiss the smirk off that pretty face and... Before that thought can finish, he’s snapped out of his reverie by his supervisor’s voice.
“Flyzik!” Nano sighs. “Stop daydreaming and go check on table four, would you?” He knows that Nano hates him; he actually believes that Nano is actively trying to get him fired, which is why he has to toe the line and take everything but his plugs out for work, which annoys him to no end. It’s not even worth the few dollars in tips he takes home at the end of every shift. He’s been trying to get hired at the place where Rian teaches drums to snotty little rich brats in the afternoons and on weekends, but again, no one wants to hire a scuzzy punk kid with piercings, so this is the best he can do. He tucks his little golf pencil behind his ear for safekeeping, flips his notepad to a fresh page, plasters the biggest, fakest smile he can muster up on, and stalks out of the back to check on the godforsaken table.
The smile falters slightly when he sees that it’s people he actually knows. Oh, fuck. And to make it even more fun, it’s the one person that being at work generally gives him a reprieve from. Lisa and Kara are sitting diagonally across from each other, flanked by Grieco - he’s happy to see his best friend, at least - and then there’s him. The enemy. If he were a dog, he’d be growling with hackles raised and backing away slowly. The corner of his mouth twitches; he wishes he had his jewellery in so he could chew on the backs of them. “Hey,” he says flatly, slouching and fumbling in the front of his coffee-stained apron for his notepad. “What can I get you guys?”
Grieco doesn’t order anything; he’s just there to hang out until Matt finishes his shift. Lisa and Kara, as usual, order a basket of fries to share - can they just start dating and put an end to the sexual tension between them, already? - and he’s honestly surprised when Kurily orders a black coffee instead of what he’s expecting, namely some complicated thing with an exotic name and five different types of cream. In other words, he’s kind of expecting the guy to order a girly drink, so when Danny says, “Coffee. Black,” he stands there for a minute blinking. “Come on,” Danny sighs, “I know that black coffee is not a foreign concept for you. It’s the same colour as your soul.”
“I kind of thought normal coffee might’ve been too mainstream for you,” he retorts lamely, tossing his notepad from hand to hand uncomfortably. “You sure you don’t want a triple-thick, no-fat caramel vanilla mint macchiato or something, frat boy?”
“You sure you don’t want some help pulling the stick out of your ass? Or is that constipated expression just your version of a smile?”
Before the argument can escalate any further, Kara gives him a dirty look and says, “Boys...” in her most authoritative tone of voice. Then he sees Nano lurking out of the corner of his eye, and he doesn’t want to give the guy any more reason to hate him, so rather than argue with someone who’s obviously not worth his time, he stomps to the back and asks for the girls’ fries and makes Danny’s coffee. He’s half-tempted to spit in it, but he doesn’t. The idea of exchanging saliva with Kurily - in any sense of the phrase - is revolting. At least, that’s the name he has for the tightening feeling in his gut whenever he thinks about the kid, which is happening a hell of a lot more often than he’d like. Because... he’d like to not think about the kid at all. He’d like to not wake up from a dream about the bastard to an erection that could put someone’s eye out ever again, thank you very much.
So, he makes Kurily’s coffee black. Like his soul. Yeah, he’s a heartless jerk at time, but it takes two to tango. Not that he wants to dance with the guy. Or do anything with him. Ever. When he returns to the table with their order in tow, Lisa and Kara are deep in conversation about some movie they’d seen over the weekend and - he feels a little twitch of pleasure at this factoid - Kurily looks bored out of his mind. Grieco is tapping out some complicated-sounding rhythm on the tabletop and frowning at a sheaf of sheet music. “Syncopation,” he explains with a sad smile. “It’s a real bitch.”
“You should ask Ri to help you with it this weekend if he’s not working,” he says. Grieco blushes and hides his face in his shirt. He’s sort of in awe of the other man, which is adorable and sweet and all kinds of cute. “Anyways, your fries, ladies, and one black coffee. I’m surprised you think I have one, though.” It’s immensely satisfying to watch Kurily inspect his coffee suspiciously before he turns on his heel and walks swiftly away, ignoring the flapping of the stupid apron against his legs. He has the worst job ever. The rest of the shift passes without event, but Matt finds himself more jumpy and irritable than usual. Fucking Kurily. Something about the kid seriously irks him and he can’t explain it.
It’s not just his clothes. It’s the fact that the kid has never had to work for anything in his life; it’s been handed to him, so far as Matt can tell, by Mommy and Daddy on a silver platter. He hasn’t a fucking clue what he wants to major in, so he’ll probably drop out by the end of the year, and it’s such a waste of time and money for everyone involved. Matt resents the way that every one of his friends is smitten with the guy, even Evan, who is his roommate and therefore should be on his side in this. Vinny actually had the gall to tell him, the other day, that “Danny isn’t so bad once you get to know him, bro. He doesn’t act like a spoiled brat at all.” Like hell he doesn’t. If he isn’t a spoiled brat, then maybe he should stop wearing fucking Dolce and Gabbana socks and shoes that cost the equivalent of Matt’s rent for an entire month. It’s all so fucking pretentious that it makes him sick. Just thinking about it turns his stomach; he feels uncomfortable, all hot and tight and itchy.
&
Danny’s next encounter with Matt is no more pleasant than the last few have been. He’s sitting in the quad going over his notes for his weekly test in Anthropology with Evan, trying to remember what the movie they watched in lecture on Monday was since he slept through it, when Evan flags Matt down. Immediately, his stomach sinks so low it’s almost at floor level; if he got up and walked away now it would drag behind him and burst, leaving a trail of slippery, oily innards.
“Consorting with the enemy, I see,” Matt grumbles, turning a chair around to straddle it, leaning over the back of it to study the text Evan’s bent over with a pink highlighter in hand. He’s wearing baggy cargo shorts, a threadbare t-shirt, and Danny has to force himself to keep focusing on his notes so he doesn’t start salivating. It’s thoroughly unfair that the hottest guy he’s ever met also has to be the nastiest. The thought has occurred to him - more than once - that perhaps Matt would be nicer if he just got laid once in a while. Preferably by someone by the name of Danny Kurily. It would be great; they could shout at each other and then randomly start making out and have really, really, ridiculously hot hate-sex. Maybe... maybe Matt has piercings in other places, too. He’d be a lot less frustrated by the whole thing if he didn’t notice every fucking thing Matt does. Like the bruise on his left shin, angry and purple against his naturally pale skin; that’s a new one, probably from working last night at his job as a bouncer at this shitty local music venue.
He doesn’t look up from his notes, which implies that he’s ignoring the other man. It’s another one of those fabulous half-truths. He’s wearing sweats and an ugly t-shirt with his high school’s logo on it. “Evan’s Switzerland,” he mutters. “Neutral territory.”
“Evan isn’t getting involved in your stupid beef,” Evan says grumpily, stabbing a sheet of notebook paper angrily with his highlighter. “Seriously, you guys should do us all a favour and make out already. It would save a lot of bickering.”
The corner of Matt’s mouth twitches like it’s full of insults just waiting to come out, and sure enough, seconds later, he spits, “Don’t be fucking disgusting, dude. Like I would ever want to make out with him. Fucking hipster douche.” The intensity of Matt’s glare makes Danny wish the earth would open up, suck him into itself, and then neatly sew itself back together again, good as new. He shoves his books into his bag hastily, slings the strap over his shoulder, and leaves wordlessly. It would be better if he could get a parting shot in, but he doesn’t dare. Matt Flyzik silently judging him for wearing sweatpants and his man-Uggs is punishment enough. They make a soft shuffling noise as he stomps across campus to the parking lot. Before he’s even gotten to his car, he can see the ticket tucked neatly under his windshield wipers.
Then, he sees the wheel clamp firmly attached to the back tire of his car, and he feels like he’s been punched in the stomach. He paid his fucking parking tickets. He paid those fucking tickets weeks ago - well, his parents did, but either way, they’re fucking paid! Now how is he supposed to get home? Angrily, he snatches up the ticket and shoves it crumpled into his pocket before stomping back across the lot with his hands balled into tight fists. His messenger bag slams into the backs of his knees with every step, and he doesn’t care. Stomp. “Fuck,” he groans. Stomp. Stomp. He nearly trips over a rock. “Fuck me,” he groans. “My parents are going to kill me.” Stomp, stomp, stomp. He wishes, not for the first time, that he owned a pair of really heavy work boots that would make noise when he stomped his feet. He wishes he weren’t so fucking naive and trusting and that there wasn’t a fucking boot on his car, leaving him with no way home.
Evan’s not there when he gets back to the quad - he’s probably halfway to his journalism class already, fuck - but Matt is still sitting there in the same chair, reading his economics textbook with possibly the most adorable look of concentration ever. He plants himself solidly in the chair he’d been using before, drops his bag on the floor, and says, “I give you full permission to make fun of me if you fuckin’ help me out this once.”
“What’s in it for me?” Matt asks, without losing his place on the page. “I mean, besides the pleasure of gloating. ‘Cause that’s kind of an obvious one.” He’s flicking his lip ring with the tip of his tongue; it’s hot and distracting and totally not. fucking. helping the situation at all.
“Depends how much help you are to me, I guess? Anyway. So I have, like, unpaid parking tickets or whatever, apparently, and the parking enforcement dicks put a boot on my car so I have no way to get home and no fucking idea what to do ‘cause I don’t have enough cash on me for a cab ride and my parents are totally going to slaughter me and.... yeah.” He stares down at his ugly-ass tan boot things and sighs. Matt isn’t going to help him; he should have expected that. They aren’t friends. He can wait for someone else to be out of class. Yeah, he’ll do that. He pulls the ticket out of his pocket, looks at it sadly. It’s not that much money. It’s the fact that, once again, his parents flat-out lied to him about taking care of shit when they clearly haven’t. So he’s pissed off at them.
To his surprise, Matt hauls him up onto his feet by the back of his shirt, looks at him condescendingly and says, “Well, come on if we’re doing this, then.”
“... Doing what?” he asks incredulously. Because - first of all, holy fuck Matt is stronger than he expected, which is a million different flavours of hot he really shouldn’t think about while wearing sweatpants - but more importantly, the guy isn’t being a dick to him for once. He has to jog to keep up, and he’s really not sure where they’re going. “Wait, wait, where the fuck are we going?”
“We’re taking the bus,” Matt informs him. “I’m assuming you know what those are.”
Danny has never taken the bus before. He’s never had to. Until he turned sixteen and got his first car, his parents drove him to school every day or else he carpooled with his friends’ parents. He watches while Matt shuffles around in the various pockets of his shorts, looking for the exact change for bus fare. “Would you fucking stop that,” he sighs, pulling a five dollar bill out of his wallet. “I’ve got this.” It’s hard to ignore the relieved look that creeps its way into Matt’s eyes. Then he feels guilty about being so well-off when other people have to work so damn hard just to make ends meet. He feels a bit like an alien when the bus finally rolls up to the curb and they board; the bus driver gives him a blank stare when he tries to hand her the bill and then realizes he’s supposed to put the money in the little box thing.
He feels even stupider when Matt snickers and says, “You might want to give me dipshit’s transfer in case he loses it.” Then Matt grabs the front of his shirt and pulls him down the aisle before crowding him into a seat. Danny puts his bag in his lap, which has surprisingly little to do with his desire to make room for the elderly lady sitting on his left and almost everything to do with the fact that Matt stands directly in front of him with one arm up, hand curled loosely around the handrail. It’s fucking torturous. Matt’s shirt has ridden up a couple of inches and he’s trying really, really hard not to think about that. But he can see skin; it’s right there, right in front of him, basically free porn. He thinks about how much he would like to touch that skin. He thinks about how Matt would probably get that really bitchy look on his face if he did it, the way his lips purse and his nose scrunches up. He’s incredibly relieved when the old lady gets off at her stop and Matt slumps quietly into the seat instead so he can stop thinking about it.
It’s not until the next day when he finds out that Matt and Evan’s apartment is only ten minutes from campus. Matt rode the entire way with him, and he didn’t have to do that. Maybe it was just so Evan wouldn’t invite him to stay at their place or anything. He doesn’t understand what he did to make Matt hate him this much besides simply existing. For a long time after he’s home, he sits in his room and plays one of his guitars, which usually makes him feel better. It doesn’t. He could play until the strings slice his fingers open and it wouldn’t make him feel any better. He’s all full of cliché teen angst and he hates his parents and he hates hot boys that make him feel things he doesn’t understand. He had kind of hoped that he could lure Matt into the house so they could make out and have hot, dirty hate-sex. Or, you know, maybe next time he’ll remember to mention the fact that he has two Fender guitars and a vintage Strat and see if he can lure Matt using that information. It’ll probably make Matt hate him even more.
&
Evan hears the lock on the door of the apartment click open when Matt comes home from work at two-thirty in the morning. He’s still awake, just lying in bed staring at the ceiling. He can’t sleep; there’s something weighing heavy on his mind but no one to talk to about it. Matt’s not going to understand, this time. And he’s sure as hell not going to talk to Grieco about this one - mostly because Matt will threaten to break his kneecaps again for attempting to poison his best friend’s innocent mind - and... Well, fuck, he can’t talk to Vinny about it because Vinny is the goddamn problem. The thing is, he didn’t mean for it to happen. He can’t straighten out his thoughts.
They were watching Cartoon Network and drinking beers, and suddenly Vinny looked at him and said, “Hey,” giving him this odd sort of look. He shifted on the couch, carefully balancing his beer between his thighs, and twisted around to look at Vinny properly. The bottle of Heineken was still cold from the fridge; there was a line of caps on the coffee table.
He said, “Hey” back and clinked his nails along the neck of his bottle.
It wasn’t like this long, drawn-out thing or anything, not like with his girlfriend. Vinny blinked, said, “I’m just going to...” and they made out. Completely uncomplicated. Except that it totally was -and it is, still - because, shit, he made out with his best friend on his and Matt’s couch and probably really needs to do something about it. Because then there were Vinny’s hands inside his shirt, they were suddenly horizontal, and he forgot completely about his beer, spilling it all over the carpet in the process. He wasn’t thinking about her then, and she’s still only a tiny afterthought in the corner of his brain now. It didn’t mean anything, right? They’re best friends.
And afterward, Vinny had been all awkward and fumbling, sliding feet into shoes with the laces flapping around his ankles undone. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said, even though it wasn’t, and he crawled into bed with the deeply unsettling feeling that Vinny wasn’t, either.
It doesn’t change anything. He still has a girlfriend. Vinny’s still his best friend. They watch Sunday Night Football together and drink the same brand of beer. But it also changes everything. They’re never going to be able to have a conversation again where he’s not looking at Vinny’s lips and thinking about what they feel like. He’d do it again. That’s the scary part. And it isn’t like he has never thought about this kind of thing before. The majority of his friends are in some way queer, so he is not really bothered by the idea. It’s the principle of the thing.
His throat feels dry and tight; he climbs out of bed and goes to the kitchen for a glass of water. Matt’s leaning against the counter, waiting for his ramen to finish cooking. The X’s on the backs of his hands are still prominent. “You’re up late,” Matt comments.
“Can’t sleep,” he replies, stretching up and over Matt’s shoulder to get a glass from the cupboard. His water is room temperature, tasting slightly metallic since neither of them remembered to change the filter on the tap. It’s the unmistakable taste of guilt on his tongue, he’s sure of it. “How was work?” he asks, perching himself on the edge of the counter.
“It was,” Matt says, a hard look on his face, “work. I threw out some asshole trying to cop a feel on this kid. Nasty fucker.” From the look on his face, Evan knows that it’s not just some kid. He knows that expression. It’s the same look he had in high school the first day they met Grieco. Matt will never admit to it, but he was maybe half in love with Alex Grieco for a long time. They’ve been friends for long enough that Evan can read him pretty well. So he doesn’t need Matt to admit it to know that the guy’s got a crush, which is why he feels okay going to bed without saying the thing bouncing around inside him and driving him crazy.
He decides he’d better brush his teeth before bed. The toothpaste is too strong; he stands in their tiny bathroom staring at his reflection in the mirror with a gob of toothpaste on his shirt and says, “Well, shit.” He doesn’t look any different, but he feels different. Same goofy-looking nose, same bad haircut, but something in him has changed. It probably says too much that he’s freaking out about a drunken kiss more than he’s ever freaked out about his girlfriend. He doesn’t want to think about that. When he finally sleeps, thankfully, it’s dreamless.
Part Two