Practice!fic
So I did [ a five things meme, David Cook style ] last week, and totally got carried away with expatiates's prompt. Re-posted here for posterity, but not beta'd. 3k of David Cook completely, uh, not getting any.
The het is next! I swears it.
5 times David Cook almost kissed a dude, but didn't.
(David Cook/various, adult)
1.
At Blue Springs, they were called "drama fags." David Cook didn't think it was meant pejoratively; it seemed more like a time-honored institution than anything else (like the president of the math club always riding on the float in the homecoming court, that kind of thing). And to be honest, in some ways David thought they kind of asked for it, what with the knee-high felt boots and wearing black-and-purple capes to class, for fuck's sake. Even then, though, it seemed like the "drama" was the derided part of the term. Blanket homophobia was so 90s.
David himself was pretty well insulated from it. He starred in the spring musicals, sure, but he was also a two-sport varsity athlete and the lead singer of a rock band. And he'd been told he was "a good guy," so really, nobody had anything to gain by giving him a hard time.
Other kids weren't so lucky. Porter Fennimore, he wasn't so lucky: sophomore, smart kid, good-looking, with none of the awkwardness that usually came with being sixteen. But all the most popular girls loved him, and that was his first strike; he wore his heart on his sleeve, and that was his second. And he actually was gay. So as far as successfully navigating high school social status turf wars? Dude was screwed.
As far as David knew, Porter'd never had the shit kicked out of him or anything; it wasn't that bad. But he'd certainly get harassed, and was teased mercilessly for his understandable but completely ill-advised crush on their all-district wide receiver back in the fall. And David had a soft spot for hard-luck cases, so once they started rehearsals for "Singing in the Rain," he sort of took Porter under his wing.
Bad, bad idea.
Porter shifted his affections to David faster than you could say "hero worship." David was honestly torn between pretending like he didn't have any idea and trying to let the kid down gently. (And also to get him to chill out, already, because David was starting to get used to the moony eyes from the packs of freshman girls that all seemed to have some hivemind about which days he'd bring his guitar to play after school, but he wasn't sure he would ever get used to Porter staring at his crotch when he'd play.)
And of course Porter actually made a pass at him before David had figured out how he was going to handle it, and of course David thought he handled it worse than he could have, all "dude, come on, I don't -- I'm not like that" instead of something a little less judge-y and a little more, you know, completely accurate.
But the kid was cool about it, so much cooler than David deserved, stepping back out of his personal space smoothly and ducking his head so his hair covered the blush on his cheeks, offering to run lines instead. And then and there, David swore to himself that he wasn't letting anybody get away with using the word "fag" around him, ever again.
2.
The first crush that David Cook ever had on a guy sucked. And not in the good way.
It was his older brother in his frat, at school, and it was the biggest cliche in all the worst ways. (He wanted to apologize to Porter Fennimore, wherever he was, for not letting him down gently as soon as he could, back in high school. Because unrequited crushes, when you've deluded yourself into thinking you might actually have a chance in hell? Yeah. Not fun.) David considered himself mostly straight; like, 90 percent, easily. Maybe 85. He'd never do anything about it, though.
Probably.
Ryan just turned David Cook into an idiot, that was all. David drank too much to try and impress him; he hooked up with whatever girls Ryan would introduce to him at their keggers. He learned crap, crap Dashboard Confessional songs on his guitar so he could play them and Ryan could hook up with girls at their keggers. Ryan spent two hours helping David study for his accounting final and pretty much all that David got out of the session was that Ryan smelled fucking amazing after he showered and that it would be significantly less retarded for him to just sneak into his shower to see what kind of shampoo or whatever he used then to actually say that out loud.
It was that kind of stuff, though -- Ryan making time to help David out, really looking out for him -- that made it impossible for David to just get over himself and get a clue. Ryan'd fucking hugged David when he'd gotten some bad news about Adam's prognosis, okay? Like, full-on, chest-to-chest, warm soft hand cupping the back of David's neck and holding him close. Letting David sob like a big fucking girl, then actually looking at him and asking if he was going to be okay once he'd pulled away. And when another one of their brothers made an off-hand comment about knowing that Ryan had been with a guy before, something about polo shirts and boarding schools, well. David always figured that college was for trying stupid stuff.
He told Ryan he'd figured out the chord progression on "So Impossible" and did he want to come to David's room to hear it, and no, Ryan could sit on the bed, totally. And David sat on the floor to play the song and sort of hated himself a little but he knew where his stengths lay. And he reached over to get a couple Buds out of his mini-fridge when he was done, and held one out to Ryan, but just far enough that Ryan had to get down on the floor with him to reach it. And at least David asked first; it wasn't as mortifying as it could have been. He asked, "can I?" and Ryan let him get close, Ryan let David grab the front of his tee shirt in his fist and get close. Get close and let his eyes fall almost all the way shut before Ryan turned his head to the side and whispered, "Dave, uh."
3.
Tulsa was a lot of things -- for example, David really respected the music scene, and not just because it had done fairly well by him -- but it was not what you would call a pretty town. David had never been to New York or LA, and didn't remember Houston that well. But he'd been to Chicago a few times, and Dallas, and Nashville once, and so he knew what a bar's clientele had the capacity to look like. Just no bars in Tulsa. None that he worked at, anyway. Lots of otherwise okay-looking chicks with mushroom tops happening over their jeans? Yes. People that would be naturals at gracing the cover of magazines? No.
Not until this one guy came in on a random Wednesday, causing Anna to literally drop the glass she was holding, raising the average attractiveness of the patrons all by himself to something approaching a nine (prior to that, David would have generously given them a four). David was pretty sure the right word for the guy was "smoldering," and he stalked into the bar like he had something to prove to someone.
"Damn," Anna breathed, right at David's elbow, but it was David that the guy sat down in front of. And glared at.
"Tequila," he said, in a tone that dared David to challenge him, "and leave the bottle."
They weren't allowed to do that, really, but David didn't put the bottle back after he poured the guy's shot. He left it on the bar but out of the guy's reach, and twisted off the cap of a Bud for him. The guy seemed to think that was a fair compromise.
"Gonna bite my head off if I ask if it's lady troubles?" David tried, but he made sure to stay out of the guy's reach too, just in case.
The guy just rolled his eyes and snorted. "I wish."
Okay, then, David said to himself. "Not from around here, are you?" Which seemed stupidly obvious, but. David had memorized his bartender cliches well for a reason. One of them usually stuck.
The guy glared at him again. David took the hint, shut up, and poured him another shot.
He was down at the other end of the bar when Anna brushed past him and asked, "Where are they coming from?"
"Where are who - oh." David turned in time to watch another guy pause at the door, then stalk -- what was with all the stalking? -- stalk up to the first guy who, despite all of his obvious good intentions, was still nursing his second drink.
"Go away, Sam," David heard him say, without even turning around to acknowledge the guy who'd just come in and was hovering over his shoulder. The new guy -- Sam -- raked his hand through just-showered hair in a universal sign of frustration, then leaned over and put his hands on the bar on either side of the first guy's body.
"Dean," he hissed, "I'm serious, if you don't stop doing this, I'll- "
"What?" Dean interrupted. David had watched his whole body tighten up when Sam had leaned over him. Despite the size advantage that Sam had on him, though, he hadn't looked threatened, just ... ready. "What are you going to do about it, Sam?"
Lean closer and whisper heatedly in his ear, apparently, David noted, and watched Dean try in vain to put some distance between them without looking like he was squirming. David wanted to be professional and give them some space, but this shit was even better than Laguna Beach.
"Can I get you something, man?" he asked, then almost tripped stepping back when Sam's head snapped up, his expression shockingly protective and decidedly displeased about being interrupted.
That quickly changed to embarrassment when Dean rolled his eyes and shoved him down into the stool next to him, and said, "Seriously? And you wonder why I don't let you come with me, you friggin' psychopath?"
"I know why you don't," Sam muttered darkly, and spent the next hour eying anybody who came within three feet of Dean. Especially David.
Who must have had a deathwish for even contemplating flirting with Dean, when Sam looked like he both could and would break David in half if he tried. But considering Dean was the most attractive person David had ever seen in real life, he owed it to himself to give it a shot.
He'd asked Dean about something completely random and they'd gotten into a South Park versus Beavis and Butthead debate, and David leaned over with his forearms on the bar. He scratched at the wood paneling a little, right by Dean's hand, and flexed his biceps when he saw Dean look.
Dean raised an eyebrow, and David licked his lips. David was pretty sure it wasn't just wishful thinking when he saw Dean glance around the bar, then, like he was locating a convenient dark corner. Up until his own sweep of the room showed that Sam had stood up and put two twenties on the bar. "Sorry," he said tightly, not sounding sorry at all, and very pointedly not looking at Dean. "We have to go."
And David had some more lines ready for Dean, "you in town long?" and "hey, no, drinks are on me," but Sam was hustling him out of the bar and Dean didn't seem to look back.
4.
It had been a goddamned shitty night already, seriously; Luke performed, and was probably going to be voted off on Thursday, and the judges -- all of them, not just Simon -- had just been such dicks about it. And coupled with just not getting enough sleep, and realizing that he was actually doing this, that he was on American Idol and at this point he just had to go for it or look like a douche, well. He pretty much flipped his shit backstage and might have said he wasn't singing, so they made Michael Johns go on early, instead, while they had a fast-and-furious "conversation" with David reminding him of the contract he'd signed, and really, David was just not making any friends that night.
He was sure the judges knew exactly what had happened, despite Ryan's smooth lie about the equipment, but he refused to look at them and psych himself out before he started playing.
He looked at them as soon as he'd finished "Hello," though, and was cautiously optimistic. Simon was always impossible to read, but Paula was smiling, and Randy had been really supportive of him all along. It still didn't prepare him for what it felt like to have Simon say he loved it. Simon Cowell loved his performance. David honestly didn't hear anything after that, doesn't remember what the rest of the guys sang after him. He man-hugged everyone after Ryan gave out the numbers, shook Ryan's hand, jumped down from the stage and kissed some of the girls.
Walking to the cars, he was in such a fog, he barely heard the voice calling "David!" after him, and when he did hear it, he assumed someone was calling for Archuleta. Because they always were. But when a hand closed around his elbow he finally stopped and turned, and gaped at a grinning Simon who was breathing a little heavily and had obviously jogged after him. "Didn't you hear me?" he chuckled. "Honestly, David, I know sometimes contestants don't like to listen to what I have to say, but running away is a bit pathetic."
David stared. "I'm sorry, I really didn't - "
"No, I know," Simon waved him off, smile gone and his normal impatience in its place. "Look. I just wanted to say, again, congratulations. That was one of the, how shall I say this. One of the most promising performaces I've seen on this show. To be honest, I wasn't sure you had it in you."
"Thanks?" David said, not at all sure why Simon thought that sort of backhanded compliment was worth chasing him down the halls to deliver. But while he had the face time with Simon, he had something he wanted to say himself. "I wanted to tell you again, in person, that last week - I'm sorry, as soon as I started to say that I realized it wasn't coming out right, and - "
Simon flapped his hands again, and David shut up, and decided to listen. He'd made it to the semifinals of this fucking show, so he'd lost all of one kind of cred he had. He had nothing to lose and everything to gain by kicking ass from here on out, and Simon Cowell knew better than anybody in the world, probably, how to help him make that happen. Really, David would suck his dick if he thought it would help.
"If I were singing on American Idol this season," Simon said carefully, looking David in the eye, "I would keep taking risks. I think the American public would be very interested in a contestant who took some risks."
"Okay," David nodded, waiting.
"Obviously, the judges can't give you suggestions on what to sing - "
"For sure - "
" - but along the way, you may be surprised at some of the opportunities that you're presented with."
David nodded, and Simon nodded, and then smiled once more. "Off you go, then."
The next day, the cleared song lists for Top 10 week were delivered to their rooms. David's had a green Post-It that read "Cook" on the front and, as he paged through the list, a particular song that was highlighted in yellow. There were no other notes or markings, but David closed his eyes and thought if he pulled this off, he really could just kiss Simon.
5.
"So, David really likes you," Kristy Lee tells him, squeezing down next to him on the couch and bumping his arm so he crashes on GTA.
"David who," David says, hitting restart and wishing he hadn't left his earphones back in the room.
Kristy Lee huffs and punches him on the shoulder, and it hurts, because the girl is a beast. "David Archuleta, dumbass!"
Oh, David thinks. "Well, he's a good kid, I like him too," is what he says, though, and smiles a little to himself when Kristy Lee huffs again and gets up in search of someone more fun to gossip with, presumably.
The thing is, David is completely aware of how much Archie likes him, even if he's pretty sure that Archie himself doesn't know. David rationalizes it as hero worship and tries not to dwell on it beyond that. It's just that Archie is so painfully, painfully earnest about it, and all "Cook this" and "Cook that," and David can admit it's sweet, okay, but it also ties his hands a little bit. Because he can't exactly sit Archie down and tell him how it looks, because Archie doesn't have the first clue, and David - well, he's just not in the business of making people face up to things they haven't admitted to themselves, yet. He's just not, no matter how much fodder the whole thing is creating in their Idol bubble.
And it's not that David has such a high opinion of himself, or anything, but who knows what dropping a bomb like that could do to Archie's mindset? No way he's pulling that kind of dick move in the middle of the competition. Archie's blissfully unaware, everybody else is getting a laugh out of it; David can be the bigger man, here.
Or he thinks he can, at least, until more and more people are leaving the show and Archie is spending more and more time in David's room and sitting more and more closely when they're alone together and Archie asks, "Cook, but what do you think about this run here," and points out a line on his sheet music and they both bend over and their foreheads bump.
Or they're rehearsing for the finale and they've both gotten cortisone shots and David is just fucking wiped out and Archie's just running through his songs over and over and over. And David just loses it, blurts out "how the fuck are you still upright?!" And Archie flinches at the cuss word but steps closer to put a hand on David's back when David finally stops trying to hold it in and just lets go, cries for like the fortieth time since he's been on the show when Archie is just a kid and has never. Archie rubs his back and it's actually soothing while David takes these big hiccuping breaths and buries his face in his hands.
And then after their last performances, when the kid has just killed it, honestly, absolutely owned his songs, and the first things still out of his mouth are "Cook, you were amazing," and "Cook, the judges, they don't -" David grabs him and presses a kiss to his temple, which stops Archie. Then he stops himself, from doing anything else, and lets Archie go.
The het is next! I swears it.
5 times David Cook almost kissed a dude, but didn't.
(David Cook/various, adult)
1.
At Blue Springs, they were called "drama fags." David Cook didn't think it was meant pejoratively; it seemed more like a time-honored institution than anything else (like the president of the math club always riding on the float in the homecoming court, that kind of thing). And to be honest, in some ways David thought they kind of asked for it, what with the knee-high felt boots and wearing black-and-purple capes to class, for fuck's sake. Even then, though, it seemed like the "drama" was the derided part of the term. Blanket homophobia was so 90s.
David himself was pretty well insulated from it. He starred in the spring musicals, sure, but he was also a two-sport varsity athlete and the lead singer of a rock band. And he'd been told he was "a good guy," so really, nobody had anything to gain by giving him a hard time.
Other kids weren't so lucky. Porter Fennimore, he wasn't so lucky: sophomore, smart kid, good-looking, with none of the awkwardness that usually came with being sixteen. But all the most popular girls loved him, and that was his first strike; he wore his heart on his sleeve, and that was his second. And he actually was gay. So as far as successfully navigating high school social status turf wars? Dude was screwed.
As far as David knew, Porter'd never had the shit kicked out of him or anything; it wasn't that bad. But he'd certainly get harassed, and was teased mercilessly for his understandable but completely ill-advised crush on their all-district wide receiver back in the fall. And David had a soft spot for hard-luck cases, so once they started rehearsals for "Singing in the Rain," he sort of took Porter under his wing.
Bad, bad idea.
Porter shifted his affections to David faster than you could say "hero worship." David was honestly torn between pretending like he didn't have any idea and trying to let the kid down gently. (And also to get him to chill out, already, because David was starting to get used to the moony eyes from the packs of freshman girls that all seemed to have some hivemind about which days he'd bring his guitar to play after school, but he wasn't sure he would ever get used to Porter staring at his crotch when he'd play.)
And of course Porter actually made a pass at him before David had figured out how he was going to handle it, and of course David thought he handled it worse than he could have, all "dude, come on, I don't -- I'm not like that" instead of something a little less judge-y and a little more, you know, completely accurate.
But the kid was cool about it, so much cooler than David deserved, stepping back out of his personal space smoothly and ducking his head so his hair covered the blush on his cheeks, offering to run lines instead. And then and there, David swore to himself that he wasn't letting anybody get away with using the word "fag" around him, ever again.
2.
The first crush that David Cook ever had on a guy sucked. And not in the good way.
It was his older brother in his frat, at school, and it was the biggest cliche in all the worst ways. (He wanted to apologize to Porter Fennimore, wherever he was, for not letting him down gently as soon as he could, back in high school. Because unrequited crushes, when you've deluded yourself into thinking you might actually have a chance in hell? Yeah. Not fun.) David considered himself mostly straight; like, 90 percent, easily. Maybe 85. He'd never do anything about it, though.
Probably.
Ryan just turned David Cook into an idiot, that was all. David drank too much to try and impress him; he hooked up with whatever girls Ryan would introduce to him at their keggers. He learned crap, crap Dashboard Confessional songs on his guitar so he could play them and Ryan could hook up with girls at their keggers. Ryan spent two hours helping David study for his accounting final and pretty much all that David got out of the session was that Ryan smelled fucking amazing after he showered and that it would be significantly less retarded for him to just sneak into his shower to see what kind of shampoo or whatever he used then to actually say that out loud.
It was that kind of stuff, though -- Ryan making time to help David out, really looking out for him -- that made it impossible for David to just get over himself and get a clue. Ryan'd fucking hugged David when he'd gotten some bad news about Adam's prognosis, okay? Like, full-on, chest-to-chest, warm soft hand cupping the back of David's neck and holding him close. Letting David sob like a big fucking girl, then actually looking at him and asking if he was going to be okay once he'd pulled away. And when another one of their brothers made an off-hand comment about knowing that Ryan had been with a guy before, something about polo shirts and boarding schools, well. David always figured that college was for trying stupid stuff.
He told Ryan he'd figured out the chord progression on "So Impossible" and did he want to come to David's room to hear it, and no, Ryan could sit on the bed, totally. And David sat on the floor to play the song and sort of hated himself a little but he knew where his stengths lay. And he reached over to get a couple Buds out of his mini-fridge when he was done, and held one out to Ryan, but just far enough that Ryan had to get down on the floor with him to reach it. And at least David asked first; it wasn't as mortifying as it could have been. He asked, "can I?" and Ryan let him get close, Ryan let David grab the front of his tee shirt in his fist and get close. Get close and let his eyes fall almost all the way shut before Ryan turned his head to the side and whispered, "Dave, uh."
3.
Tulsa was a lot of things -- for example, David really respected the music scene, and not just because it had done fairly well by him -- but it was not what you would call a pretty town. David had never been to New York or LA, and didn't remember Houston that well. But he'd been to Chicago a few times, and Dallas, and Nashville once, and so he knew what a bar's clientele had the capacity to look like. Just no bars in Tulsa. None that he worked at, anyway. Lots of otherwise okay-looking chicks with mushroom tops happening over their jeans? Yes. People that would be naturals at gracing the cover of magazines? No.
Not until this one guy came in on a random Wednesday, causing Anna to literally drop the glass she was holding, raising the average attractiveness of the patrons all by himself to something approaching a nine (prior to that, David would have generously given them a four). David was pretty sure the right word for the guy was "smoldering," and he stalked into the bar like he had something to prove to someone.
"Damn," Anna breathed, right at David's elbow, but it was David that the guy sat down in front of. And glared at.
"Tequila," he said, in a tone that dared David to challenge him, "and leave the bottle."
They weren't allowed to do that, really, but David didn't put the bottle back after he poured the guy's shot. He left it on the bar but out of the guy's reach, and twisted off the cap of a Bud for him. The guy seemed to think that was a fair compromise.
"Gonna bite my head off if I ask if it's lady troubles?" David tried, but he made sure to stay out of the guy's reach too, just in case.
The guy just rolled his eyes and snorted. "I wish."
Okay, then, David said to himself. "Not from around here, are you?" Which seemed stupidly obvious, but. David had memorized his bartender cliches well for a reason. One of them usually stuck.
The guy glared at him again. David took the hint, shut up, and poured him another shot.
He was down at the other end of the bar when Anna brushed past him and asked, "Where are they coming from?"
"Where are who - oh." David turned in time to watch another guy pause at the door, then stalk -- what was with all the stalking? -- stalk up to the first guy who, despite all of his obvious good intentions, was still nursing his second drink.
"Go away, Sam," David heard him say, without even turning around to acknowledge the guy who'd just come in and was hovering over his shoulder. The new guy -- Sam -- raked his hand through just-showered hair in a universal sign of frustration, then leaned over and put his hands on the bar on either side of the first guy's body.
"Dean," he hissed, "I'm serious, if you don't stop doing this, I'll- "
"What?" Dean interrupted. David had watched his whole body tighten up when Sam had leaned over him. Despite the size advantage that Sam had on him, though, he hadn't looked threatened, just ... ready. "What are you going to do about it, Sam?"
Lean closer and whisper heatedly in his ear, apparently, David noted, and watched Dean try in vain to put some distance between them without looking like he was squirming. David wanted to be professional and give them some space, but this shit was even better than Laguna Beach.
"Can I get you something, man?" he asked, then almost tripped stepping back when Sam's head snapped up, his expression shockingly protective and decidedly displeased about being interrupted.
That quickly changed to embarrassment when Dean rolled his eyes and shoved him down into the stool next to him, and said, "Seriously? And you wonder why I don't let you come with me, you friggin' psychopath?"
"I know why you don't," Sam muttered darkly, and spent the next hour eying anybody who came within three feet of Dean. Especially David.
Who must have had a deathwish for even contemplating flirting with Dean, when Sam looked like he both could and would break David in half if he tried. But considering Dean was the most attractive person David had ever seen in real life, he owed it to himself to give it a shot.
He'd asked Dean about something completely random and they'd gotten into a South Park versus Beavis and Butthead debate, and David leaned over with his forearms on the bar. He scratched at the wood paneling a little, right by Dean's hand, and flexed his biceps when he saw Dean look.
Dean raised an eyebrow, and David licked his lips. David was pretty sure it wasn't just wishful thinking when he saw Dean glance around the bar, then, like he was locating a convenient dark corner. Up until his own sweep of the room showed that Sam had stood up and put two twenties on the bar. "Sorry," he said tightly, not sounding sorry at all, and very pointedly not looking at Dean. "We have to go."
And David had some more lines ready for Dean, "you in town long?" and "hey, no, drinks are on me," but Sam was hustling him out of the bar and Dean didn't seem to look back.
4.
It had been a goddamned shitty night already, seriously; Luke performed, and was probably going to be voted off on Thursday, and the judges -- all of them, not just Simon -- had just been such dicks about it. And coupled with just not getting enough sleep, and realizing that he was actually doing this, that he was on American Idol and at this point he just had to go for it or look like a douche, well. He pretty much flipped his shit backstage and might have said he wasn't singing, so they made Michael Johns go on early, instead, while they had a fast-and-furious "conversation" with David reminding him of the contract he'd signed, and really, David was just not making any friends that night.
He was sure the judges knew exactly what had happened, despite Ryan's smooth lie about the equipment, but he refused to look at them and psych himself out before he started playing.
He looked at them as soon as he'd finished "Hello," though, and was cautiously optimistic. Simon was always impossible to read, but Paula was smiling, and Randy had been really supportive of him all along. It still didn't prepare him for what it felt like to have Simon say he loved it. Simon Cowell loved his performance. David honestly didn't hear anything after that, doesn't remember what the rest of the guys sang after him. He man-hugged everyone after Ryan gave out the numbers, shook Ryan's hand, jumped down from the stage and kissed some of the girls.
Walking to the cars, he was in such a fog, he barely heard the voice calling "David!" after him, and when he did hear it, he assumed someone was calling for Archuleta. Because they always were. But when a hand closed around his elbow he finally stopped and turned, and gaped at a grinning Simon who was breathing a little heavily and had obviously jogged after him. "Didn't you hear me?" he chuckled. "Honestly, David, I know sometimes contestants don't like to listen to what I have to say, but running away is a bit pathetic."
David stared. "I'm sorry, I really didn't - "
"No, I know," Simon waved him off, smile gone and his normal impatience in its place. "Look. I just wanted to say, again, congratulations. That was one of the, how shall I say this. One of the most promising performaces I've seen on this show. To be honest, I wasn't sure you had it in you."
"Thanks?" David said, not at all sure why Simon thought that sort of backhanded compliment was worth chasing him down the halls to deliver. But while he had the face time with Simon, he had something he wanted to say himself. "I wanted to tell you again, in person, that last week - I'm sorry, as soon as I started to say that I realized it wasn't coming out right, and - "
Simon flapped his hands again, and David shut up, and decided to listen. He'd made it to the semifinals of this fucking show, so he'd lost all of one kind of cred he had. He had nothing to lose and everything to gain by kicking ass from here on out, and Simon Cowell knew better than anybody in the world, probably, how to help him make that happen. Really, David would suck his dick if he thought it would help.
"If I were singing on American Idol this season," Simon said carefully, looking David in the eye, "I would keep taking risks. I think the American public would be very interested in a contestant who took some risks."
"Okay," David nodded, waiting.
"Obviously, the judges can't give you suggestions on what to sing - "
"For sure - "
" - but along the way, you may be surprised at some of the opportunities that you're presented with."
David nodded, and Simon nodded, and then smiled once more. "Off you go, then."
The next day, the cleared song lists for Top 10 week were delivered to their rooms. David's had a green Post-It that read "Cook" on the front and, as he paged through the list, a particular song that was highlighted in yellow. There were no other notes or markings, but David closed his eyes and thought if he pulled this off, he really could just kiss Simon.
5.
"So, David really likes you," Kristy Lee tells him, squeezing down next to him on the couch and bumping his arm so he crashes on GTA.
"David who," David says, hitting restart and wishing he hadn't left his earphones back in the room.
Kristy Lee huffs and punches him on the shoulder, and it hurts, because the girl is a beast. "David Archuleta, dumbass!"
Oh, David thinks. "Well, he's a good kid, I like him too," is what he says, though, and smiles a little to himself when Kristy Lee huffs again and gets up in search of someone more fun to gossip with, presumably.
The thing is, David is completely aware of how much Archie likes him, even if he's pretty sure that Archie himself doesn't know. David rationalizes it as hero worship and tries not to dwell on it beyond that. It's just that Archie is so painfully, painfully earnest about it, and all "Cook this" and "Cook that," and David can admit it's sweet, okay, but it also ties his hands a little bit. Because he can't exactly sit Archie down and tell him how it looks, because Archie doesn't have the first clue, and David - well, he's just not in the business of making people face up to things they haven't admitted to themselves, yet. He's just not, no matter how much fodder the whole thing is creating in their Idol bubble.
And it's not that David has such a high opinion of himself, or anything, but who knows what dropping a bomb like that could do to Archie's mindset? No way he's pulling that kind of dick move in the middle of the competition. Archie's blissfully unaware, everybody else is getting a laugh out of it; David can be the bigger man, here.
Or he thinks he can, at least, until more and more people are leaving the show and Archie is spending more and more time in David's room and sitting more and more closely when they're alone together and Archie asks, "Cook, but what do you think about this run here," and points out a line on his sheet music and they both bend over and their foreheads bump.
Or they're rehearsing for the finale and they've both gotten cortisone shots and David is just fucking wiped out and Archie's just running through his songs over and over and over. And David just loses it, blurts out "how the fuck are you still upright?!" And Archie flinches at the cuss word but steps closer to put a hand on David's back when David finally stops trying to hold it in and just lets go, cries for like the fortieth time since he's been on the show when Archie is just a kid and has never. Archie rubs his back and it's actually soothing while David takes these big hiccuping breaths and buries his face in his hands.
And then after their last performances, when the kid has just killed it, honestly, absolutely owned his songs, and the first things still out of his mouth are "Cook, you were amazing," and "Cook, the judges, they don't -" David grabs him and presses a kiss to his temple, which stops Archie. Then he stops himself, from doing anything else, and lets Archie go.