[It Feels So Real: American Idol; David Cook/Michael Johns; 4,800 words]
Title: It Feels So Real
Author: peridium
Fandom: American Idol (Season 7)
Word Count: ~4,800
Pairing: David Cook/Michael Johns; David Archuleta with an unrequited crush on David Cook
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Trust me, I do not own any of these people. They belong to themselves.
Summary: David Archuleta can't help having a crush on David Cook; who could? And that means he really can't help his jealousy when it becomes obvious just how close Cook and a certain Michael Johns are. Basically, David Cook and Michael Johns and their process of falling in love through Archie's eyes.
David spends a lot of his time watching David.
The other David, that is. He gets enough scrutiny of himself from his family, his dad in particular; he doesn't need to watch himself. It's just that David Cook is, well, he's pretty much awesome and a lot of the things David Archuleta wishes he could be. He's tall, for one thing, and confident, and smart. The best part is maybe that he's nice, too. He says hi to David like he thinks David is a real person and ruffles his hair and calls him "Archie" and everything.
At first this is okay, in the beginning when they're all shuffling around and no one has fixed groups yet. He'll trail behind David Cook sometimes and hope that some of the awesome starts to rub off on him. Like osmosis. He's mostly quiet, hoping he can think of a big word to say to sound impressive.
He's actually glad when he learns that he can't have a roommate or anything, because he's so young. It would be impossible to decide whether rooming with David or not would be the best outcome. He'd possibly go kind of insane.
What David Archuleta didn't realize at first, when it was finally down to the top twenty-four and when they were all milling around trying to find the people to whom they could attach or reattach themselves now that they were back, was that watching David Cook kind of came with watching Michael Johns, as a package deal. Like when you order at a fast food restaurant and they end up giving you fries even if you don't want them because it's the combo? Kind of like that.
"If it isn't the little prodigy," is maybe the first thing Michael Johns says to David. The accented voice comes from behind and he nearly jumps, turning with wide eyes.
"Um, I -- hi."
Not surprisingly, the man who's talking to him is much taller than him, and wearing a broad grin that's either appealing, unnerving, or both at the same time. "So you're already the American Idol, they say?"
David hopes he's not blushing. He needs to work on that. "I don't think -- I mean, I don't think that's really -- "
"Hey, David likes you." A pause. "David Cook. Shit, we have too many Davids." Another slight pause, then he offers David a hand. "Michael Johns. I'm from Australia. Obviously."
David hesitates. He doesn't really like touching people he doesn't know and he really isn't sure if he even likes Michael or not. But he shakes his hand, as polite as he knows how to be, and tries for a smile. "David Archuleta -- um. Which -- I guess you already know that."
"People talk about you." Michael shrugs. "No one talks to you but David that I've seen." He pauses again, frowning. "Honestly, just make the assumption that I'm talking about Cook unless I specify. He's my favourite David so far, anyway."
To his embarrassment, David has to suppress the urge to say "Me too." Instead, he smiles again, flustered. "I guess there are kind of a lot of us. And I don't, um, don't really have a good nickname or anything."
"You'll need one," Michael informs him gravely. "How do you feel about 'Archie'?"
"No, thank you," he says, trying to remain polite.
It's sort of awkward for a few minutes while he tries to think of something to say and Michael, obviously finished with him for now, pulls his phone from a pocket and starts looking through something on the screen. Does he leave and go look for someone else to talk to? Is that rude? Is he even supposed to be polite?
So it's one of those blessings that are also curses when he hears David Cook's voice from somewhere to his side. "Michael!" Something small and jealous tightens in David's stomach; of course it's Michael who gets greeted first. "And hey, Archuleta."
Cook's stupid, impossibly charming grin (he probably doesn't even know he's doing it) is directed full-force at the both of them when David turns to face him. He's pretty sure Michael Johns is turning just as quickly as he is -- at least they're both under the same spell.
"Actually," David Cook is saying thoughtfully, his gaze flickering to Michael like it's the beginning of some joke, then back to the smaller David, "Archuleta sounds so impersonal. Can I call you 'Archie'?"
Seriously? is David's first incredulous thought. This isn't fair. He's almost definitely blushing, or at least he can feel his cheeks heating up. "Um, Archie's okay."
He can't resist the guilty impulse to glance back at Michael, who lifts an eyebrow at him knowingly.
"Awesome," Cook says with another grin, and he ruffles David's hair. Which should really annoy him, and the problem is that it doesn't. He feels a little bit on top of the world even as he feels like a complete idiot.
At least it's pretty easy to remind himself that in reality, David Cook barely knows who he is. It's especially easy when the David in question is turning to Michael, and grinning again, and whispering something in his ear, and the two of them are falling into some quiet conversation, punctuated by laughs and snickers, that little baby Archie just isn't allowed to hear.
It becomes very apparent very quickly that David Cook and Michael Johns are going to be inseparable. Their heads are always bent together, their voices a murmur of what's usually impending trouble. Michael will do something awful, like trying to switch the salt with the sugar, and David will be the only one who laughs as one of the others is pitching a fit, and it'll be completely obvious by Michael's triumphant smile that he only really did it to make one person laugh anyway.
And it's not at all like David Archuleta is alone. Brooke and Carly especially seem to take to him, and even though he's pretty sure it's because he's little and cute and they're the mothering types (if in totally different ways), hey. He is just seventeen and he misses being home sometimes and it's nice to have all these people taking care of him.
It's not even like Cook ignores him or anything. He smiles at David every morning the first time they pass each other in the halls, a genuine grin, and asks how he's doing and if he needs any help with his music.
Like an idiot, of course, David always smiles right back at him, instantly feeling his heart lift. "Good morning," he offers, and sometimes that even earns him a clap on the back or a warm hand messing up his hair. He should hate it when he does that -- he doesn't like being treated like a kid -- but then David Cook is sort of the exception to everything else, so why not this?
It's top ten week when David Archuleta next has an actual conversation with Michael Johns.
"Hey, kid," Michael's saying, crouching in front of him. David's out in one of the hallways, frowning at the lyrics to the song he chose and starting to get less and less sure about pretty much everything to do with tonight.
"Hi," he says automatically, blinking as he glances up. "Um. Michael." He can't say 'what do you want?', that's a lot ruder than he usually allows himself, but it's probably evident in his expression that he's wondering what on earth Michael wants.
"I'm bored." With that, Michael sits down next to him, leaning over to peer at the sheets of paper David has in his hands. He's also too polite to snatch them away, and he knows that all the reasons he dislikes Michael are stupid anyway, so David lets him.
He can't stop himself from asking this, though: "Where's David?"
Michael laughs, almost guiltily, like he's been caught in the act. The act of what, David doesn't know, but the act. "He was practicing and I kept making fun of him. Lovingly. I guess he just can't handle me anymore. Anyway, he made me leave our room for at least an hour. Bastard."
"Maybe he just wanted to be alone when he was practicing," is David's immediate response. Well, of course he has to defend Cook. Especially from the evil that is Michael Johns and his penchant towards mischief.
Michael makes a face like he's considering pouting. "He's never wanted to be alone before. Not alone without me. I repeat: bastard." He obviously doesn't mean it. But oddly enough -- well. David's heard his "I'm joking" tone often enough that he can tell this isn't it. Is he honestly hurt that David kicked him out of their room?
"You're his best friend," David reasons, carefully folding his papers for now. "It can't mean anything."
"Yeah," says Michael, "obviously. I'm still bored and a little pissed off, though. What're you doing, Archie?"
With a brief flash of rare irritation, David wishes he had had the willpower to tell Michael that he isn't allowed to call him that. But he can't only let one person have the nickname; that's not fair -- or at least it's not fair unless he can think of an excuse, which he can't. "Thinking," he answers. "About tonight," he adds after a moment, because he's just so bad at being rude that it's not even funny. "And my song."
"Oh, you'll be fine." Michael sounds off-handed about it more than anything. "The world loves you. You can do no wrong."
As it turns out, Michael Johns is not entirely correct. David Archuleta can do wrong. It isn't that he can't take criticism, that's not it at all, but -- a theme park? How is he supposed to work with advice he can hardly understand? He's frowning anxiously as he steps back into the wings.
He has trouble paying attention while Kristy Lee Cook sings. That isn't her fault. She does well -- but David is distracted, trying to puzzle out what Simon told him. It's David Cook next, though, and you couldn't pay him to stop listening and watching during one of Cook's performances.
And G-- gosh. Gosh, he's absolutely amazing. David barely recognizes the song at first, and then he realizes, and then he sort of wants to run out on stage and tell the world on live television to stop fawning over him, this is the next American Idol.
On impulse, he glances to his side. Michael Johns is another who would never miss a performance of David Cook's -- he's maybe even worse about it than David Archuleta.
He's definitely pretty bad about it, David realizes. Cook's hitting an impossible high note, drawing it out longer than any singer should be able to, and Michael's eyes have fluttered shut. David has never seen his expression so serious, nor so raptly intent on anything. One would think that he had never heard Cook sing before -- but this is, more than obviously, the best Cook has sung in a long time. Really, it's amazing.
There's little twist of something unpleasant, somewhere between David's stomach and his heart. He's young and maybe he's inexperienced, but it isn't too difficult to place an expression like that. Not worship. Just...
He has to look away quickly when Michael opens his eyes, feeling himself blushing. He hopes it isn't too obvious that he was staring.
"Pretty damn good, mm?" Michael's voice is quiet, uncharacteristically so, like he doesn't want to break the mood. Whatever that mood may be. The rest of the contestants are just as quiet. Cook deserved the last spot tonight.
David just wishes he could stop blushing all the time. It's just that David Cook -- he does things to him. Every time he really gets the chance to study that often-present half-grin or the way there have got to be at least four different colours in Cook's eyes --
He has the feeling that maybe he and Michael Johns have something in common.
That doesn't mean he has to like Michael any more than he likes everyone, as a default setting of being an incurably nice person no matter how hard he tries not to be, though. He gets a sense of guilty relief that night when he knocks on the Cook-Johns-Castro door and David Cook is the one to answer, and he doesn't see anyone else in the room behind him.
"Hi," David says, already retreating into shyness.
"Hey, Archie," Cook says, sounding both surprised and -- thankfully -- happy to see him. "Did you need something? I can help you with your homework again if you want. Unless it's math, actually, I'm sorry."
"No!" The vehemence of his answer surprises even David, and he directs his gaze at the threshold of the door into the apartment. "No, that's not -- I just wanted to tell you that you were amazing tonight. I mean, you probably -- probably already know that? But I guess I wanted to tell you anyway."
Cook's expression, already what David wants desperately to believe is affectionate, softens. "Well, thanks. I hope you didn't listen to Simon too much or anything."
Promptly, David blushes. He really wishes he knew how to stop doing that. "I try not to, but -- it's hard."
"I guess it probably is, huh?"
"Yeah," he says quietly. "I don't think I am the best, but I'm supposed to be anyway. I wish they hadn't… I don't know. I wish they hadn't, um, shoved me into the spotlight like that."
Cook's mouth (David tries really, really hard not to look at it for too long) quirks into a little frown. "Too soon, huh?" They've stepped into the apartment now, and the door is closed behind them. He still doesn't see Jason or Michael anywhere. Jason's whereabouts are usually easy enough to ascertain -- he has a lot of friends and he doesn't spend much of his time in the Idol apartments if he can help it.
"Something like that," David admits. "I'm afraid of not being good enough now."
And Cook's response is gratifyingly immediate: "You're awesome, Archie. Don't worry. I know you will, but don't."
"I don't think so."
"Sure, but obviously a lot of people do. You can worry, but don't do it too much. It might hurt your voice, and -- "
Cook stops, frowning, probably at the sudden shift in David's expression. It's just that a few yards away, behind Cook where he can't yet see, Michael Johns is stepping out of the bathroom. He obviously isn't expecting anyone to be there -- the beds and television are farther back in the apartment -- and the startled expression on his face would be funny if not for. Um. Well. He's not very clothed. There's a towel around his waist, but --
"Uh," says David Archuleta.
"Huh?" says David Cook.
"Surprise party?" Michael Johns chimes in, tone as wryly amused as a mostly-naked, slightly-damp grown man in the unexpected presence of his best friend and a seventeen-year-old boy can manage.
Visibly surprised, Cook turns. "Michael," he starts, though his voice starts to trail off uncertainly about halfway through. There's an awkward moment, and because of the intentness with which David is watching, he can see as Cook's gaze makes its skittish way from Michael's face and back down, lingering in places David doesn't want to think about. He's hesitant about it, and David realizes that Cook doesn't mean to be doing this, that whatever there is between him and Michael hasn't been acknowledged aloud. Yet.
"Excuse me," David mumbles, taking a step back and nearly colliding with the door. "Hi, Michael. 'Bye."
At least he can still make David Cook laugh, he notes at the frustratingly pleasant sound behind him as he flees. He's just not sure if that's a good thing.
Now that he's seen it, the frustrating part is that he can't seem to make himself stop seeing it. He notes the little smile Cook gets when Michael says good morning, sometimes tipping an imaginary hat and exaggerating his accent for effect, at breakfast, and he notes the way Michael's hand will linger between Cook's shoulder blades, longer than it should for any kind of manly clap to the back. It's so terribly obvious; the two men can barely keep their eyes off of one another. David is achingly familiar with this phenomenon -- he at once sympathizes with and is so jealous it hurts of Michael. Because while they both seem to be afflicted with David Cook Syndrome, Cook is, more than obviously, battling a full case of In Love With Michael Johns with nothing more than David Archuleta Is Little And Needs My Protection And Guidance on the side.
The next time this becomes truly obvious is next week, performance night. David Cook was amazing, because he's always amazing but also maybe even more than usual, but now he's gone, he's in the hospital and David Archuleta feels a little bit like he might faint every time he recalls this particular bit of information.
Cook has uprooted his life in so many little ways, making him doubt everything from his sexuality to his integrity, but he's also improved it in so many ways -- making him feel like he belongs here, giving him someone to look up to, even just helping with his homework. He's not allowed to be hurt.
David occasionally feels like he's invisible. Not when he's onstage, but the rest of the time -- he's so young and he's sure most of his fellow contestants don't take him seriously even when they pretend to. It hardly helps that he's not exactly towering in stature.
So really, he shouldn't be surprised when he steps out into the hallway looking for company only to find Michael Johns and when Michael doesn't seem to notice him at all, not even with his startled intake of breath. Michael's leaning against the railing, frowning and with an expression that's almost dazed on his face.
It becomes a little clearer when he hears the very faint, tinny sound of ringing coming from Michael's cell phone. He's calling someone. His wife, surely.
"Dave," Michael murmurs into the phone. He's cradling the little piece of electronics like it's something precious. Guilt and surprise joining forces to make his heart thump right up into his throat, David takes a step back, into the shadows, and Michael still doesn't glance up. "Are you okay to talk now? Are they letting you do that?"
There's a long pause. Or maybe it's just David's imagination and nerves, making it stretch out into forever that way.
"Mmhm," Michael is saying. His eyes are closed now and his voice is low. "You need to rest, David, okay? You idiot. Don't hurt yourself." Silent, David Archuleta agrees.
It's so quiet here that he can almost hear the crackle of the phone as Cook, presumably, answers. He thinks he even catches the tail of a laugh. That has to be a good sign.
"It's not funny." Michael is obviously trying to sound offended, and not quite managing it. "I'm worried about you. Shut up. No, shut up, I'm not going soft, you're the one who needs to lose weight -- "
Michael laughs, then flinches, probably at how loud it is. "Fine, I'm kidding, you're gorgeous, darling." Even as he's finishing the words, there's a barely-there shift in his tone, from the lightly sarcastic and teasing to the oddly, incongruously serious. David closes his own eyes. Whatever Cook is saying now, it's so quiet that he can't even hear the slight buzz of the phone.
"Yeah." Michael's voice is quiet again. "You'll be back soon? Fucking good. Yeah. Uh-huh." He pauses, and David can tell it isn't because Cook is speaking on the other end. "I'll see you soon," he says finally. "Okay?"
Even in the half-dark, the sudden softening of Michael's expression is entirely visible to David. "You too," he says, barely above a whisper, and David would stick around to watch him hang up, but he would rather not die, and so he turns to make his hurried way back to his room.
As he's trying to fall asleep that night, all he can see is the affection of Michael's expression. All he can hear is the way Michael said that word, gorgeous. David Archuleta has never, not in his life, been a jealous person; maybe it makes him unrealistic, but he would rather sacrifice something small for someone else than have everything go perfectly for him.
But -- oh, and he hates that this is affecting him the way it is. But what is he supposed to do about it? He knows that it wouldn't make a difference if Michael Johns weren't here. For one thing, David Cook would keep seeing his best friend, and for another, what good would it do him? He's seventeen and he barely looks fifteen and Cook is twenty-five and tall and handsome and --
He cuts off that train of thought as firmly as he can, as soon as he can. He needs to sleep -- they have a lot to do and learn soon.
David Archuleta is very careful not to think of Michael Johns when he's praying, beyond his usual wish that all of the people around him be kept safe and healthy. It's just that he knows he's being stupid, but he also knows that he can't quite stop that horrible, insidious wish that Michael would be eliminated. He hates how spiteful it's making him and if it were to creep into those prayers and something were to happen --
It's a very busy week. They have performances, and Idol Gives Back, and he almost forgets that there is going to be a results show, too. But there is, of course, as there always is.
Once he knows he's safe, and that Cook is safe, David begins to make assumptions. It's odd that Michael is in the bottom three, but it can't mean anything -- he was good on Tuesday and America is rarely so wrong that they would neglect that kind of performance. He's been steeled for Syesha to leave many times before this; he would be ready.
When the words leave Ryan's mouth, they don't register with David. It's only when he turns to glance at Cook that he realizes. It's in the grim set of Cook's mouth, the slight flutter of Cook's lashes in what's most likely his effort to ward off tears.
Oh.
All eyes are turned to Michael, so David feels safe enough in the pained expression he's sure he's wearing. This must be his fault. He sneaks another glance at Cook and he forgets why he ever hoped for this. Cook's nearly-palpable disbelief and unhappiness are enough to negate anything good that could come of it. He wishes desperately that the cameras would stop rolling. He wants to apologize, or hug David Cook, or do both at once.
As usual, it takes a while to get everyone off the stage, and the surprise of the elimination tonight makes it even worse. David hovers backstage, wanting to talk to Cook and even to Michael, and doesn't let his family engulf him just yet.
"Um," he says, tugging at Cook's sleeve as soon as he spots the two of them and feeling even younger than he usually does. With a slightly painful ache near his heart, he notes the redness around Cook's eyes. Michael isn't far behind, and he actually looks far calmer, though David can sense a slight bewilderment to his every move, as if he's not yet convinced this is the reality of what happened.
"Archie," Cook says, tired but as kind as ever. "Hi there."
David offers him a smile. The last thing he ever wanted was to make David Cook, of all people, sad and though it's stupid, he can't help feeling like this is his fault. "Hi. I -- actually, can I -- is it okay if I talk to Michael?"
Cook blinks, slowly. "Sure, if it's okay with him. I'm not the one you should be asking, I think, but go ahead."
A mere foot or two away, Michael arches an eyebrow. "I hope this is good."
Because he's polite to a fault, Cook gives David a brief, faint grin (if only his heart would stop doing that) and then takes a step or two back, giving him and Michael at least the semblance of privacy for this conversation. David takes a deep breath, steeling himself.
"Um," he says again. He's never been very good at expressing himself in conversation. Especially not when he's this nervous. "I'm sorry," is the first thing he says, quickly, and then he moves on before Michael can actually ask what he means: "But I just -- uh, I wanted to say -- well. First that you, I mean, you should probably tell your wife."
Michael's expression is nothing so much as blank. "Excuse me?"
"About David," David clarifies. He pauses, then adds, "The default David. Your -- your favourite David. Remember?"
"Yeah," Michael says, more softly now. David is incredibly relieved that he doesn't ask what he should tell his wife. He obviously knows what David means.
"But -- " David takes another deep breath. This actually isn't as difficult as he thought it might be. "But, um, I just wanted to, you know, I wanted to say good luck. With everything. And with David."
The startled "thank you" that leaves Michael's lips is probably an automatic response more than anything, but it's gratifying. David glances over to Cook and, taking that as his cue, Cook comes closer again. David can't see how anyone could fail to notice; Michael's entire demeanor brightens at Cook's presence and Cook's hand immediately finds its way to Michael's shoulder, the back of his neck, the small of his back.
"Anything I should ask about?" Cook asks, reaching out with the other hand to ruffle David's hair, his customary gesture of affection.
Another deep breath. "I hope you two are going to invite me to your wedding," David says solemnly, all of his effort gone into keeping his tone even and casual.
Cook nearly chokes, losing his balance a little, while Michael just lets out a snort of laughter.
David gives them his best innocent smile. "And good luck, too. I mean, for both of you now."
Michael doesn't have much time to gather up his things, and David doesn't want to interfere, but he's desperately curious. Feeling guilty all over again, he's sneaked away for now, putting all of his hope into the desire for his father to not come after him, just for a few minutes at least.
The door to Michael, David Cook, and Jason's apartment is half-open and for a second, David thinks it's empty until he hears the muffled voice from within.
"I think Archuleta pays more attention than we think." Michael.
"Mm. Archie's a perceptive guy." Cook, of course, sounding as if he's not sure if he's allowed to be cheerful yet. David catches a flash of movement in the doorway and -- oh. If he's processing what he sees properly, Michael's got Cook pinned to the doorframe, a knee between his thighs, wrists in his hands. David feels relatively secure that they won't notice him, as wrapped up in each another as they look.
There's a laugh, one that sounds like Michael. "I'm not dead, Dave," he's murmuring. "And we have a lot of lost time to make up."
Cook starts to answer, or that's how it sounds to David, but that muffled mmph and the slick sound of two mouths open against one another are unmistakable, even to the most innocent of seventeen-year-olds. David can feel his ears turning red.
The last thing he hears as he makes his retreat is Cook's voice, low and amused and almost husky: "You're taking my last name. David Johns sounds terrible and I don't want my initials to be DJ."
It's an odd feeling for David Archuleta. There's a sinking sensation in his chest, the knowledge that it's definitely true that Cook won't be anything but a brother figure to him, something he knew all along but that he hated to let himself admit. But at the same time --
Well, if it takes Michael Johns, as obnoxious as he may be, to make David Cook happy, then so be it. Maybe paying so much attention to the two of them has paid off after all.
On the other hand, he vows never to let a stupid crush get to him this way again.
Author: peridium
Fandom: American Idol (Season 7)
Word Count: ~4,800
Pairing: David Cook/Michael Johns; David Archuleta with an unrequited crush on David Cook
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Trust me, I do not own any of these people. They belong to themselves.
Summary: David Archuleta can't help having a crush on David Cook; who could? And that means he really can't help his jealousy when it becomes obvious just how close Cook and a certain Michael Johns are. Basically, David Cook and Michael Johns and their process of falling in love through Archie's eyes.
David spends a lot of his time watching David.
The other David, that is. He gets enough scrutiny of himself from his family, his dad in particular; he doesn't need to watch himself. It's just that David Cook is, well, he's pretty much awesome and a lot of the things David Archuleta wishes he could be. He's tall, for one thing, and confident, and smart. The best part is maybe that he's nice, too. He says hi to David like he thinks David is a real person and ruffles his hair and calls him "Archie" and everything.
At first this is okay, in the beginning when they're all shuffling around and no one has fixed groups yet. He'll trail behind David Cook sometimes and hope that some of the awesome starts to rub off on him. Like osmosis. He's mostly quiet, hoping he can think of a big word to say to sound impressive.
He's actually glad when he learns that he can't have a roommate or anything, because he's so young. It would be impossible to decide whether rooming with David or not would be the best outcome. He'd possibly go kind of insane.
What David Archuleta didn't realize at first, when it was finally down to the top twenty-four and when they were all milling around trying to find the people to whom they could attach or reattach themselves now that they were back, was that watching David Cook kind of came with watching Michael Johns, as a package deal. Like when you order at a fast food restaurant and they end up giving you fries even if you don't want them because it's the combo? Kind of like that.
"If it isn't the little prodigy," is maybe the first thing Michael Johns says to David. The accented voice comes from behind and he nearly jumps, turning with wide eyes.
"Um, I -- hi."
Not surprisingly, the man who's talking to him is much taller than him, and wearing a broad grin that's either appealing, unnerving, or both at the same time. "So you're already the American Idol, they say?"
David hopes he's not blushing. He needs to work on that. "I don't think -- I mean, I don't think that's really -- "
"Hey, David likes you." A pause. "David Cook. Shit, we have too many Davids." Another slight pause, then he offers David a hand. "Michael Johns. I'm from Australia. Obviously."
David hesitates. He doesn't really like touching people he doesn't know and he really isn't sure if he even likes Michael or not. But he shakes his hand, as polite as he knows how to be, and tries for a smile. "David Archuleta -- um. Which -- I guess you already know that."
"People talk about you." Michael shrugs. "No one talks to you but David that I've seen." He pauses again, frowning. "Honestly, just make the assumption that I'm talking about Cook unless I specify. He's my favourite David so far, anyway."
To his embarrassment, David has to suppress the urge to say "Me too." Instead, he smiles again, flustered. "I guess there are kind of a lot of us. And I don't, um, don't really have a good nickname or anything."
"You'll need one," Michael informs him gravely. "How do you feel about 'Archie'?"
"No, thank you," he says, trying to remain polite.
It's sort of awkward for a few minutes while he tries to think of something to say and Michael, obviously finished with him for now, pulls his phone from a pocket and starts looking through something on the screen. Does he leave and go look for someone else to talk to? Is that rude? Is he even supposed to be polite?
So it's one of those blessings that are also curses when he hears David Cook's voice from somewhere to his side. "Michael!" Something small and jealous tightens in David's stomach; of course it's Michael who gets greeted first. "And hey, Archuleta."
Cook's stupid, impossibly charming grin (he probably doesn't even know he's doing it) is directed full-force at the both of them when David turns to face him. He's pretty sure Michael Johns is turning just as quickly as he is -- at least they're both under the same spell.
"Actually," David Cook is saying thoughtfully, his gaze flickering to Michael like it's the beginning of some joke, then back to the smaller David, "Archuleta sounds so impersonal. Can I call you 'Archie'?"
Seriously? is David's first incredulous thought. This isn't fair. He's almost definitely blushing, or at least he can feel his cheeks heating up. "Um, Archie's okay."
He can't resist the guilty impulse to glance back at Michael, who lifts an eyebrow at him knowingly.
"Awesome," Cook says with another grin, and he ruffles David's hair. Which should really annoy him, and the problem is that it doesn't. He feels a little bit on top of the world even as he feels like a complete idiot.
At least it's pretty easy to remind himself that in reality, David Cook barely knows who he is. It's especially easy when the David in question is turning to Michael, and grinning again, and whispering something in his ear, and the two of them are falling into some quiet conversation, punctuated by laughs and snickers, that little baby Archie just isn't allowed to hear.
It becomes very apparent very quickly that David Cook and Michael Johns are going to be inseparable. Their heads are always bent together, their voices a murmur of what's usually impending trouble. Michael will do something awful, like trying to switch the salt with the sugar, and David will be the only one who laughs as one of the others is pitching a fit, and it'll be completely obvious by Michael's triumphant smile that he only really did it to make one person laugh anyway.
And it's not at all like David Archuleta is alone. Brooke and Carly especially seem to take to him, and even though he's pretty sure it's because he's little and cute and they're the mothering types (if in totally different ways), hey. He is just seventeen and he misses being home sometimes and it's nice to have all these people taking care of him.
It's not even like Cook ignores him or anything. He smiles at David every morning the first time they pass each other in the halls, a genuine grin, and asks how he's doing and if he needs any help with his music.
Like an idiot, of course, David always smiles right back at him, instantly feeling his heart lift. "Good morning," he offers, and sometimes that even earns him a clap on the back or a warm hand messing up his hair. He should hate it when he does that -- he doesn't like being treated like a kid -- but then David Cook is sort of the exception to everything else, so why not this?
It's top ten week when David Archuleta next has an actual conversation with Michael Johns.
"Hey, kid," Michael's saying, crouching in front of him. David's out in one of the hallways, frowning at the lyrics to the song he chose and starting to get less and less sure about pretty much everything to do with tonight.
"Hi," he says automatically, blinking as he glances up. "Um. Michael." He can't say 'what do you want?', that's a lot ruder than he usually allows himself, but it's probably evident in his expression that he's wondering what on earth Michael wants.
"I'm bored." With that, Michael sits down next to him, leaning over to peer at the sheets of paper David has in his hands. He's also too polite to snatch them away, and he knows that all the reasons he dislikes Michael are stupid anyway, so David lets him.
He can't stop himself from asking this, though: "Where's David?"
Michael laughs, almost guiltily, like he's been caught in the act. The act of what, David doesn't know, but the act. "He was practicing and I kept making fun of him. Lovingly. I guess he just can't handle me anymore. Anyway, he made me leave our room for at least an hour. Bastard."
"Maybe he just wanted to be alone when he was practicing," is David's immediate response. Well, of course he has to defend Cook. Especially from the evil that is Michael Johns and his penchant towards mischief.
Michael makes a face like he's considering pouting. "He's never wanted to be alone before. Not alone without me. I repeat: bastard." He obviously doesn't mean it. But oddly enough -- well. David's heard his "I'm joking" tone often enough that he can tell this isn't it. Is he honestly hurt that David kicked him out of their room?
"You're his best friend," David reasons, carefully folding his papers for now. "It can't mean anything."
"Yeah," says Michael, "obviously. I'm still bored and a little pissed off, though. What're you doing, Archie?"
With a brief flash of rare irritation, David wishes he had had the willpower to tell Michael that he isn't allowed to call him that. But he can't only let one person have the nickname; that's not fair -- or at least it's not fair unless he can think of an excuse, which he can't. "Thinking," he answers. "About tonight," he adds after a moment, because he's just so bad at being rude that it's not even funny. "And my song."
"Oh, you'll be fine." Michael sounds off-handed about it more than anything. "The world loves you. You can do no wrong."
As it turns out, Michael Johns is not entirely correct. David Archuleta can do wrong. It isn't that he can't take criticism, that's not it at all, but -- a theme park? How is he supposed to work with advice he can hardly understand? He's frowning anxiously as he steps back into the wings.
He has trouble paying attention while Kristy Lee Cook sings. That isn't her fault. She does well -- but David is distracted, trying to puzzle out what Simon told him. It's David Cook next, though, and you couldn't pay him to stop listening and watching during one of Cook's performances.
And G-- gosh. Gosh, he's absolutely amazing. David barely recognizes the song at first, and then he realizes, and then he sort of wants to run out on stage and tell the world on live television to stop fawning over him, this is the next American Idol.
On impulse, he glances to his side. Michael Johns is another who would never miss a performance of David Cook's -- he's maybe even worse about it than David Archuleta.
He's definitely pretty bad about it, David realizes. Cook's hitting an impossible high note, drawing it out longer than any singer should be able to, and Michael's eyes have fluttered shut. David has never seen his expression so serious, nor so raptly intent on anything. One would think that he had never heard Cook sing before -- but this is, more than obviously, the best Cook has sung in a long time. Really, it's amazing.
There's little twist of something unpleasant, somewhere between David's stomach and his heart. He's young and maybe he's inexperienced, but it isn't too difficult to place an expression like that. Not worship. Just...
He has to look away quickly when Michael opens his eyes, feeling himself blushing. He hopes it isn't too obvious that he was staring.
"Pretty damn good, mm?" Michael's voice is quiet, uncharacteristically so, like he doesn't want to break the mood. Whatever that mood may be. The rest of the contestants are just as quiet. Cook deserved the last spot tonight.
David just wishes he could stop blushing all the time. It's just that David Cook -- he does things to him. Every time he really gets the chance to study that often-present half-grin or the way there have got to be at least four different colours in Cook's eyes --
He has the feeling that maybe he and Michael Johns have something in common.
That doesn't mean he has to like Michael any more than he likes everyone, as a default setting of being an incurably nice person no matter how hard he tries not to be, though. He gets a sense of guilty relief that night when he knocks on the Cook-Johns-Castro door and David Cook is the one to answer, and he doesn't see anyone else in the room behind him.
"Hi," David says, already retreating into shyness.
"Hey, Archie," Cook says, sounding both surprised and -- thankfully -- happy to see him. "Did you need something? I can help you with your homework again if you want. Unless it's math, actually, I'm sorry."
"No!" The vehemence of his answer surprises even David, and he directs his gaze at the threshold of the door into the apartment. "No, that's not -- I just wanted to tell you that you were amazing tonight. I mean, you probably -- probably already know that? But I guess I wanted to tell you anyway."
Cook's expression, already what David wants desperately to believe is affectionate, softens. "Well, thanks. I hope you didn't listen to Simon too much or anything."
Promptly, David blushes. He really wishes he knew how to stop doing that. "I try not to, but -- it's hard."
"I guess it probably is, huh?"
"Yeah," he says quietly. "I don't think I am the best, but I'm supposed to be anyway. I wish they hadn't… I don't know. I wish they hadn't, um, shoved me into the spotlight like that."
Cook's mouth (David tries really, really hard not to look at it for too long) quirks into a little frown. "Too soon, huh?" They've stepped into the apartment now, and the door is closed behind them. He still doesn't see Jason or Michael anywhere. Jason's whereabouts are usually easy enough to ascertain -- he has a lot of friends and he doesn't spend much of his time in the Idol apartments if he can help it.
"Something like that," David admits. "I'm afraid of not being good enough now."
And Cook's response is gratifyingly immediate: "You're awesome, Archie. Don't worry. I know you will, but don't."
"I don't think so."
"Sure, but obviously a lot of people do. You can worry, but don't do it too much. It might hurt your voice, and -- "
Cook stops, frowning, probably at the sudden shift in David's expression. It's just that a few yards away, behind Cook where he can't yet see, Michael Johns is stepping out of the bathroom. He obviously isn't expecting anyone to be there -- the beds and television are farther back in the apartment -- and the startled expression on his face would be funny if not for. Um. Well. He's not very clothed. There's a towel around his waist, but --
"Uh," says David Archuleta.
"Huh?" says David Cook.
"Surprise party?" Michael Johns chimes in, tone as wryly amused as a mostly-naked, slightly-damp grown man in the unexpected presence of his best friend and a seventeen-year-old boy can manage.
Visibly surprised, Cook turns. "Michael," he starts, though his voice starts to trail off uncertainly about halfway through. There's an awkward moment, and because of the intentness with which David is watching, he can see as Cook's gaze makes its skittish way from Michael's face and back down, lingering in places David doesn't want to think about. He's hesitant about it, and David realizes that Cook doesn't mean to be doing this, that whatever there is between him and Michael hasn't been acknowledged aloud. Yet.
"Excuse me," David mumbles, taking a step back and nearly colliding with the door. "Hi, Michael. 'Bye."
At least he can still make David Cook laugh, he notes at the frustratingly pleasant sound behind him as he flees. He's just not sure if that's a good thing.
Now that he's seen it, the frustrating part is that he can't seem to make himself stop seeing it. He notes the little smile Cook gets when Michael says good morning, sometimes tipping an imaginary hat and exaggerating his accent for effect, at breakfast, and he notes the way Michael's hand will linger between Cook's shoulder blades, longer than it should for any kind of manly clap to the back. It's so terribly obvious; the two men can barely keep their eyes off of one another. David is achingly familiar with this phenomenon -- he at once sympathizes with and is so jealous it hurts of Michael. Because while they both seem to be afflicted with David Cook Syndrome, Cook is, more than obviously, battling a full case of In Love With Michael Johns with nothing more than David Archuleta Is Little And Needs My Protection And Guidance on the side.
The next time this becomes truly obvious is next week, performance night. David Cook was amazing, because he's always amazing but also maybe even more than usual, but now he's gone, he's in the hospital and David Archuleta feels a little bit like he might faint every time he recalls this particular bit of information.
Cook has uprooted his life in so many little ways, making him doubt everything from his sexuality to his integrity, but he's also improved it in so many ways -- making him feel like he belongs here, giving him someone to look up to, even just helping with his homework. He's not allowed to be hurt.
David occasionally feels like he's invisible. Not when he's onstage, but the rest of the time -- he's so young and he's sure most of his fellow contestants don't take him seriously even when they pretend to. It hardly helps that he's not exactly towering in stature.
So really, he shouldn't be surprised when he steps out into the hallway looking for company only to find Michael Johns and when Michael doesn't seem to notice him at all, not even with his startled intake of breath. Michael's leaning against the railing, frowning and with an expression that's almost dazed on his face.
It becomes a little clearer when he hears the very faint, tinny sound of ringing coming from Michael's cell phone. He's calling someone. His wife, surely.
"Dave," Michael murmurs into the phone. He's cradling the little piece of electronics like it's something precious. Guilt and surprise joining forces to make his heart thump right up into his throat, David takes a step back, into the shadows, and Michael still doesn't glance up. "Are you okay to talk now? Are they letting you do that?"
There's a long pause. Or maybe it's just David's imagination and nerves, making it stretch out into forever that way.
"Mmhm," Michael is saying. His eyes are closed now and his voice is low. "You need to rest, David, okay? You idiot. Don't hurt yourself." Silent, David Archuleta agrees.
It's so quiet here that he can almost hear the crackle of the phone as Cook, presumably, answers. He thinks he even catches the tail of a laugh. That has to be a good sign.
"It's not funny." Michael is obviously trying to sound offended, and not quite managing it. "I'm worried about you. Shut up. No, shut up, I'm not going soft, you're the one who needs to lose weight -- "
Michael laughs, then flinches, probably at how loud it is. "Fine, I'm kidding, you're gorgeous, darling." Even as he's finishing the words, there's a barely-there shift in his tone, from the lightly sarcastic and teasing to the oddly, incongruously serious. David closes his own eyes. Whatever Cook is saying now, it's so quiet that he can't even hear the slight buzz of the phone.
"Yeah." Michael's voice is quiet again. "You'll be back soon? Fucking good. Yeah. Uh-huh." He pauses, and David can tell it isn't because Cook is speaking on the other end. "I'll see you soon," he says finally. "Okay?"
Even in the half-dark, the sudden softening of Michael's expression is entirely visible to David. "You too," he says, barely above a whisper, and David would stick around to watch him hang up, but he would rather not die, and so he turns to make his hurried way back to his room.
As he's trying to fall asleep that night, all he can see is the affection of Michael's expression. All he can hear is the way Michael said that word, gorgeous. David Archuleta has never, not in his life, been a jealous person; maybe it makes him unrealistic, but he would rather sacrifice something small for someone else than have everything go perfectly for him.
But -- oh, and he hates that this is affecting him the way it is. But what is he supposed to do about it? He knows that it wouldn't make a difference if Michael Johns weren't here. For one thing, David Cook would keep seeing his best friend, and for another, what good would it do him? He's seventeen and he barely looks fifteen and Cook is twenty-five and tall and handsome and --
He cuts off that train of thought as firmly as he can, as soon as he can. He needs to sleep -- they have a lot to do and learn soon.
David Archuleta is very careful not to think of Michael Johns when he's praying, beyond his usual wish that all of the people around him be kept safe and healthy. It's just that he knows he's being stupid, but he also knows that he can't quite stop that horrible, insidious wish that Michael would be eliminated. He hates how spiteful it's making him and if it were to creep into those prayers and something were to happen --
It's a very busy week. They have performances, and Idol Gives Back, and he almost forgets that there is going to be a results show, too. But there is, of course, as there always is.
Once he knows he's safe, and that Cook is safe, David begins to make assumptions. It's odd that Michael is in the bottom three, but it can't mean anything -- he was good on Tuesday and America is rarely so wrong that they would neglect that kind of performance. He's been steeled for Syesha to leave many times before this; he would be ready.
When the words leave Ryan's mouth, they don't register with David. It's only when he turns to glance at Cook that he realizes. It's in the grim set of Cook's mouth, the slight flutter of Cook's lashes in what's most likely his effort to ward off tears.
Oh.
All eyes are turned to Michael, so David feels safe enough in the pained expression he's sure he's wearing. This must be his fault. He sneaks another glance at Cook and he forgets why he ever hoped for this. Cook's nearly-palpable disbelief and unhappiness are enough to negate anything good that could come of it. He wishes desperately that the cameras would stop rolling. He wants to apologize, or hug David Cook, or do both at once.
As usual, it takes a while to get everyone off the stage, and the surprise of the elimination tonight makes it even worse. David hovers backstage, wanting to talk to Cook and even to Michael, and doesn't let his family engulf him just yet.
"Um," he says, tugging at Cook's sleeve as soon as he spots the two of them and feeling even younger than he usually does. With a slightly painful ache near his heart, he notes the redness around Cook's eyes. Michael isn't far behind, and he actually looks far calmer, though David can sense a slight bewilderment to his every move, as if he's not yet convinced this is the reality of what happened.
"Archie," Cook says, tired but as kind as ever. "Hi there."
David offers him a smile. The last thing he ever wanted was to make David Cook, of all people, sad and though it's stupid, he can't help feeling like this is his fault. "Hi. I -- actually, can I -- is it okay if I talk to Michael?"
Cook blinks, slowly. "Sure, if it's okay with him. I'm not the one you should be asking, I think, but go ahead."
A mere foot or two away, Michael arches an eyebrow. "I hope this is good."
Because he's polite to a fault, Cook gives David a brief, faint grin (if only his heart would stop doing that) and then takes a step or two back, giving him and Michael at least the semblance of privacy for this conversation. David takes a deep breath, steeling himself.
"Um," he says again. He's never been very good at expressing himself in conversation. Especially not when he's this nervous. "I'm sorry," is the first thing he says, quickly, and then he moves on before Michael can actually ask what he means: "But I just -- uh, I wanted to say -- well. First that you, I mean, you should probably tell your wife."
Michael's expression is nothing so much as blank. "Excuse me?"
"About David," David clarifies. He pauses, then adds, "The default David. Your -- your favourite David. Remember?"
"Yeah," Michael says, more softly now. David is incredibly relieved that he doesn't ask what he should tell his wife. He obviously knows what David means.
"But -- " David takes another deep breath. This actually isn't as difficult as he thought it might be. "But, um, I just wanted to, you know, I wanted to say good luck. With everything. And with David."
The startled "thank you" that leaves Michael's lips is probably an automatic response more than anything, but it's gratifying. David glances over to Cook and, taking that as his cue, Cook comes closer again. David can't see how anyone could fail to notice; Michael's entire demeanor brightens at Cook's presence and Cook's hand immediately finds its way to Michael's shoulder, the back of his neck, the small of his back.
"Anything I should ask about?" Cook asks, reaching out with the other hand to ruffle David's hair, his customary gesture of affection.
Another deep breath. "I hope you two are going to invite me to your wedding," David says solemnly, all of his effort gone into keeping his tone even and casual.
Cook nearly chokes, losing his balance a little, while Michael just lets out a snort of laughter.
David gives them his best innocent smile. "And good luck, too. I mean, for both of you now."
Michael doesn't have much time to gather up his things, and David doesn't want to interfere, but he's desperately curious. Feeling guilty all over again, he's sneaked away for now, putting all of his hope into the desire for his father to not come after him, just for a few minutes at least.
The door to Michael, David Cook, and Jason's apartment is half-open and for a second, David thinks it's empty until he hears the muffled voice from within.
"I think Archuleta pays more attention than we think." Michael.
"Mm. Archie's a perceptive guy." Cook, of course, sounding as if he's not sure if he's allowed to be cheerful yet. David catches a flash of movement in the doorway and -- oh. If he's processing what he sees properly, Michael's got Cook pinned to the doorframe, a knee between his thighs, wrists in his hands. David feels relatively secure that they won't notice him, as wrapped up in each another as they look.
There's a laugh, one that sounds like Michael. "I'm not dead, Dave," he's murmuring. "And we have a lot of lost time to make up."
Cook starts to answer, or that's how it sounds to David, but that muffled mmph and the slick sound of two mouths open against one another are unmistakable, even to the most innocent of seventeen-year-olds. David can feel his ears turning red.
The last thing he hears as he makes his retreat is Cook's voice, low and amused and almost husky: "You're taking my last name. David Johns sounds terrible and I don't want my initials to be DJ."
It's an odd feeling for David Archuleta. There's a sinking sensation in his chest, the knowledge that it's definitely true that Cook won't be anything but a brother figure to him, something he knew all along but that he hated to let himself admit. But at the same time --
Well, if it takes Michael Johns, as obnoxious as he may be, to make David Cook happy, then so be it. Maybe paying so much attention to the two of them has paid off after all.
On the other hand, he vows never to let a stupid crush get to him this way again.