A General Teenage Love Thing
Title: A General Teenage Love Thing
Author: akire_yta
Pairing: Mike/Kevin, some vague hints of Bob/Greta
Rating: PG for language
Word Count: ~4500
Summary: Kevin was the good boy. He didn’t secretly join bands, hang with the bad crowd, or have a smoking hot boyfriend. Good boys don’t do things like that. Except when they do.
Prompt: For mywholecry: high school or college AUs or general teenage love things (like summer camps or shopping malls, etc.). Banter and faily attempts at dating and how Kevin deals with coming out. I also like cameos from other bands and the rest of the Jobros.
A/N: pinch-hit, so fast and dirty and only vaguely resembles the prompt. Thanks to ink_on_the_page for giving it the once-over. I have UK spelling, so sorry, but not even Kevin’s pretty curls could get me to drop the 'u' from colour.
~/~
There was a piece of paper secreted away in the very bottom of Kevin’s desk drawer.
THINGS IN LIFE THAT ARE AWESOME
1) my family
2) being in a band
3) dating Mike Carden
THINGS IN MY LIFE THAT ARE NOT AWESOME
Keeping #2 and #3 from #1
Six lines that summarized his life. On paper it looked simple. Reality was much more complicated.
~/~
Kevin hadn’t set out to have a life this complicated. He had started his final year at school with the resolution to actually pass gym, to not be too big-brothery with Joe and Nick (who’d have to survive the schoolyard jungle next year without him anyway), and to graduate in such a way as his mom would cry happy-tears and not sad-tears at the ceremony in June. He just wanted to walk across that stage, collect his diploma, and walk away from high school, never looking back.
It all started to come apart on day one. The new school year started with its usual blend of familiar chaos, the slam of locker doors and the buzz of voices. Looking back, Kevin wondered if he’d felt any twinge of premonition as the new guy in the locker next to him slammed open the door and smiled broadly. “Hi, I’m Pete Wentz, I’m new here, and we’re going to be friends.” He had crammed his backpack into his locker and stuck out his hand. Kevin had shaken it on polite reflex. “So, what do you kids do for shits and giggles around here?”
Kevin knew he could safely blame everything that followed on Pete Wentz.
~/~
Pete attracted people like a black hole attracted planets, and with about the same mix of wailing, disorientation and fatalism. By the third day, Pete had formed a coterie of random people from across the high school social spectrum. Kevin was bewildered to find himself somewhere near the center, sitting with Pete at lunch and trying to make himself heard over the noise.
“I just think it’s a bit early in the year for a food fight,” he was almost-yelling.
“Bullshit,” Pete swore cheerfully. Even after only three days, Kevin was finding himself becoming immune to Pete’s language. “Start off as we mean to continue!” He scooped up a handful of the truly terrible mashed potato that was part of his lunch tray. “Now get out of my way, I need to slime that guy in the hat sitting with the band kids. He ignored me in the halls, and hurt my feelings.”
Kevin beat a hasty retreat as the potato sailed across the room and found its target amid some truly impressive swearing. Grabbing his brown paper bag, he slithered under the table and sat cross-legged on the floor, watching with detached interest at the stampede as the food started to fly.
A pair of dark jeans shoved themselves under the table, and Kevin blinked as a shaggy-haired guy who looked vaguely familiar slipped down to land on his knees. His head brushed the underside of the table, and he stared in surprise at Kevin.
Kevin held out his bag. “Sandwich?” he offered.
The guy took one half of his PB and J and tore off a huge bite. “Thanks,” he said around the mouthful. “Kevin, right?” He lifted his head to swallow, and Kevin found himself staring at the guys throat as the muscles and rings of cartilage worked under the pale skin. “I’m Mike Carden, I think we had shop together a few years ago.”
Kevin sipped his juice. “Yeah,” he said weakly, barely remembering where shop was, let alone who else was in the class.
Above them, the table thumped and groaned under the weight as somebody jumped onto it. “They can take our appetites,” Pete yelled. “But they can never take our freedom!” A roar rose from the rest of the lunch room. “Charge!”
Mike shook his head, covering his eyes with one hand.
“Imagining him in a kilt, covered wold?” Kevin asked sympathetically.
Mike nodded, his hand rasping across the thin dusting of stubble on his cheeks as he wiped his face. “Mooning the entire faculty,” he added.
Kevin democratically broke his cookie into two even halves and handed Mike his piece. “So I take it you’ve met Pete then,” he said lightly. Mike grinned and chomped on the cookie.
Kevin liked to think that was their first date.
~/~
They had apparently been going to the same high school for years, but Kevin saw more of Mike Carden over the rest of that week than he had in the four years previously. Pete had somehow adopted Mike as one of his co-conspirators. Kevin generally came along to act as the voice of reason.
“Egging his car, yes.” Kevin pushed his oversized sunglasses back up his nose and refolded his arms. “Spray painting his car just screams ‘trip to juvie’ to me.”
Pete saluted. “Good point there. If I go home in a cop car one more time, its military school for me.” He looked around. “Anyone got any eggs?”
Mike was lounging on the fence. Kevin hadn’t believed it was possible to lounge on a post a couple of inches wide. He wandered over to perch himself next to Mike and maybe figure out how he did it. A part of him was starting to wonder if Mike was a little bit magic, the way he did stuff. “We have about as many eggs on us, Pete,” Mike said lazily. “As we had cans of spray paint. This is suburbia, not the ganglands.”
Pete made a face, twisting his mouth. “This is boring. Kevin, my man, my conscience but with better taste in scarves.” Despite himself, Kevin felt his fingers twisting into the black and purple scarf wrapped around his neck. He had thought it looked good. “Tell me, what’s the verdict on slashing his tires?”
Kevin rolled his eyes behind his shades. “No to slashing.” He sighed at Pete’s puppy-dog face. “Maybe just let all the air out.”
Pete let out a whoop of joy and scampered back over to the car.
Mike rolled off the fence, landing lightly on his feet. “I don’t know who’s influencing who here, for better or worse.” He reached over and plucked Kevin’s sunglasses off his face and put them on.
“Toss your hair and you could be a supermodel.” He laughed delightedly, caught off guard as Mike actually did it, complete with a delicious little pout. “Gorgeous,” Kevin grinned. “Work it baby, own it.”
Mike smiled back, showing teeth. “Oh, I do.” He stepped in closer, bracing himself, legs wide, as he came to a stop with their chests almost touching. “And I for one,” he added in a low whisper, ignoring the stares from the rest of Pete’s posse as he tangled his fingers in Kevin’s scarf. “Really like your taste in scarves.”
There was a little voice in the back of Kevin’s head (that sounded suspiciously Wentzien) screaming at him to seize the day. Fisting his fingers in the front of Mike’s shirt, Kevin hauled him in and kissed him hard and fast on the mouth.
He pulled off, panting hard, to a chorus of whoops and cheers. Mike broke into a slow, lazy grin, and in his sunglasses, Kevin could see himself smiling. He felt dizzy, like someone else.
“Come here,” Mike growled, his hands snaking around Kevin’s waist and pulling him back in for the beginnings of a truly epic public make-out session.
Kevin felt like someone else entirely, someone cool and dangerous and interesting. He liked this version of himself. Sliding his hands up Mike’s chest, he buried his fingers in Mike’s hair and slid his tongue into Mike’s mouth. From the happy little growl that rose from deep in Mike’s chest, he figured that Mike liked him too.
Kevin grinned into the kiss. Magic.
~/~
Mike lived in the basement. Even with the washer and dryer shoved under the stairs, the bare beams just above his head, and the cobwebs in the corners, it was still the most awesome room Kevin had ever been in.
They spent a lot of time there. Kevin’s house was usually full of his brothers, and somehow they had never gotten into the whole movies and dinner and flowers kind of dating.
Kevin liked their kind of dates better anyway.
Mike was sprawled over the tattered sofa, one arm flung across his face, his shirt askew. Kevin thought he was the hottest thing ever, more so because he was the one who had made Mike so look like that. Mike groaned and let his arm flop sideways until his knuckles were brushing the floor. “Is this, like, a good boy gone bad thing? All that repression finally breaking out? Fuck,” he sighed. “Go sit over there before we end up starting something you won’t let me finish.”
Kevin couldn’t wipe the wicked grin from his face as he wandered over and sprawled out on the floor, his back resting against the foot of Mike’s bed. Something poked him in the butt, and he wriggled, reaching behind himself to pull out a guitar case. “You play?” he asked.
Mike let his head roll sideways until he could see. “Uh, yeah, a bit.”
Kevin undid the clasps. “Mind if I…?”
Mike waved a hand through the air. “If it’ll keep those fucking fingers of yours busy, then knock yourself out.”
Kevin pulled the electric guitar onto his lap, plunking the strings, listening intently to the dull notes. Patting under the bed revealed an amp cable, and a gentle tug showed him where it snaked across the room, under piles of dirty clothes, to a small amp by the stairs.
There was a brief whine of feedback as Kevin plugged in. The part of him that was the old Kevin, mindful and quiet, turned the volume down until it was barely audible before he sat down on the foot of the stairs.
The amp crackled, but the guitar had a sweet sound, a rich timbre that Kevin could feel as much as hear. Bowing his head, he began to play nothing in particular, losing himself in the feel of the strings and the way the music made his skin prickle.
When he opened his eyes, he could see Mike’s toes. Gentle fingers on his jaw tilted his face up. “Fuck,” Mike breathed, pressed the gentlest of kisses to his lips. “Where did you learn to play?”
Kevin shrugged, embarrassed by the attention, by the way Mike was looking at him. “Just figured it out,” he mumbled, pulling free and turning away. Mike helped him up, flipping off the amp as they passed. The room seemed emptier without its crackling static. “Books, and stuff.”
When he stood up from returning the guitar to its case, Mike was staring at him with a speculative gleam in his eyes. “We should totally start a band.” Kevin laughed at the sheer absurdity of it. Him, in a band? The best he could hope for was church choir, and he was too old for that now. But Mike wasn’t laughing. “Yeah. I know Wentz plays bass, and I’m sure we could find a half decent drummer - fuck, Bryar would do it if we promised him no soppy ballads.”
Kevin gulped. “Bob Bryar?” he asked weakly.
Mike had a gleam in his eye, and Kevin knew he was doomed. “Yeah, I work with him at Blockbuster, he’s totally cool. What do you say?”
Kevin knew he should say no. That he should go home, finish his schoolwork, set the table, be the Good Boy, not have a boyfriend, be the person everyone thought he should be. “Okay,” he said instead.
Mike pounced, pushing Kevin back into the wall as he enthusiastically nosed his way down Kevin’ neck and began sucking an impressive hickey onto his collar bone. If he’d listened to Good Boy, he wouldn’t be here, so what did that Kevin know, anyway?
~/~
Kevin sat through dinner with a fixed smile and tried to pretend it didn’t feel like he was ripping out of his skin in nervous anticipation. Despite months of practice, this hadn’t gotten any easier. “Huh?” he said, suddenly aware someone was talking at him.
“I said,” his mother said with a worried little smile. “Pass the potatoes, please.” She studied Kevin over the bowl. Kevin kept his eyes determinedly on his plate. “You’re a million miles way, honey. Anything wrong?”
“No,” Kevin squeaked, too quickly. He cleared his throat, reaching for his glass of water. His hand was shaking slightly. “No,” he repeated more normally, unconsciously adjusting the scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. “Just tired.”
Joe was grinning at him as he set his glass back down. “Aww,” he said teasingly. “Did wittle Kevin have double gym today.”
He could tell his mother was trying not to laugh. It wasn’t his fault he tripped over his own feet at anything faster than a walking pace. “How is that going, Kevin?”
“Fine,” Kevin said, glaring at Joe as he stabbed his peas viciously, spearing them one by one on the tines of his fork. Joe was snickering. “Hey,” Kevin added vindictively. “I heard you had a math test today, Joe. How’d that go?”
Joe’s face fell, and Kevin breathed a sigh of relief as the attention moved off him.
Kevin cleared the table like a good boy would, scraping the plates and stacking them in the sink for Joe and Nick to wash and dry. He went upstairs, got his coat and backpack. His face in the mirror didn’t look as guilty as he thought it should.
“Okay,” he announced with a measured amount of cheer as he came back downstairs. “I’m off to study group.”
His dad looked up from the table, where he had bills and accounts spread out before him. “Okay, son,” he said, looking at Kevin over the top of his glasses. “Do you need a ride?”
Kevin shook his head, already inching for the side door, desperate to be out so he could stop pretending. “I’m good. I shouldn’t be too late. I’ve got my phone,” he added before his mother could ask.
She came over and pressed a kiss to the side of his temple. “Okay, be good.” She stepped back, sniffing quietly. “Look at you, last year of high school. Soon it will be college…”
Kevin backed away. “And I’m leaving!” He dashed out through the kitchen door, chased by his brothers’ laughter. His guitar case was where he had stashed it, in the little storage loft in the roof of the garage. The gate squeaked shut as Mike’s car pulled up to the curb. Staying close to the fence, to the deepest shadows, Kevin ran down the drive and pushed his guitar into the backseat, climbing in after it.
Bob Bryar twisted in the passenger seat. “’Sup.”
Kevin nodded a greeting as he leaned through the gap between the front seats and pressed a kiss to Mike’s cheek. “Hey.”
“All good?” Mike asked with a surreptitious little nod towards the house.
Kevin sat back, doing up his seatbelt. “Yeah, but I don’t have forever, so let’s go.”
He could see Mike’s fond eye roll in the rear view mirror. “Pushy.” The car grumbled and spluttered as Mike accelerated down the road. “I am totally the whipped boyfriend, aren’t I?”
“And you love it,” Kevin shot back smugly, still loving the warmth that pooled in his stomach every time Mike called himself Kevin’s boyfriend. Somehow, it was enough to make all the sneaking and half truths worth it.
The practice space was little more than a storage unit owned by someone’s uncle’s best friend. Kevin didn’t care, it was just a place they could make noise and make fools of themselves without anyone seeing.
Pete was waiting for them, one foot back against the crumbling concrete, his bass already in hand as he idly plucked out notes as he waited.
“Did you forget your keys again, Pete?” Bob asked with long-suffering mildness.
Pete pushed off the wall, bass dangling from his fist as he watched them approach. “Good news, my lovelies,” he crowed. Kevin rolled his eyes in anticipation of whatever chaos Pete had cooked up now. “I have found us a singer.” With a dramatic flail, he ushered them into the practice space.
A pretty petite girl with curly blonde hair stood up. At her feet was an electronic keyboard and a pile of notebooks spilling out of a backpack. “Oh, hey,” she said, nervously tucking an errant curl back behind her ear. “I’m Greta.”
“Hi, I’m Kevin,” he said, with a friendly little wave of his hand. “And this is Mike and Bob,” he added into the awkward silence.
Greta seemed unperturbed. “Hi Kevin,” she parroted back with a goofy little grin. “Just let me get this thing unfolded,” she said, tapping her keyboard with her toe. “And we can get down to business.”
He glanced over a Mike, who was staring at Bob, trying not to giggle. Kevin followed his gaze, and had to cover his mouth with his hand.
Bob was smitten.
~/~
Pete may be a lot of things, but a bad judge of people he wasn’t. The music gelled, Greta the missing piece that made them a band and not just four guys being loud in a garage.
Kevin’s fingertips were rubbed raw and his cheeks were hurting from smiling so much, and he blew Mike a kiss over the top of Greta’s head as the last chords died away.
Pete clapped his hands gleefully. “We rock!” he chortled.
Bob smacked one of his cymbals. “What time is it,” he asked.
Kevin fumbled in his back pocket for his phone, his face paling as he saw the time. “Shit.”
“Crap,” Pete said, tugging his bass over his head. “That bad?”
Greta looked between them, mystified. “Kevin doesn’t swear,” Bob said helpfully as he eased himself out from behind his kit.
“So when he does, it is both totally cute and a sign of the impeding apocalypse,” Pete finished, jamming his bass into its case. He flipped open his own phone, and swore far more creatively. “Shit fuck damn, man, I am so dead. Carden, I need a ride, man.”
Mike closed his case and stood up. “Kevin first.”
“Come on, man,” Pete wheedled.
Mike flipped him off. “Firstly, boyfriend gets priority, secondly, he’s going to be in more trouble, and thirdly….”
“I can give someone a ride, if they’re headed my way,” Greta interrupted softly. “I’m in Greenville.”
Pete clapped his hands loudly, the sound echoing around the tiny space. “So’s Kevin, and Bob, Mike and I are in totally the opposite direction, so you.” He clapped his hands on Mike’s shoulders, ignoring Mike’s glare. “Kissy kissy with your boy toy, and I’ll meet you out in the car.” He skipped out through the open roller door. “Hurry!” He shouted over his shoulder.
Kevin smiled as he gave Mike a sweaty hug, nosing in along his jawbone for a quick, sweet kiss. “Tomorrow?” he asked.
Mike pulled back first, brushing their noses together in an Eskimo kiss. “See you then,” he nodded.
“Adorable,” Bob growled. “Can we go now?”
Kevin helped Greta lug her things to her beaten up hatchback, pausing only to check the padlock on the roller door to the practice space was set. Greta had the engine warming as Kevin folded himself into the front seat. “How much trouble are you in for being out late?” she asked as she nosed the little car onto the empty road.
“How fast can you drive?” he shot back.
“Gotcha,” she said, pressing down the accelerator. “So, you and Mike, huh?”
Kevin blinked at her for a moment, stunned, and then laughed nervously. “Oh, umm, didn’t Pete tell you?” He clamped his jaw shut before he could start babbling, feeling oddly defensive. He had never actually ever told anyone about him and Mike; they either just knew or they didn’t.
She flashed him a quick smile. “It’s cool, like Bob said, you’re kind of adorable together.”
Kevin felt warmth flush his cheeks.
“Do your parents know?”
He shook his head as the warmth froze and sank like lead. “I’m not quite ready for that potential screaming match, thanks.”
Her eyes were kind, but sad. “Okay, your secret is safe with me.”
“Turn here,” Kevin said instead of replying. “Can I leave my guitar with you? I need to sneak in.”
“Not a problem. Here?” The car stuttered to an arrhythmic halt on the corner. “Which one is you?”
Kevin pointed out his house as he undid his seat belt and tried to gather his things. “Thanks for the ride.”
“Thanks for letting me join your band. Would a hug be totally out of the question?”
Kevin grinned. “Hugging is totally what bandmates do.”
Greta’s hair smelled like sunshine. “See you at practice on Thursday,” she said as she let him go.
Kevin watched her pull a tight u-turn before he crossed the road and let himself in through the garage. He tossed his bags and climbed over the gate rather than risk the squeak waking everyone.
The kitchen was dark as he let himself in, only the hall light was on, casting just enough shadows to make it hard to navigate. He tiptoed across the linoleum, one hand extended as he patted through the air, looking for the table he knew was there.
He blinked, barely biting back a curse, as the light flicked on. His mother stood there, arms crossed over her dressing gown. “Kevin,” she said sternly. “You’re late.”
“Sorry,” he whispered, mindful of the sleeping house. A good boy would be quiet. Then again, a good boy wouldn’t be sneaking in after curfew. “We, ah, lost track of time.”
Her smile softened. “’We’ being that pretty little blonde girl who dropped you off? Who you were hugging?” She grinned at Kevin’s stricken expression. “Honey, we can see to the corner from our bedroom window.” She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him in a hug. “Is she nice? Can we meet her? What’s her name?”
Kevin wriggled out of her hugged, cheeks flaming. “Mom,” he cried, scandalized. “Her name is Greta, and she’s just a friend.”
His mother damped her smile with an effort. “Greta. And you’re just friends,” she added heavily. “Of course you’re ‘just friends.’” She tried to look innocent and failed. “Is she a nice friend?”
“Mom!” Kevin was mortified.
She took him by the shoulders and propelled him ahead of her upstairs. “Come on, bed for you. It is a school night.” Her fingers squeezed tightly. “And just call if you’re going to be late, okay sweetie.”
He kissed her cheek as they crested the top of the stairs. “Sorry mom. Goodnight.”
The bathroom light flickered and buzzed noisily. Kevin looked at his reflection and froze. He’d taken his scarf off at practice, too hot too wear it. He hadn’t put it back on. The hickies Mike had sucked into his skin on the weekend were a line of faded bruises along the hollow of his throat.
He groaned. His mother probably thought he’d been on a date with Greta. Only he could get a secret boyfriend and pretend girlfriend without even trying. Splashing some water on his face, Kevin gave up and went to bed.
~/~
Mike laughed so hard he fell off his seat when Kevin told him what had happened. Kevin hauled him up, and Mike let himself fall forward into Kevin’s lap. “Only you, KJ,” he said, pressing their foreheads together. “Only you.”
“It’s not funny,” Kevin said plaintively, but he couldn’t help smiling.
“What’s this?” Pete yelled, throwing himself at them, sending all three of them toppling over onto the floor. Kevin laid back and covered his head with his arms as Mike retold the story with lots of dramatic arm-waving.
Pete cackled like a hyena, drawing the attention of everyone in earshot as he hauled them both to their feet. “Oh, poor baby. One day, Jonas, I’m writing your life and selling it as a soap opera. A big gay soap. It’ll be epic, and even more, it’ll make me rich.”
Kevin froze as he saw Joe watching them from the doorway, mouth open, watching everything as Pete continued to babble. Before Kevin could move, Mike was leaning in and kissing his cheek, an affectionate, absent-minded peck as Pete began talking enthusiastically about some awesome new lyrics he had written that were a metaphor for being grounded for life.
Kevin slipped out of Mike’s loose embrace with a muttered apology and caught up with Joe in the corridor. “Joe, it’s…” he began quickly.
“Kevin,” Joe said breathlessly. “A boy was kissing you, and…” he bit his lip. “Kev, are you gay?”
Kevin took a deep breath. He had imagined this conversation taking place at home, in private, not in a busy high school corridor. He held out his hand, fingers pinched. “Maybe a little.”
Joe’s eyes were calculating. “So when mom was telling dad about that girl she saw you with…?”
Kevin rolled his eyes. “She was talking about Greta, and she really is just a friend. Guys can be friends with girls. Shocking concept, I know.” He took a deep breath. “Joe, are you…I need you to be okay with this.”
Joe grinned lopsidedly. “Can I tease you mercilessly forever about this?”
“Wouldn’t you anyway?”
Joe laughed and pulled him into a quick hug. He thumped Kevin on the back before letting go. “I am okay with this. But,” he added seriously. “You need to tell mom and dad. I think you’ll find they’ll be fine with it.” He made a face. “Once they get over the shock, of course. They really do think you’re dating this Greta person.”
Kevin took a deep breath and sighed. “Yeah, I know, it’s just…how do you even start that conversation?”
Joe slapped him on the shoulder. “We’ll figure it out,” he said with such certainty that Kevin had to believe him. “Now, going to introduce me to your boyfriend?”
Kevin laughed, took Joe by the hand, and dragged him over to Mike.
~/~
Kevin dug out the piece of paper from its hiding place and read with a smile his list of things that were and were not awesome in his life. Digging out a marker from his drawer, he scratched out the last two lines with a pen, obliterating them entirely.
His life was totally, completely awesome.
Author: akire_yta
Pairing: Mike/Kevin, some vague hints of Bob/Greta
Rating: PG for language
Word Count: ~4500
Summary: Kevin was the good boy. He didn’t secretly join bands, hang with the bad crowd, or have a smoking hot boyfriend. Good boys don’t do things like that. Except when they do.
Prompt: For mywholecry: high school or college AUs or general teenage love things (like summer camps or shopping malls, etc.). Banter and faily attempts at dating and how Kevin deals with coming out. I also like cameos from other bands and the rest of the Jobros.
A/N: pinch-hit, so fast and dirty and only vaguely resembles the prompt. Thanks to ink_on_the_page for giving it the once-over. I have UK spelling, so sorry, but not even Kevin’s pretty curls could get me to drop the 'u' from colour.
~/~
There was a piece of paper secreted away in the very bottom of Kevin’s desk drawer.
THINGS IN LIFE THAT ARE AWESOME
1) my family
2) being in a band
3) dating Mike Carden
THINGS IN MY LIFE THAT ARE NOT AWESOME
Keeping #2 and #3 from #1
Six lines that summarized his life. On paper it looked simple. Reality was much more complicated.
~/~
Kevin hadn’t set out to have a life this complicated. He had started his final year at school with the resolution to actually pass gym, to not be too big-brothery with Joe and Nick (who’d have to survive the schoolyard jungle next year without him anyway), and to graduate in such a way as his mom would cry happy-tears and not sad-tears at the ceremony in June. He just wanted to walk across that stage, collect his diploma, and walk away from high school, never looking back.
It all started to come apart on day one. The new school year started with its usual blend of familiar chaos, the slam of locker doors and the buzz of voices. Looking back, Kevin wondered if he’d felt any twinge of premonition as the new guy in the locker next to him slammed open the door and smiled broadly. “Hi, I’m Pete Wentz, I’m new here, and we’re going to be friends.” He had crammed his backpack into his locker and stuck out his hand. Kevin had shaken it on polite reflex. “So, what do you kids do for shits and giggles around here?”
Kevin knew he could safely blame everything that followed on Pete Wentz.
~/~
Pete attracted people like a black hole attracted planets, and with about the same mix of wailing, disorientation and fatalism. By the third day, Pete had formed a coterie of random people from across the high school social spectrum. Kevin was bewildered to find himself somewhere near the center, sitting with Pete at lunch and trying to make himself heard over the noise.
“I just think it’s a bit early in the year for a food fight,” he was almost-yelling.
“Bullshit,” Pete swore cheerfully. Even after only three days, Kevin was finding himself becoming immune to Pete’s language. “Start off as we mean to continue!” He scooped up a handful of the truly terrible mashed potato that was part of his lunch tray. “Now get out of my way, I need to slime that guy in the hat sitting with the band kids. He ignored me in the halls, and hurt my feelings.”
Kevin beat a hasty retreat as the potato sailed across the room and found its target amid some truly impressive swearing. Grabbing his brown paper bag, he slithered under the table and sat cross-legged on the floor, watching with detached interest at the stampede as the food started to fly.
A pair of dark jeans shoved themselves under the table, and Kevin blinked as a shaggy-haired guy who looked vaguely familiar slipped down to land on his knees. His head brushed the underside of the table, and he stared in surprise at Kevin.
Kevin held out his bag. “Sandwich?” he offered.
The guy took one half of his PB and J and tore off a huge bite. “Thanks,” he said around the mouthful. “Kevin, right?” He lifted his head to swallow, and Kevin found himself staring at the guys throat as the muscles and rings of cartilage worked under the pale skin. “I’m Mike Carden, I think we had shop together a few years ago.”
Kevin sipped his juice. “Yeah,” he said weakly, barely remembering where shop was, let alone who else was in the class.
Above them, the table thumped and groaned under the weight as somebody jumped onto it. “They can take our appetites,” Pete yelled. “But they can never take our freedom!” A roar rose from the rest of the lunch room. “Charge!”
Mike shook his head, covering his eyes with one hand.
“Imagining him in a kilt, covered wold?” Kevin asked sympathetically.
Mike nodded, his hand rasping across the thin dusting of stubble on his cheeks as he wiped his face. “Mooning the entire faculty,” he added.
Kevin democratically broke his cookie into two even halves and handed Mike his piece. “So I take it you’ve met Pete then,” he said lightly. Mike grinned and chomped on the cookie.
Kevin liked to think that was their first date.
~/~
They had apparently been going to the same high school for years, but Kevin saw more of Mike Carden over the rest of that week than he had in the four years previously. Pete had somehow adopted Mike as one of his co-conspirators. Kevin generally came along to act as the voice of reason.
“Egging his car, yes.” Kevin pushed his oversized sunglasses back up his nose and refolded his arms. “Spray painting his car just screams ‘trip to juvie’ to me.”
Pete saluted. “Good point there. If I go home in a cop car one more time, its military school for me.” He looked around. “Anyone got any eggs?”
Mike was lounging on the fence. Kevin hadn’t believed it was possible to lounge on a post a couple of inches wide. He wandered over to perch himself next to Mike and maybe figure out how he did it. A part of him was starting to wonder if Mike was a little bit magic, the way he did stuff. “We have about as many eggs on us, Pete,” Mike said lazily. “As we had cans of spray paint. This is suburbia, not the ganglands.”
Pete made a face, twisting his mouth. “This is boring. Kevin, my man, my conscience but with better taste in scarves.” Despite himself, Kevin felt his fingers twisting into the black and purple scarf wrapped around his neck. He had thought it looked good. “Tell me, what’s the verdict on slashing his tires?”
Kevin rolled his eyes behind his shades. “No to slashing.” He sighed at Pete’s puppy-dog face. “Maybe just let all the air out.”
Pete let out a whoop of joy and scampered back over to the car.
Mike rolled off the fence, landing lightly on his feet. “I don’t know who’s influencing who here, for better or worse.” He reached over and plucked Kevin’s sunglasses off his face and put them on.
“Toss your hair and you could be a supermodel.” He laughed delightedly, caught off guard as Mike actually did it, complete with a delicious little pout. “Gorgeous,” Kevin grinned. “Work it baby, own it.”
Mike smiled back, showing teeth. “Oh, I do.” He stepped in closer, bracing himself, legs wide, as he came to a stop with their chests almost touching. “And I for one,” he added in a low whisper, ignoring the stares from the rest of Pete’s posse as he tangled his fingers in Kevin’s scarf. “Really like your taste in scarves.”
There was a little voice in the back of Kevin’s head (that sounded suspiciously Wentzien) screaming at him to seize the day. Fisting his fingers in the front of Mike’s shirt, Kevin hauled him in and kissed him hard and fast on the mouth.
He pulled off, panting hard, to a chorus of whoops and cheers. Mike broke into a slow, lazy grin, and in his sunglasses, Kevin could see himself smiling. He felt dizzy, like someone else.
“Come here,” Mike growled, his hands snaking around Kevin’s waist and pulling him back in for the beginnings of a truly epic public make-out session.
Kevin felt like someone else entirely, someone cool and dangerous and interesting. He liked this version of himself. Sliding his hands up Mike’s chest, he buried his fingers in Mike’s hair and slid his tongue into Mike’s mouth. From the happy little growl that rose from deep in Mike’s chest, he figured that Mike liked him too.
Kevin grinned into the kiss. Magic.
~/~
Mike lived in the basement. Even with the washer and dryer shoved under the stairs, the bare beams just above his head, and the cobwebs in the corners, it was still the most awesome room Kevin had ever been in.
They spent a lot of time there. Kevin’s house was usually full of his brothers, and somehow they had never gotten into the whole movies and dinner and flowers kind of dating.
Kevin liked their kind of dates better anyway.
Mike was sprawled over the tattered sofa, one arm flung across his face, his shirt askew. Kevin thought he was the hottest thing ever, more so because he was the one who had made Mike so look like that. Mike groaned and let his arm flop sideways until his knuckles were brushing the floor. “Is this, like, a good boy gone bad thing? All that repression finally breaking out? Fuck,” he sighed. “Go sit over there before we end up starting something you won’t let me finish.”
Kevin couldn’t wipe the wicked grin from his face as he wandered over and sprawled out on the floor, his back resting against the foot of Mike’s bed. Something poked him in the butt, and he wriggled, reaching behind himself to pull out a guitar case. “You play?” he asked.
Mike let his head roll sideways until he could see. “Uh, yeah, a bit.”
Kevin undid the clasps. “Mind if I…?”
Mike waved a hand through the air. “If it’ll keep those fucking fingers of yours busy, then knock yourself out.”
Kevin pulled the electric guitar onto his lap, plunking the strings, listening intently to the dull notes. Patting under the bed revealed an amp cable, and a gentle tug showed him where it snaked across the room, under piles of dirty clothes, to a small amp by the stairs.
There was a brief whine of feedback as Kevin plugged in. The part of him that was the old Kevin, mindful and quiet, turned the volume down until it was barely audible before he sat down on the foot of the stairs.
The amp crackled, but the guitar had a sweet sound, a rich timbre that Kevin could feel as much as hear. Bowing his head, he began to play nothing in particular, losing himself in the feel of the strings and the way the music made his skin prickle.
When he opened his eyes, he could see Mike’s toes. Gentle fingers on his jaw tilted his face up. “Fuck,” Mike breathed, pressed the gentlest of kisses to his lips. “Where did you learn to play?”
Kevin shrugged, embarrassed by the attention, by the way Mike was looking at him. “Just figured it out,” he mumbled, pulling free and turning away. Mike helped him up, flipping off the amp as they passed. The room seemed emptier without its crackling static. “Books, and stuff.”
When he stood up from returning the guitar to its case, Mike was staring at him with a speculative gleam in his eyes. “We should totally start a band.” Kevin laughed at the sheer absurdity of it. Him, in a band? The best he could hope for was church choir, and he was too old for that now. But Mike wasn’t laughing. “Yeah. I know Wentz plays bass, and I’m sure we could find a half decent drummer - fuck, Bryar would do it if we promised him no soppy ballads.”
Kevin gulped. “Bob Bryar?” he asked weakly.
Mike had a gleam in his eye, and Kevin knew he was doomed. “Yeah, I work with him at Blockbuster, he’s totally cool. What do you say?”
Kevin knew he should say no. That he should go home, finish his schoolwork, set the table, be the Good Boy, not have a boyfriend, be the person everyone thought he should be. “Okay,” he said instead.
Mike pounced, pushing Kevin back into the wall as he enthusiastically nosed his way down Kevin’ neck and began sucking an impressive hickey onto his collar bone. If he’d listened to Good Boy, he wouldn’t be here, so what did that Kevin know, anyway?
~/~
Kevin sat through dinner with a fixed smile and tried to pretend it didn’t feel like he was ripping out of his skin in nervous anticipation. Despite months of practice, this hadn’t gotten any easier. “Huh?” he said, suddenly aware someone was talking at him.
“I said,” his mother said with a worried little smile. “Pass the potatoes, please.” She studied Kevin over the bowl. Kevin kept his eyes determinedly on his plate. “You’re a million miles way, honey. Anything wrong?”
“No,” Kevin squeaked, too quickly. He cleared his throat, reaching for his glass of water. His hand was shaking slightly. “No,” he repeated more normally, unconsciously adjusting the scarf wrapped tightly around his neck. “Just tired.”
Joe was grinning at him as he set his glass back down. “Aww,” he said teasingly. “Did wittle Kevin have double gym today.”
He could tell his mother was trying not to laugh. It wasn’t his fault he tripped over his own feet at anything faster than a walking pace. “How is that going, Kevin?”
“Fine,” Kevin said, glaring at Joe as he stabbed his peas viciously, spearing them one by one on the tines of his fork. Joe was snickering. “Hey,” Kevin added vindictively. “I heard you had a math test today, Joe. How’d that go?”
Joe’s face fell, and Kevin breathed a sigh of relief as the attention moved off him.
Kevin cleared the table like a good boy would, scraping the plates and stacking them in the sink for Joe and Nick to wash and dry. He went upstairs, got his coat and backpack. His face in the mirror didn’t look as guilty as he thought it should.
“Okay,” he announced with a measured amount of cheer as he came back downstairs. “I’m off to study group.”
His dad looked up from the table, where he had bills and accounts spread out before him. “Okay, son,” he said, looking at Kevin over the top of his glasses. “Do you need a ride?”
Kevin shook his head, already inching for the side door, desperate to be out so he could stop pretending. “I’m good. I shouldn’t be too late. I’ve got my phone,” he added before his mother could ask.
She came over and pressed a kiss to the side of his temple. “Okay, be good.” She stepped back, sniffing quietly. “Look at you, last year of high school. Soon it will be college…”
Kevin backed away. “And I’m leaving!” He dashed out through the kitchen door, chased by his brothers’ laughter. His guitar case was where he had stashed it, in the little storage loft in the roof of the garage. The gate squeaked shut as Mike’s car pulled up to the curb. Staying close to the fence, to the deepest shadows, Kevin ran down the drive and pushed his guitar into the backseat, climbing in after it.
Bob Bryar twisted in the passenger seat. “’Sup.”
Kevin nodded a greeting as he leaned through the gap between the front seats and pressed a kiss to Mike’s cheek. “Hey.”
“All good?” Mike asked with a surreptitious little nod towards the house.
Kevin sat back, doing up his seatbelt. “Yeah, but I don’t have forever, so let’s go.”
He could see Mike’s fond eye roll in the rear view mirror. “Pushy.” The car grumbled and spluttered as Mike accelerated down the road. “I am totally the whipped boyfriend, aren’t I?”
“And you love it,” Kevin shot back smugly, still loving the warmth that pooled in his stomach every time Mike called himself Kevin’s boyfriend. Somehow, it was enough to make all the sneaking and half truths worth it.
The practice space was little more than a storage unit owned by someone’s uncle’s best friend. Kevin didn’t care, it was just a place they could make noise and make fools of themselves without anyone seeing.
Pete was waiting for them, one foot back against the crumbling concrete, his bass already in hand as he idly plucked out notes as he waited.
“Did you forget your keys again, Pete?” Bob asked with long-suffering mildness.
Pete pushed off the wall, bass dangling from his fist as he watched them approach. “Good news, my lovelies,” he crowed. Kevin rolled his eyes in anticipation of whatever chaos Pete had cooked up now. “I have found us a singer.” With a dramatic flail, he ushered them into the practice space.
A pretty petite girl with curly blonde hair stood up. At her feet was an electronic keyboard and a pile of notebooks spilling out of a backpack. “Oh, hey,” she said, nervously tucking an errant curl back behind her ear. “I’m Greta.”
“Hi, I’m Kevin,” he said, with a friendly little wave of his hand. “And this is Mike and Bob,” he added into the awkward silence.
Greta seemed unperturbed. “Hi Kevin,” she parroted back with a goofy little grin. “Just let me get this thing unfolded,” she said, tapping her keyboard with her toe. “And we can get down to business.”
He glanced over a Mike, who was staring at Bob, trying not to giggle. Kevin followed his gaze, and had to cover his mouth with his hand.
Bob was smitten.
~/~
Pete may be a lot of things, but a bad judge of people he wasn’t. The music gelled, Greta the missing piece that made them a band and not just four guys being loud in a garage.
Kevin’s fingertips were rubbed raw and his cheeks were hurting from smiling so much, and he blew Mike a kiss over the top of Greta’s head as the last chords died away.
Pete clapped his hands gleefully. “We rock!” he chortled.
Bob smacked one of his cymbals. “What time is it,” he asked.
Kevin fumbled in his back pocket for his phone, his face paling as he saw the time. “Shit.”
“Crap,” Pete said, tugging his bass over his head. “That bad?”
Greta looked between them, mystified. “Kevin doesn’t swear,” Bob said helpfully as he eased himself out from behind his kit.
“So when he does, it is both totally cute and a sign of the impeding apocalypse,” Pete finished, jamming his bass into its case. He flipped open his own phone, and swore far more creatively. “Shit fuck damn, man, I am so dead. Carden, I need a ride, man.”
Mike closed his case and stood up. “Kevin first.”
“Come on, man,” Pete wheedled.
Mike flipped him off. “Firstly, boyfriend gets priority, secondly, he’s going to be in more trouble, and thirdly….”
“I can give someone a ride, if they’re headed my way,” Greta interrupted softly. “I’m in Greenville.”
Pete clapped his hands loudly, the sound echoing around the tiny space. “So’s Kevin, and Bob, Mike and I are in totally the opposite direction, so you.” He clapped his hands on Mike’s shoulders, ignoring Mike’s glare. “Kissy kissy with your boy toy, and I’ll meet you out in the car.” He skipped out through the open roller door. “Hurry!” He shouted over his shoulder.
Kevin smiled as he gave Mike a sweaty hug, nosing in along his jawbone for a quick, sweet kiss. “Tomorrow?” he asked.
Mike pulled back first, brushing their noses together in an Eskimo kiss. “See you then,” he nodded.
“Adorable,” Bob growled. “Can we go now?”
Kevin helped Greta lug her things to her beaten up hatchback, pausing only to check the padlock on the roller door to the practice space was set. Greta had the engine warming as Kevin folded himself into the front seat. “How much trouble are you in for being out late?” she asked as she nosed the little car onto the empty road.
“How fast can you drive?” he shot back.
“Gotcha,” she said, pressing down the accelerator. “So, you and Mike, huh?”
Kevin blinked at her for a moment, stunned, and then laughed nervously. “Oh, umm, didn’t Pete tell you?” He clamped his jaw shut before he could start babbling, feeling oddly defensive. He had never actually ever told anyone about him and Mike; they either just knew or they didn’t.
She flashed him a quick smile. “It’s cool, like Bob said, you’re kind of adorable together.”
Kevin felt warmth flush his cheeks.
“Do your parents know?”
He shook his head as the warmth froze and sank like lead. “I’m not quite ready for that potential screaming match, thanks.”
Her eyes were kind, but sad. “Okay, your secret is safe with me.”
“Turn here,” Kevin said instead of replying. “Can I leave my guitar with you? I need to sneak in.”
“Not a problem. Here?” The car stuttered to an arrhythmic halt on the corner. “Which one is you?”
Kevin pointed out his house as he undid his seat belt and tried to gather his things. “Thanks for the ride.”
“Thanks for letting me join your band. Would a hug be totally out of the question?”
Kevin grinned. “Hugging is totally what bandmates do.”
Greta’s hair smelled like sunshine. “See you at practice on Thursday,” she said as she let him go.
Kevin watched her pull a tight u-turn before he crossed the road and let himself in through the garage. He tossed his bags and climbed over the gate rather than risk the squeak waking everyone.
The kitchen was dark as he let himself in, only the hall light was on, casting just enough shadows to make it hard to navigate. He tiptoed across the linoleum, one hand extended as he patted through the air, looking for the table he knew was there.
He blinked, barely biting back a curse, as the light flicked on. His mother stood there, arms crossed over her dressing gown. “Kevin,” she said sternly. “You’re late.”
“Sorry,” he whispered, mindful of the sleeping house. A good boy would be quiet. Then again, a good boy wouldn’t be sneaking in after curfew. “We, ah, lost track of time.”
Her smile softened. “’We’ being that pretty little blonde girl who dropped you off? Who you were hugging?” She grinned at Kevin’s stricken expression. “Honey, we can see to the corner from our bedroom window.” She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him in a hug. “Is she nice? Can we meet her? What’s her name?”
Kevin wriggled out of her hugged, cheeks flaming. “Mom,” he cried, scandalized. “Her name is Greta, and she’s just a friend.”
His mother damped her smile with an effort. “Greta. And you’re just friends,” she added heavily. “Of course you’re ‘just friends.’” She tried to look innocent and failed. “Is she a nice friend?”
“Mom!” Kevin was mortified.
She took him by the shoulders and propelled him ahead of her upstairs. “Come on, bed for you. It is a school night.” Her fingers squeezed tightly. “And just call if you’re going to be late, okay sweetie.”
He kissed her cheek as they crested the top of the stairs. “Sorry mom. Goodnight.”
The bathroom light flickered and buzzed noisily. Kevin looked at his reflection and froze. He’d taken his scarf off at practice, too hot too wear it. He hadn’t put it back on. The hickies Mike had sucked into his skin on the weekend were a line of faded bruises along the hollow of his throat.
He groaned. His mother probably thought he’d been on a date with Greta. Only he could get a secret boyfriend and pretend girlfriend without even trying. Splashing some water on his face, Kevin gave up and went to bed.
~/~
Mike laughed so hard he fell off his seat when Kevin told him what had happened. Kevin hauled him up, and Mike let himself fall forward into Kevin’s lap. “Only you, KJ,” he said, pressing their foreheads together. “Only you.”
“It’s not funny,” Kevin said plaintively, but he couldn’t help smiling.
“What’s this?” Pete yelled, throwing himself at them, sending all three of them toppling over onto the floor. Kevin laid back and covered his head with his arms as Mike retold the story with lots of dramatic arm-waving.
Pete cackled like a hyena, drawing the attention of everyone in earshot as he hauled them both to their feet. “Oh, poor baby. One day, Jonas, I’m writing your life and selling it as a soap opera. A big gay soap. It’ll be epic, and even more, it’ll make me rich.”
Kevin froze as he saw Joe watching them from the doorway, mouth open, watching everything as Pete continued to babble. Before Kevin could move, Mike was leaning in and kissing his cheek, an affectionate, absent-minded peck as Pete began talking enthusiastically about some awesome new lyrics he had written that were a metaphor for being grounded for life.
Kevin slipped out of Mike’s loose embrace with a muttered apology and caught up with Joe in the corridor. “Joe, it’s…” he began quickly.
“Kevin,” Joe said breathlessly. “A boy was kissing you, and…” he bit his lip. “Kev, are you gay?”
Kevin took a deep breath. He had imagined this conversation taking place at home, in private, not in a busy high school corridor. He held out his hand, fingers pinched. “Maybe a little.”
Joe’s eyes were calculating. “So when mom was telling dad about that girl she saw you with…?”
Kevin rolled his eyes. “She was talking about Greta, and she really is just a friend. Guys can be friends with girls. Shocking concept, I know.” He took a deep breath. “Joe, are you…I need you to be okay with this.”
Joe grinned lopsidedly. “Can I tease you mercilessly forever about this?”
“Wouldn’t you anyway?”
Joe laughed and pulled him into a quick hug. He thumped Kevin on the back before letting go. “I am okay with this. But,” he added seriously. “You need to tell mom and dad. I think you’ll find they’ll be fine with it.” He made a face. “Once they get over the shock, of course. They really do think you’re dating this Greta person.”
Kevin took a deep breath and sighed. “Yeah, I know, it’s just…how do you even start that conversation?”
Joe slapped him on the shoulder. “We’ll figure it out,” he said with such certainty that Kevin had to believe him. “Now, going to introduce me to your boyfriend?”
Kevin laughed, took Joe by the hand, and dragged him over to Mike.
~/~
Kevin dug out the piece of paper from its hiding place and read with a smile his list of things that were and were not awesome in his life. Digging out a marker from his drawer, he scratched out the last two lines with a pen, obliterating them entirely.
His life was totally, completely awesome.