boywhoflew | [Darrow: Set for May 23rd]

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darrow,
eric bittle

[Darrow: Set for May 23rd]

It shouldn't have surprised him, but somehow he hadn't expected Eric to make shit so goddamned difficult.

Glaring down at the text message on his phone screen, Carson hastily tapped out a quick reply before stuffing it in his pocket. He didn't know why something as dumb as prom had to come with so many complications, but like hell if he was going to suffer through an entire evening of obnoxious laughter and awkward dance floor grinding all by himself. The idea of dragging Eric along for company had seemed appealing in theory, if only because then he'd have someone to distract him from all of the hormonal aggression and adolescent sexual misconduct, but of course it couldn't just be that easy.

Honestly, he should have seen it coming.

Grabbing his keys from the table he ducked out of his apartment quickly, the few halls and elevator between their apartments an easy distance to cross. By the time he made it down to the third floor he was almost as irritated as he was exasperated, and he didn't even hesitate before knocking with a bit more force than was likely necessary.

So sue him. He was irritated.

The door had barely opened before he leaned in, intent and determined. "What the hell?" He demanded, caught between confused and flustered. "Are you going with me or not?"

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Even after receiving his last text, I'm somehow surprised to find Carson knocking at my door.

Or, well. Maybe I'm only surprised by the way he immediately starts yelling at me, the door barely even half-opened. My confusion immediately melts into irritation as I swing the door open wider to scowl up at him, one hand falling to my hip.

"Are you deranged?" It's honestly probably not the best response, but he's shouting and demanding and-- "I don't know if you noticed, but I'm not in high school, Carson. I'm twenty. And I've already gone to prom. Even if I completely ignore the fact that this is very probably a really awful prank, why would I want to relive one of the most awkward nights of my life? And why would you ask me?"

I almost want to shout that I have a boyfriend, but even if Jack and I have sort of talked about it, it still feels heavy in my mouth. Too good to be true. Too good to shout angrily at Carson loud enough for the whole apartment floor to hear.

For a split second he bristled at the deranged comment, his shoulders raising defensively before he forced them back down. Despite his aggressive greeting he didn't have any intention of starting another fight, and he needed Eric to go with him. Prom had always been a part of the high school experience he had been glad to skip over, but getting suckered into attending through obligation not only sucked, it only stood to be one awkward night he'd want to forget.

He'd honestly thought that Eric might want to go. And instead he had to be fucking difficult.

So fucking difficult, he thought, eyes rolling in his frustration.

"Oh, and like there won't be twenty-year olds getting snuck in by their seventeen year old girlfriends." Carson countered immediately, his arms crossing as he frowned down at Eric. "So what does that matter? And why are you on this prank kick? Have I ever done anything to give you the impression that pranks are even remotely up my alley? It's just prom." Digging into his back pocket he pulled out the two tickets and waved them in front of Eric's face. "See? Prom. I have to go. So you might as well come with me and make it interesting."

Those are two points I can't argue very easily, which only makes me more irritated. Maybe Carson isn't really the pranking type and I don't really want to go into detail about why that's a conclusion my mind immediately jumps to so I just continue to glare up at him.

He waves two thin pieces of paper in front of my face I assume to be the tickets and I step back a little, crossing my arms over my chest.

"Why do you have to go?" I ask him, still prickling, but growing weirdly curious now. It's obvious he doesn't want to and, as far as I can remember, Prom is very much a voluntary event. Carson doesn't much strike me as the kind of person who easily gets roped into things he doesn't want to do.

On some level he was sorely tempted to grab Eric by the shoulders and shake him.

He didn't see what the giant hold up was. It wasn't as if he wanted to go to the prom either, but Eric was definitely one of the more social people he'd ever met. Twenty years old or not he would have expected him to jump at the chance to have an excuse to throw on a suit and go out as opposed to fight him on it. High school dance or no high school dance.

"Because I do," Carson insisted, still holding the tickets out because he honestly didn't want them. Floundering with his own frustration, he took a step back and forced himself to take a deep breath, his arm forcibly lowering with the tickets still a damning presence in his hand. "Do you remember me telling you about Lucas?" He asked, his derision coming off in waves. "The editor for the school paper?"

I'm not sure this feels like a conversation we should be having in the middle of my front door so I finally step back, my arms still crossed even as it's an obvious invitation for him to step inside.

Glancing down at the tickets that he's still waving around, I nod. "The one you're always complaining about being lazy? I believe every time you mention him, you say something about how you could do his job ten times better and more efficiently. Or something to that nature. You're very humble, Carson."

The last is said with just a little bit of a smile. As downright rude as Carson can be sometimes, there are aspects to his personality that are almost endearing. Less so when he's trying to bully me into something, but still.

"I don't need to be humble because I could," Carson pressed, shoving the tickets into his back pocket and stepping into Eric's apartment. Closing the door lightly behind him he turned and scrutinized the older boy, ready to continue his sales pitch until the reminder of why he was stuck brow-beating Eric into going with him settled.

"He might be competent, but he lacks the diligence and drive of an editor." He groaned. "I even made the gracious offer to take over for him if he'd prefer to focus his energies on hobbies more his speed. Like playing hacky sack with the stoners or feeling up his dumb cow of a girlfriend behind the gym during third period. Which I know he must be doing because he's never in the journalism room like he's supposed to be."

Pausing mid rant, his mouth slanted and he scratched at his neck. "He may have had it out for me ever since that conversation," he admitted. "I'm pretty sure, at least. Seeing as he had the oh so genius idea to make me cover prom for the paper as I was the only writer on staff who didn't have a date to distract them."

Carson's rant is hardly any surprise. Neither is his vitriol, though I find my eyebrows lifting and hackles raising when he calls Lucas's girlfriend a cow. I can just hear Shitty somewhere in the back of my mind going absolutely haywire and I have to bite my lip to keep from calling him out on it. It's obvious he's worked himself into enough of a state and, judging by past experiences, if I'm not careful, he could explode and start using those barbs on me.

Besides, it's obvious that his editor has gotten his own revenge.

I can't help, I actually have to smirk. This seems a bit like just desserts and I regard him for a moment, fighting the urge to laugh.

"So are you inviting me to 'prove' that you have a date too or to keep you company while you furiously jot down notes about how trivial and banal the concept of prom is and it's impact on the psycho-development of the young adult mind?"

His mouth twisted into an unimpressed frown at Eric's smirk, but he carefully stomped down the fresh wave of irritation that threatened to build up. Of any and all ways he could have chosen to spend a Friday night, his birthday night, prom was so far from making the list that he was pretty sure that he'd sooner choose to get a root canal or organize his sock drawer.

At this point, convincing Eric to go with him was probably the only thing that might save him from committing seppuku out of sheer boredom.

""The latter," he grit out tightly, crossing his arms and forcing an air of calm. "As a secondary fuck you he gave me a second ticket just in case. I don't think he actually expected me to bring anyone, so that's where you come in. If I have to spend an entire evening wearing a half assed suit in a room overcrowded with mouth breathing morons while they surrender to their hormones and fight over the the completely trivial social measuring system of popularity I might just give up and walk into traffic. Come on, don't you like stupid things like this?"

Impossibly, Carson's irritation seems to be growing by the second and, I'll admit, it's amusing. I mean, if he's going to barge in here and demand I go with him, it's only right that I make him work for it. Especially since it means I'll have to ask Derek for another Friday night off. Not that I think it'll be much of a problem, but still.

"So, actually it's the former," I argue, arching an eyebrow. "You want to show him that you do actually have a date because, despite everything you're saying, you care a little bit." I put a hand up before he can argue, because darn it, I'm not done yet. "Not about popularity, but you're irritated that this guy was able to peg you so easily. Because, let's face it, how many options do you have here?"

I pause then, just for a second, because I'm really starting to think he hasn't through this all the way through.

"You do realize everyone's probably gonna think you're gay, right? Are you... I mean, I didn't even go with a boy to my own prom. This may not be small town Georgia, but people here still give me funny looks all the time. And I've only been out of high school for a few years. Trust me, I remember all too well, how cruel kids can be."

Carson's eyebrows shot up and if possible, he crossed his arms tighter. "It is not," he argued the moment he could get a word in. "I don't need an actual date, nor do I feel any pressing need to stick it to that idiot by pretending to have a date. I just want some sort of worthwhile company if I'm going to be stuck there all night."

He was comfortable with calling that a solid ninety-seven percent true. Maybe, just maybe, on some level he did want to stick it to Lucas for making smarmy assumptions about him. And yes, maybe he didn't really have any other options. He supposed if he had really wanted to he could have tried inviting Beca even if they didn't know each other as well, but somehow bringing a pregnant woman in her twenties to prom with him hadn't really screamed a very good idea.

If anything, it would have just been kind of sad. For both of them.

With a sigh he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just to be clear, I don't give a shit what any of those immature idiots think of me. If they want to think I'm gay, let them. If they want to think I'm anything, let them. I can guarantee there are probably a good dozen outrageous rumors about me and every single other person in that school, because it's high school. They'd rather make up bullshit and spread it like herpes than actually focus on anything important. And it isn't like it's an actual date. You're just doing me a solid by going with me and keeping me company. Is that really so hard to do?"

Carson can protest all he'd like, but I know I'm at least partially right. Otherwise, he wouldn't be campaigning so hard for this; he'd just show up with his scowl firmly in place and go about judging everyone with pen and paper firmly in hand. If anything, he probably wants to use the fact that I am a guy as some kind of bizarre middle finger to all of them, give them something new to talk about with him, something he can use as fuel for his own ire.

It's only been a few months, but I'm starting to think I know Carson pretty well now.

I let my arms fall then, resting them on my hips instead as I regard him carefully. "If I said yes, what would I have to do? I'll tell you right now, I'm not payin' for a tux and I refuse to go to any prom on a bus. Also, like you said, this is no way whatsoever a date. There'll be no kissing and no holding hands." Though, if I'm honest, I have a little bit of a hard time imagining Carson wanting that with anyone anyway, much less me. "And I'm telling Jack. My boyfriend. My hockey-playing boyfriend who is over six feet tall and over two hundred pounds of muscle."

Carson couldn't help but make a bewildered face at the no kissing comment, but after a puzzled moment managed to recover and reset his expression to something more impassive.

"Damn," he drawled flatly. "There goes my nefarious plan to rob you of your virtue with hand holding." With a roll of his eyes Carson stuffed his hands down into his pockets, just barely resisting the urge to heave a large put upon sigh. Even if it was labored with an if, he was relatively sure he had managed to wear the other boy down into agreeing. Now it was just a matter for haggling.

"How about this," he bartered carefully. "You wear whatever the hell you want and I'll wear whatever the hell I want. If you're too high class for the bus then I'll pay for a taxi. If you need to run and get permission from your giant puck-head first, then so be it. If you want to dance, go dance. If you want food afterwards, you're paying." He squinted and considered that for a moment. "Actually, if I'm hungry afterwards, then you're paying. It's only fair if I have to shell out for the taxi."

It still feels exciting to be able to say that, to call Jack my boyfriend. It's probably dumb given that it's been about a month now, but some part of it still doesn't feel quite real, like I'm just waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under me. Every time I even so much as think about it, I get a little, wonderful chill. This time is no different except that it fades almost immediately thanks to the way Carson is still scowling at me.

"I do not need to get permission," I snap, nearly talking over him, feeling a cloud roll over me yet again when he calls Jack a puck-head. I shouldn't be surprised, I know. Carson's made it no secret what he thinks of the jock type and, while I know Jack doesn't fit that ridiculous stereotype, I also know Carson. Carson doesn't see things quite the way other people do.

"What if I leave early?" I reply, tipping my chin up defiantly. This definitely feels like some sort of negotiation. "Will you pitch a fit? And do I have to stay with you the whole night?" Though, honestly, I don't know where else I'd go. It's not like I have a whole lot of friends who are still in high school and somehow I have the feeling that both Cliff and Ellie would rather do anything else but attend their prom.

Shit, Carson thought. Looking back he didn't know why, but he had actually had it in his head at first that Eric might actually want to go if he invited him. The shorter boy was always going out to some kind of party or get together and texting him invites, so it had seemed reasonable to assume that the one time he had flipped it around that he'd be agreeable.

And on some level he was. With the stipulation that he didn't actually have to spend time with him while he was at the stupid dance. No surprises, there.

"You can do whatever you want," he said crisply. Hands curling into fists where they were shoved down into his pockets, Carson chose to keep himself in a forced sort of calm. It wasn't anything big or important, it was just prom. Even if prom was on his stupid birthday and he was apparently destined to spend it surrounded by idiots begging whatever deities for some sort of relief from the mediocrity of his peers while the one person he had wanted around avoided him. "If you want to leave early, go for it. You just have to get your own ride home. If you don't want to stay with me, go do whatever. You know what? You don't even have to talk to me. You can go mingle and no one will think you're a creep because they'll probably just assume you're a sophomore who's been stuck in a locker all year."

Something shudders across Carson's expression and it's only then that I realize what I've said, and how it probably sounds. Guilt sweeps through me hard and fast, but before I can even open my mouth to clarify, Carson's talking again.

He has his hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders hunched, and I know there's no way he could know about anything that happened to me before Madison, but his last statement hits like a punch all the same. Because he's right, probably. I look more like a high school student than he does, no one will even blink at me being there, and if they think I'm there with another boy...

Ignoring the clench of shame and panic in my gut, I shake my head. "I'm not gonna go mingle," I tell him, taking a deep breath. "It's not like I'll know anyone there but you anyway. I was just tryin' to see what you're expecting. And it's not-- It isn't like I don't like talking to you. Most of the time. I just wanna know what I'm supposed to do if you're off interviewin' people. If that's even what you're plannin'. Do you just have to show up and observe?"

"Mostly observation," Carson agreed flatly, but with a cautious optimism that prom and his birthday might not end up a complete shit-show. Even if Eric hadn't officially declared that he was going, or even that he wouldn't somehow end up an even bigger buzzkill, it seemed like he was on track. He even didn't mind if the boy did end up spending the night avoiding him, as long as he still managed to show up with someone who was even halfway tolerable.

"Review the music, the theme, probably interview the Prom King and Queen after they've been crowned, note any interesting events. As if there will be any." With a roll of his eyes he huffed. "It's just going to be your basic, boring prom and there it an almost one hundred percent chance that it's going to be completely inane and idiotic. Someone will probably sneak in alcohol, people will dance like idiots, and some testosterone blind half brains will probably get in a fight. Very tried and true quasi-American alternate dimension fishbowl prom."

Chewing his cheek he hesitated before trying again. "Does that mean you're going to go?" He wheedled. "I probably won't have to interview much. And you can dance or go be a wallflower or whatever it is you do when I have to."

While being asked to prom by Carson is about the last thing I could've ever expected, I can't say that the idea isn't intriguing. My last prom wasn't exactly terrible by any means, but even if Heather and I had only gone together as friends, I'd still had to watch myself for most of the night, make sure my gaze didn't linger on any cute guy in a suit for too long.

And here I am being asked by a boy. It's Carson and it's definitely not a real prom date at all, but there's still something about it that's appealing.

It doesn't hurt that Carson has stopped demanding and now seems to be genuinely asking. "For the record," I tell him, holding up a finger, "you might want to be a little less aggressive the next time you ask someone to be your date somewhere. It tends to go over a little better that way. But yes, I'll go with you. I'd love to, even. Keeping in mind, of course, everything we've already discussed. Also, if you find someone else you'd rather take before then, I won't be offended."

For one brief second Carson was legitimately tempted to pump his fist in victory, but managed to smother down the desire before his arm could so much as twitch.

"It isn't a date," he corrected automatically, despite the rush of triumph that washed over him. Triumph and oddly enough, relief. "And I seriously doubt anyone more interesting will pop up in the next few days. But I guess the next time I need someone to tag along and protect my sanity, I'll try to be a bit less aggressive when I ask them." Shifting his weight he finally gave in to the quirk of a grin that had been threatening, and reached into his back pocket to pull out the tickets.

"It's probably going to suck," he warned, holding one of the tickets out for Eric to take. "But-- ah, well. Thanks for going with me. It'll probably suck less now." With a shrug he rolled his eyes. "Provided you don't find someway to embarrass me. But I'll be gracious and give you the benefit of the doubt as far as that goes."

Edited 2016-06-02 21:18 (UTC)

He doesn't whoop in victory or bounce on his tones or anything. His smile isn't even all that big, but after knowing Carson now for a few months, it's hard not to tell that he's actually happy. Maybe happier than I've ever seen him, and that includes the day he'd dragged me all over Barton's campus.

Eyeing the ticket he holds out for a second, I finally take it, laughing a little when what he says actually sounds like compliments. Or at least like he might actually consider me a friend when, before now, I've always just assumed he mostly tolerates me because of the free pie. And because he probably doesn't have many other people here.

"Next time, lead with that," I tell him, fiddling with the ticket even as I narrow my eyes at him a little. "And leave out the part where you're afraid your companion might embarrass you. What, are you afraid I'll bust out into the Single Ladies dance unprompted? Because if that's actually a worry, I can promise you right now that I'll absolutely do it."

His eyebrows raised at that, and for a split second he almost pictured what a potential disaster that could be.

"I can honestly say that wasn't a worry until just now." Carson said with the slightest frown between his brows, though his grin didn't falter. "But I think I can tolerate you dancing as long as you don't have the leotard to go with it." He let that statement hang in the air for a second before his head tilted and he glanced the other boy over speculatively. "Actually... you were a figure skater, weren't you? So you probably do have the leotard. Just do me a favor and don't wear that to prom. Anything else is fair game, but not that."

Shewing his cheek he shrugged. "Okay, anything else within reason. You're not actually going to take this as an opportunity to humiliate me, are you? Because if so, I have to say that's not cool. And I would absolutely find a way to get revenge that was far worse." As dryly as it was said there was still a lilt of humor to it, and he raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"Lucky for you, I don't have any here," I tell him, narrowing my eyes. "Though, after that little rant, I'm tempted to go get one just to make you uncomfortable. You really are just absolutely terrified that I'll do something horrible, aren't you? Is your ego that fragile?"

Thing is, I have the feeling it is despite what Carson might claim. I make sure to keep my tone light, at least, trying to prove that I'm only teasing before I pull in a deep breath.

"I'll be on my absolute best behavior," I tell him with a sardonic grin. "I might not dance at all if you're so worried. Because, goodness, I wouldn't want any of my actions to reflect poorly on my date.."

"Oh, my ego is plenty sturdy." He assured carelessly, arching an eyebrow down at the other boy. "I'm more concerned about yours. You've gone soft from being out of high school these past few years. I'm not sure you're prepared for the socio-political power struggle all over again."

If he really thought about it, after all the weird things that went down in Darrow he wouldn't have been surprised if Eric showing up in a leotard dancing to Beyonce had actually gone over well. Hell, knowing his luck the other boy would get written in for prom king.

Carson hummed, his back straightening as he re-crossed his arms. "Was that so hard?" He asked, his tone just to the side of sickly sweet. "I mean, maybe my options were a little limited, but I'd expect a little bit of gratitude. I didn't have to ask you to go with me. And really, the fact that I thought you'd make a half decent escort to a mediocre school dance should be a massive compliment. I don't waste my time on just anyone. Honestly, it's a privilege."

"Oh yes, it's a privilege to be asked to prom by a guy with limited options who is deigning to spend more time with me," I reply, crossing my arms over my chest and grinning at him. "My, what an honor. Be still my beating heart."

I let the act drop soon enough though, giving him another friendly eyeroll before heading toward the kitchen.

"And don't worry your pretty little head about my ego, mister," I tell him, reaching up into the cupboard to pull out a container of cookies I've had leftover since Thursday. Popping off the lid, I slide it over toward him, eyebrow arched. "If there's one thing I'm confident about, it's my dancing. Not that I expect you to believe me -- you'll see my skill soon enough. You'll have everyone there wondering how you managed to convince someone like me to go with you."

There was a split second Carson had the juvenile impulse to stick out his tongue, but instead he settled for offering the other boy a squinted smirk before following him in the direction of the kitchen.

He couldn't deny the immediate anticipation of sweets when Eric moved towards the cupboard, and a minute later he didn't hesitate to reach and snag several when the tupperware container was offered.

"Isn't that kind of my goal, though?" He quipped, examining the cookies with a cursory glance. "After all, the general consensus is I can't or won't bring a date. Imagine the shock and awe when I show up with a figure skating hockey player who can allegedly give Beyonce a run for her money." Biting into one of the cookies he chewed thoughtfully before continuing. "I'd say we'd be in the running for prom kings, but I would't trust there to not be buckets of pig blood factored into that equation."

"Well, it's not like anyone there will know I'm a figure skating hockey player," I point out, grabbing a cookie myself and watching as Carson eyes his own few skeptically. I pop the lid back on the container and walk back toward the cupboard, looking back him over my shoulder. "And, I may be good, but I cannot give Beyonce a run of her money. No one can do that outside of possibly God himself though I do suspect they might be the same entity so that's cheating."

I'm grinning as the cupboard door closes, leaning back against the counter with my legs crossed. "I do like the sound of prom king though," I say, biting of a piece of cookie and wiping the crumbs from my bottom lip with a swipe of my thumb, my eyes narrowing. "Without the pig's blood, yes. Is that something your classmates would really do? Or are you saying your personality just inspires that kinda thing?"

"Would you be offended if I played that part up for shock value?" He asked, caught somewhere between humor and genuine intrigue. "As immature as it probably is, there's a certain appeal to seeing the look on their faces. And it isn't like you even go there, so you wouldn't have to endure anything after the fact." Chances were that it wouldn't win them any popularity points, but even if it didn't, he honestly couldn't have cared less about the popularity scale. And on the off chance that it did somehow help... he still didn't honestly care.

If anything, they had reached the point where just about anything was free game.

"If I were to get crowned royalty, I'm not sure I could be trusted to not abuse the power of the monarchy." He joked dryly, breaking one of the cookies in half and nibbling at one of the pieces. "As for whether or not they'd pull a Carrie? Who knows. I wouldn't be surprised. Maybe this isn't Clover, but its still high school. The one good thing is nobody here has ever left cow shit on my car. But that might just be because I don't have my car."

"What, me being a figure skating hockey player?" I ask him, eyes narrowing for a moment. "It's not that shocking, honestly. But I'm not against confusing people with preconceived notions."

I wrinkle my nose a bit as Carson continues, glancing down at the cookie as he eats it before cocking my head. "Did people really leave cow crap in your car?" I ask him, curious but somehow not all that surprised given what I know of Carson. "Also, if the Carrie thing happens, I'm leaving on the spot. No question. And you're paying for the dry cleaning bills if I get any blood stains on my suit."

"Maybe not shocking but at the very least unusual," he pressed. Wiping a few crumbs from the corner of his lip with the pad of his thumb he frowned thoughtfully. "At least as far as I can tell. Maybe there was more of that down towards LA. Or at least San Francisco."

Carson shrugged. "On, in, it was a toss up. It was a convertible so let's just say I had to get into the habit of keeping the top up when I was at school." Unsurprisingly, cleaning cow excrement out of your upholstery was not only a pain in the ass, but expensive too. Somehow he didn't think that was what his grandpa had had in mind when he'd willed him the damn thing. "Also, wow? Leaving me to get Carrie'd just like that? You're a terrible not-date."

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[Darrow: Set for May 23rd]

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