boywhoflew | [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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"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."

[Darrow: Set for May 23rd]

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