Disclaimer: I own nothing. Glee and all its characters belong to Ryan Murphy, I'm just playing with them
A/N: There aren't many David and Wes fics out there exploring how they became friends in the first place, or at least I haven't found them and this is my idea of how they became friends.
Part 1
The first time they meet is in Middle School.
Wes had always been destined to go to Dalton, it was almost a family legacy. Walking through the hallway, the name Daniels is as prominent as its alcoholic counterpart in a bar, shining from banners about the triumphs of the Dalton Debating Club, the Speechmaking competitions, Spelling Bees and Writing contests, extending even so far as mentions on Sport trophies and, of course, mentions for participation in the Dalton Warblers. The first time his father takes him to visit the school, Wes is in full awe at all the grandeur displayed by the prestigious school. His father reprimands him, if not for slouching as he walks down the elegant corridor alongside him, then for the way Wes is gaping at all the deco.
"Wesley. Concentrate. We are not here to impersonate apes." He will say whenever he catches sight of his son potentially causing him embarrassment and his son ducks his head in shame for a second before remembering his manners and standing upright, his mouth firmly closed, eyes restraining from flickering across every inch of the school, with the occasional quick sneak at a picture or trophy.
The school is startlingly similar to his house in its furnishing. Though he lives in a white mansion that resembles the one in Mean Girls (The movie is his guilty pleasure, he can't help sneaking the movie in and watching it on his portable DVD player under his blanket so his father won't come in and find out), with two white marble columns preceding a large double door leading to the foyer, which is decked out in oak banisters for the stairs and expensive panelling for the walls. Pictures hang everywhere and his father has a cabinet for all the trophies he won, the top shelf graced with the few Wes has so far gained in his primary school.
Yes, Wes can see himself fitting into Dalton well. It seems like exactly the school he was brought up to love.
He was five years old back then, at his first visit. When the time comes for him to begin his schooling at the academy, Wes remembers only fragments of this previous visit, the splendid furnishing, the friendly atmosphere. The reprimands have extracted themselves from his memory, awakened again when they drive through the iron wrought gates.
"Remember that this family has a reputation to uphold. We are very proud of our success and fame at the academy and you should live up to your ancestors not only through excelling in your classes but also by showing a prominent participation in the extra-curricular activities. I have taken the liberty to sign you up for both the Debating and the Soccer team."
His son sighs in the backseat, his gaze wandering across the grounds, where he can see students clad in similar uniforms, sitting on the lawns and laughing. It brings a smile to Wes's face. He's never had that, a friend to laugh with. Not really. Of course, all his father's business meetings have featured his son being displayed to other well-doing families and so Wes has met plenty of other people his age, but none ever had a lasting impression on the boy.
Much to his chagrin it brings to mind the memory of his father attempting to "marry him off" to the daughter of a business man a little wealthier than himself. When his father had realised neither the girl nor he had any interest whatsoever in each other, he was almost devastated at the loss of such a good "investment" (in his father's words). So Wes had humoured him, letting him believe that maybe if he got to know her better he would like her. It kept his parents happy. That, Wes thought, was the main thing.
They drive along the path, the car rocking slightly as it slides over the gravel and fallen twigs that have lodged themselves into the ground, and up to the main building, where the headmaster himself emerges from the front door in order to greet them, a smile that screams 'Here come the fees'.
Wes exits the car and waits patiently while his father walks to the other side to open the door to his wife, a gentleman as always.
Mrs Daniels is a tall, frail woman, who, despite her stature that suggests a weak character, makes a unique impression on everyone. She may be the one and only person her husband cannot control within an inch of their life. "Thank you darling" she murmurs in a cool, indifferent voice. Now that appearances are everything, the family acquire the business behaviour that even exists in the comfort of their own home to a certain degree.
"Mr Daniels, Mrs Daniels, it's lovely to see you again. May I enquire as to how your business is doing? Successful I should hope?" The headmaster, Mr Lindstrom's words are lost on Wes, who scans the crowd of other arriving Middle School students.
"Very" his father answers, smugness and pride painting his voice an unattractive shade of superiority. "We are thinking of investing again, to support those businesses less fortunate than ourselves. But of course, this is all yet to be determined."
"He has always been such a generous benefactor." And Wes wants to throw up at the utter candy-floss sweetness in his step-mother's words, laced with such fake conviction that what she was saying was, in fact, the truth as she bats her eyelashes at her husband.
But the headmaster buys the story with a bright smile and his eyes fall on young Wes Daniels, who is grimacing at the glossy paint of the sleek black Mercedes. "And you must be Wesley. Your father has spoken so proudly of you; I am simply delighted to welcome you to Dalton Academy."
It takes a moment's hesitation for Wes to accept the headmaster's handshake. "Nice to meet you" is the extent of his attempt to make conversation before he knows his father will speak for him again.
"I trust my son has been placed into Adams house? It would greatly upset me to see the chain of my ancestors broken." A look of such fright passes over the headmaster that affirms Wes of his father's position in this school once and for all. "Of course. I personally assured him a space in Adams" Honestly, Wes couldn't care less what house he's in, the part of him that wants to be different from his father sighing in resignation at the fact that with this upbringing, it is highly unlikely.
When his father opens up his phone to frown at a message, Wes rolls his eyes. The scenario barely scares or surprises him anymore. It is simply something he has learnt to accept over the past years. His father is a preoccupied businessman. Between his company and his son, Wes isn't so sure which one is more important to him, but the thought of it alone makes him feel depressed.
"Ah, Horner has the presentation for Monday done, I will need to talk to him about it. Wesley, you'll be alright" His tone makes the sentence more like a statement than a sentence, all Wes is required to do is nod slightly as his father unloads his bags from the trunk of the car and places it in front of his son. He lays a hand on his shoulder and nods, before turning back to his car and getting in. His stepmother attempts to hug him. Somehow all the previous failed attempts have not been enough to teach her the lesson he is trying to convey.
"Bye" he murmurs, watching the Mercedes pull out of its parking place and turn around, peeling down the driveway. He sees his father, already on the phone to his business partner.
"Well then, I will show you to your dorm and let you settle in. Your roommate has already arrived, I'm sure you two will bond soon."
Wes follows the headmaster sullenly, carrying his bags with difficulty at the abundance of things he brought with him. The building they navigate toward is at the other end of the campus. Were it not for the shared area and name, one might have thought it a different school. Middle school students rarely ever have a class in the High School building.
The house is more modern than the main school building and Wes takes in the architecture of it interestedly, guessing it to be about a hundred or so years newer than the main school. The gravel crunches underneath his shoes as he follows the headmaster across the path. In the large, gothic windows, he sees a few faces gaze down with curiosity, presumably waiting for a roommate to claim the bed opposite.
In the foyer, there are pictures hanging from the walls, paintings, certificates, all displays of excellence the school has achieved. To his right, there is a large oak door that he knows leads to the common room before the classrooms begin. To his right, a wider double-door leads to the dormitories. Rooms are to his right and left as they walk through the corridor to the end, where they climb up a set of stone stairs, the carpet muffling their footsteps. It takes about ten minutes for Wes to gather all his bags at the top, where Mr Lindstrom waits, tapping his foot as he becomes more and more impatient.
"Room 26" The headmaster says, motioning to a door to the pair's right. When they enter, the sound that greets them is a heavy going debate about which football poster should go where. A boy around his own age was standing on the bed, fitting a large poster sporting a football team, with a tall man standing next to him on the ground assisting him with it.
"Honestly I don't see why you want that on your wall-"
"I told you Dad, it's cool!"
"Well yes, but you could just as easily have a family picture up-"
"And I will. But if I have this up too, the boasting will be even easier!"
The older man, presumably the boy's father, gives an exasperated, yet bemused smile at his son and helps him pin the poster to his wall.
It is only when Mr Lindstrom coughs rather unnecessarily loudly that the two men turn around with identical, bright smiles. For a second, Wes could have sworn he recognises the older man's face from somewhere, but dismisses the theory quickly.
"Hey!" The boy sounds ecstatic to be here, his voice bright and high. Wes just smiles uneasily, unsure what to do in this situation. He's never been a people person, always more prone to falling into a hostile, formal conversation with the sons and daughters of businessmen rather than actual friends. This boy's outgoing nature unsettles him.
"I'm David Brookhurst"
"Wes" Wes answers, holding his hand out on instinct and David almost laughs before he realises Wes is serious and shakes it with an odd expression on his face.
"You're all set, so I will leave you two to get to know each other" Mr Lindstrom bids his goodbyes and leaves the room, David's father following, turning around as he reaches the door to give David a tight hug. "I'll see you soon son, I should be picking mum up from her shift, and remember, behave! It was nice to meet you Wes."
And with that, they are left alone, David slightly smirking as though he is amused by Wes's uncomfortable shifting from one foot to the other as his gaze flickers to every inch of the room.
"You don't do this a lot do you?"
"Huh?" Wes asks, suddenly pulled out of his reverie.
"Meet people… or at least talk to them. Homescooled?"
"No. I was at a private elementary school before this…"
"Figures" David nods
"You…?"
"Public School. My dad didn't want me to leave home. But after the fifteenth detention he started to soften up to the idea and five more detentions later, here I am!"
Wes can't help but laugh at that and it brings a smile to David's face when his new roommate's posture relaxes, even if only for a second before Wes goes rigid again, seemingly shocked by having let his feelings out.
"Your, uh, your dad looks… familiar. He-" At that, Wes catches sight of the soccer poster above David's bed. "He looks exactly… Wait… you're called David too aren't… he…"
All through, David's smile alternates between a proud grin and a smirk while Wes gapes a little, turning his head from side to side to confirm his suspicion.
"ARE YOU SERIOUS?" It makes David jump slightly when Wes suddenly shouts out, shock and awe painted on his face.
"I was named after my dad. I think he's hoping I'll grow up to be a player like him, but… I don't know, I'm awful at soccer." David grins and rolls his eyes, making his father's hopes seem more like a back thought than an actual, desperate wish his father has for him. It pains Wes a little to get reminded of 'The Plan'. Dalton, Ivy League, taking over his father's company. Ugh.
"I'm sorry dude, but that is so awesome!"
"Eh it's okay, I guess."
"Yeah, because I so didn't see you practically throw the poster in my face so I'd comment." Wes raises his eyebrows in such a fashion that it makes David laugh. To be honest, no one had ever been that straight forward with him about his flaunting his father's career. Apparently stuck up business men's sons did have character after all.
"Sorry, that was rude…"
David looks at him, puzzled. "No it wasn't… wow you really had an odd upbringing, didn't you?"
Wes's mind practically screamed 'rude' at David's brusque manner, but oddly enough, he felt more comfortable with him than with any other people his own age he had ever met.
"Hey you want to go check out the rest of the school? I've not seen much of it so far."
"Sure" Wes said "I've been here a couple of times, I could show you some places if you like?"
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