Word count: 747

From a AU post on Tumblr: "you know you're singing to your headphones out loud, right"

Written for ohgrif. Beta reading by the lovelyconfessionforanothertime (✿◠‿◠)

The bus ride in the morning is easily Tucker's favourite part of the day. No loud discussions or excited yelling; people are still half-asleep, deep in their thoughts (or lack there-of). Some people are trying to get a little more sleep, uncomfortably sprawled over two seats, or their face squished against the window panes. Some take advantage of the drive to finish their homework in a hurry. Tucker notices some nerds reading - how can they even muster enough brain power to go through more than a couple of paragraphs? It's seven in the morning, jeez. You're not gonna get extra credit for being at work so early.

Tucker, for the most part, has his headphones firmly place over his ears, and nothing in the world could make him pull them off before the actual beginning of the class (except, say, Caboose setting something on fire. It still happens from time to time. Nobody knows how he does that.) The iPod is currently playing some rhythmic pop tune Tucker will never admit enjoying. He says he likes rock and heavy metal because the trash they broadcast on the radio is for mainstream chicks and jocks without any taste whatsoever, but his morning playlist is entirely composed of said trash. It puts him in a good mood, okay?

The bus fills up progressively, and the students are more and more awake and noisy. Tucker frowns and turns up the volume. It's usually the part of the trip where unoccupied sits start getting sparse, and he has to share his personal space with somebody else. Better look as hostile as possible to discourage any attempt at socializing. It's not that he doesn't like making friends. He just can't bother interacting with anybody before second period.

Another stop and more people getting on the bus. Someone stops in the alley and after a pause (possibly to ask "is this seat taken?") slides next to him. Tucker ignores them and stares out the window with a little more concentration.

Primadonna Girl comes up next, and he can't stop him to tap his fingers on his thigh along the rhythm. He lip-sync a couple of verses before the person next to him elbows him in the arm. At first, he discards it as his neighbour fidgeting. The second time it happens, he pushes his headphones on his neck and turns to the source of the nuisance.

"What?" he groans, throwing a dirty look to the fool he's about to bite in two.

It's a guy, a little older than him. Brown eyes, short blonde hair. Freckles. ("Cute" definitely doesn't come to Tucker's mind.) He looks half-amused, half-annoyed.

"You know you're singing out loud, right?" he says.

Tucker stares at him blankly.

"Huh?" he answers eloquently.

The guy sighs and repeats slowly, gesturing vaguely to his own ears.

"You were singing. Something about having a big ego and wanting the world?"

Tucker can feel himself reddening. Play it cool, man. Play it cool.

"Oh? Fuck. Sorry. Was I loud?"

Bow chicka bow wow, he doesn't say. The guy already think he's weird, better not make it worse.

"Not too much?" Well, that's reassuring. The dude notices his embarrassment and adds quickly: "It's okay, you have a nice voice."

Aaaand they're both blushing. This has to count as one of the most painful first conversations Tucker ever shared with anyone. He tries to joke.

"Flirting already? I don't even know your name."

The guy laughs, a short, awkward chuckle.

"David. But call me Wash."

"'Wash'? Does that stand for something? What's wrong with 'David'?" he can't stop himself from asking.

The guy - Wash, then - shrugs.

"It's for 'Washington'. A joke between my friends. Long story. I just think it sounds cooler, you know?"

Tucker smiles.

"Yeah, I guess it is."

There's a pause, a bit apprehensive but not as uncomfortable that before, during which they stare expectantly at each other. Then Wash asks, hesitant:

"So...what's your name?"

"Oh yeah. Hum." Tucker fumbles with his words. "Probably should introduce myself to. It's Tucker." Wash raises an eyebrow; he adds: "Just Tucker. I don't really like my first name."

Wash nods, smiling.

"Ok then. Nice to meet you, then."

"Same," Tucker answers, surprise by how true it is. He's pretty sure he actually likes the guy, despite an odd introduction.

Wash inclines his head toward him and says on a conspiratorial tone:

"So, Tucker. Marina and the Diamonds, huh?"

Tucker groans.

"Oh, shut up."