Disclaimer: Newsies are Disney's. Story contains slash. It also contains political and religious rhetoric, none of which reflects the views of Disney or FFnet or me, for that matter.
A/N: Backtrack! Chapter added because author is anal and couldn't let this go.
If you're coming to this out of sequence, here's a mini summary of chapter 5 to position you in the timeline before you read this chapter:
In "Meetings and Missing Answers" before an indoor band rehearsal, David falls into a trap set by Lexie to make Racetrack jealous. After rehearsal he overhears Blink and Mush in the band locker room lightly arguing about the CCC and its leader, Pastor Snyder. David awkwardly invites himself along to the meeting that night with Mush, to discover the Christian fellowship group is both not as bad and much more disturbing than he had expected. Back at his room that night, David has an unexpected visit from Jack -- the first in what becomes a pattern. He also begins to notice that Jack pays close visual attention to him, and doesn' know quite what to make of that.
Chapter 6 -- Man-Movie Night
It was Friday, which meant it was Man-Movie Night -- an unofficial tradition that had sprung up among Jack, Racetrack, Blink, and Mush that David had been adopted into. Typically they would rent or Netflix or borrow an action film, something supremely masculine, featuring lots of special effects, explosions, guns, and (likely) breasts. Some of those things interested David less than others, but he appreciated the social life Man-Movie Night offered.
Given that they all lived on the same floor (except Jack, of course, whose residence David had yet to hear of, much less see), it was easy to muster the men together on a Friday night, and they rotated rooms on a schedule that had more to do with Racetrack's love life and Crutchy's sleep cycle than fairness or practicality. Tonight, for example, they were at David's. Having no roommate to bother with was a plus, but even with the extra bed doubling as a couch seating was limited. And seeing as David had never found a scrap of carpet or wanted to invest in an area rug, the floor was an unappealing option. Though Mush had once pointed out that David's conscientiously (compulsively, Jack had corrected) swept floor tile was definitely less gross than the rarely vacuumed dark green carpet Racetrack and Blink had put down in their dorm room. And no one other than David ever seemed to worry about seating arrangements anyway, so he was learning to let it go.
At the moment his hosting worries had more to do with getting dinner through the door some time in the next hour. David had his cell phone in one hand, thumb primed to hit the call button for the pizza place that would deliver to campus, but no one had responded to his shouted question about what he should order. Racetrack had hooked up David's dinosaur Nintendo 64 and was endeavoring to beat his own record on Mario Bros. while Jack egged him on, awaiting his turn. Blink and Mush had stolen a sizeable amount of green grapes from the cafeteria and were tossing them, from opposite ends of the spare bed, at each other's heads to catch with their mouths. David had already resigned himself to sweeping out the ones they missed before they turned into shriveled raisins.
He sighed at the screen on his phone and considered dialing without consulting anyone and just ordering three supremes with anchovies out of spite, but then he heard Racetrack mutter a curse the doorbell-type sound of Mario Bros. being paused. He looked up to see Mario frozen mid-death-drop on the TV and Jack holding Racetrack's controller.
"Hey idiots," Jack called over his shoulder to Mush and Blink. "Knock it off for a second and tell David what you want on your pizza." He grinned up at David from where he was seated cross-legged on the floor. "I don't want any mushrooms."
David laughed his nervous laugh -- nervous for a reason he couldn't quite identify -- and grabbed a pen and pad of sticky notes to write down the results as they bartered topping combinations. It took ten minutes to get everybody happy, but then Mario resumed dying, Blink and Mush went back to throwing grapes, and David called in their order.
Tonight's movie was Independence Day, starring Will Smith, mostly because it was what somebody had lying around, but also because, as Blink put it, "Will Smith punches out an alien, and it's AWESOME." No one argued with that. (David thought about arguing, because technically Will Smith punches the alien's protective exoskeleton which doesn't make a lot of sense in terms of knocking it unconscious, but whatever.)
So the aliens blew up all the major cities and Will Smith had welcomed an alien to Earth with a punch to the exoskeleton and Vivica Fox, Smith's exotic dancer girlfriend, chatted up the direly injured first lady. It was around then that Jack observed, "Okay, so she's a stripper, but you know, there's not any other hot women in this movie."
"That's 'cause Blinky-boy chose it," Racetrack deadpanned from where he'd positioned the spare desk chair between the beds.
At David's desk, Jack choked on his sip of soda. From his seat on his bed, David reached over and clapped him on the back a few times, but sent a wry smile toward Blink, who was play-pouting from his spot on the other bed next to Mush. David had suspected Blink was gay, but that was his first confirmation of the fact.
"Whatever. You agree that Will Smith is AWESOME," Blink defended.
"Yeah, he is. I'm just sayin' you probably think he's 'awesome' for a few more reasons than I do."
"Hence the lack of hot women?" Mush followed up.
"Right," Jack and Racetrack chimed together. David rolled his eyes.
Mush shrugged. "It's a good movie anyway."
"Says the guy who has girls practically lining up to get in his pants," Racetrack said. They all laughed at that as much as Will Smith throwing a temper tantrum about the smelly alien carcass on screen. "You could get any chick you want, which is damn impressive for a clarinet player."
Amused, David chewed on his pizza and watched Mush's eyes go innocently wide.
"And anyway, that's not true," Mush demurred.
Blink got an impish look on his face. "Oh, yeah. I kind of think it is."
In the movie Will Smith was greeted by Dr. Crazy Hair (a.k.a. Brent Spiner, a.k.a. Lieutenant Commander Data from Star Trek: The Next Generation -- and David would never admit to knowing that) at Area 51.
Mush fiddled with the tab on his soda can. "Name one."
"Dana," four voices said in unison.
"And probably Lou," Blink considered.
Jack burped then added, "And maybe Sarah. She told me she thought you were hot last year."
At Jack's mention of his sister, David felt suddenly queasy. He put down his pizza slice.
Conversation dissolved in favor of cheers and groans as Brent Spiner dissected and was subsequently strangled by the alien. David was a little boggled that Racetrack and Blink could probably recite the movie dialogue from memory on their own if asked, judging by how they kept saying lines before the characters.
Once the cool stuff was over and the first lady is dying the hospital, Blink launched right back into the subject. "Dude, have you dated anyone since Sarah?" he asked Jack point blank.
Jack grinned, leaning back in David's study chair to plant his heels on the desk and cupping interlocked fingers at the base of his skull. "Define 'dated,'" he said.
"You're asking the wrong question," Racetrack said through a mouthful of pizza. He swallowed then addressed Jack. "Hey Cowboy, you knocked boots with any babe since Sarah?"
Jack touched the bill of his baseball cap as if it were a Stetson in a lazy two-finger salute. On screen Adam Baldwin shot a soda can off the captured alien craft.
Racetrack snickered. "See, you gotta phrase it right," he said to Blink.
David pushed his unfinished pizza further away. Still balancing on the back legs of the chair, Jack reached over to grab it without asking. Only once he'd got half a slice in his mouth did he quirk a "you okay?" eyebrow at David. David sent him a smile he didn't feel.
This was the first time he'd heard Jack address his dating life, in particular his failed relationship with Sarah. It was brought up so infrequently most of the time David managed to forget about it. But there was something about Jack's direct acknowledgment just now that made David's stomach roll.
While David fretted and half-watched the movie, Racetrack was razzing Blink. The first thing David heard as he surfaced from exploring the depths of his discomfort was Racetrack saying "You so starved for action up here you gotta get off askin' everybody else about it?"
David chuckled, if a little belatedly. Blink's neck and cheeks turned a pleasant shade of pink and he chucked a wadded up napkin at his roommate's head. He also darted a look at Mush and his pink darkened a shade or two. David idly wondered what that was about, but as the American forces geared up to kick a lot of alien ass and Will Smith was explaining his cigar tradition to Jeff Goldblum, his cell phone rang.
"Crap! Sorry," David hopped up and snatched his cell phone from the corner of his desk near Jack's feet and trucked out into hall.
"Hey, Ma?" he breathed, closing his door behind him. "Now's kind of not a good time. Can I call you --"
"You don't have a proper hello for your mother, David?" his mother teased.
David leaned against the cinderblock wall and sighed. It would be easier and therefore faster to just capitulate rather than let her keep up the martyr act. "Hi, Ma. I'm glad you called, but can I call you back because the guys and I are--"
But Esther Jacobs would not be dismissed or dissuaded. She started with the important stuff, explaining that she and David's father and Les wouldn't be able to visit at all that fall due to household budget constraints asked him to pass the word along to Sarah, whom she'd tried to call but couldn't get a hold of. Because she was smart enough not to answer the phone, David thought.
From there David's mother asked her usual litany of questions about classes and newspaper staff and band. Just when that segue seemed perfect and David again tried to tell her he had friends waiting, she jogged her own memory about something that had to do with Les and his burgeoning talent as a percussionist (David was confronted by the disturbing image of his little brother growing up to be a cocky percussionist, a la Racetrack or Spot) and that spiraled into mention of Les's practicing at home and that led to stories of their father puttering around the house, and on and on.
Somewhere around the play-by-play of an argument over making potato salad, David gave in and sunk down the wall into seated position.
By the time he got off the phone ("You have friends over? My goodness, why didn't you tell me?") and back into his room, Vivica Fox and the woman playing Jeff Goldblum's ex-wife or whatever were running across the desert to greet their victorious cigar-smoking heroes while peoples around the world cheered the fiery remains of the alien spaceships.
"Don't worry, Davey. Good guys won," Jack called.
David laughed. "Oh, great. Thanks. I was worried."
Blink bounced across the mattress, nearly bowling Mush over in the process, and clambered to his feet. "Never doubt the AWESOMENESS of Will Smith."
"Hey, do you have your room key?" Racetrack asked, smacking Blink gently on the back of his head, almost unbalancing him as Blink worked his feet back into his sneakers. "I'm taking off for the night."
"I--" Blink frowned and patted down his pockets.
Mush tossed his crumpled paper plate and made a basket into the trash. "Don't worry about it, I've got mine."
Man-Movie Night clearly over, David did quick check of the pizza boxes to make sure no slices were left and gathered them into one armload. He followed Blink and Mush out with the pizza boxes and dropped a "see ya" over his shoulder as he went the opposite direction down the hall to stuff in the big communal trash bin. When he got back to the room Racetrack had departed, too, no doubt heading to Lexie's. That left only Jack, who was collecting soda cans from around the room into a plastic grocery sack.
"Oh," David said as much out of surprise that Jack was still there as his efforts to help clean up. "You don't have to do that. I mean, I only got rid of the pizza boxes because they smell." David mentally winced. He was always kind of embarrassed when he managed to blurt his fastidiousness all over other people.
Jack wiggled a can that had been Racetrack's to make sure it was empty before adding it to the bag. "Nah. It's no problem." He stooped to grab Blink's can, adding that too, and caught sight of something beneath the bed. "You let us trash your place," he said as he got down on all fours. David watched as the tops of Jack's boxers appeared from under the elastic waist of his soccer shorts. They were a muted red color. As Jack stretched an arm under the bed, he made a face and his voice strained some. "It's only fair somebody help you out. Ah!" He sighed and extracted his hand, holding a few dusty grapes in his palm.
David laughed and grabbed his desk trashcan for Jack to plop the grapes in. "Thanks."
Jack got to his feet and handed the bag of cans to David, making solid eye contact as he said, "Like I said, no problem. Happy to help," and time froze for just a few seconds. Until David realized he was still holding a trash can and recycling and should probably do something about that.
This was a new level of -- distraction? An unsettling level. A level high enough it was indicating attraction. David's stomach churned and he tamped down on that hard. Gauging anything about Jack that he didn't openly let you see was hard enough. David wasn't about to start making guesses about whether Jack's sexuality might be more fluid than everyone assumed. He'd dated Sarah, for God's sakes. It didn't get much clearer or straighter than that.
But those intense looks he turned on David -- like the one happening right now, that made David's scalp tingle and cheeks flush -- could maybe be explained if Jack were wondering . . . .
David let that thought die a quick death.
He cleared his throat but forgot what he'd been about to say, then managed to move instead. Right. Moving. He stuck the trashcan next to his desk and deposited the bag of cans on the floor of his closet by the door. Somewhere in the room behind him, Jack cleared his throat, too.
"So, that was your mom earlier? On the phone?"
David clapped a palm to his face. There were very few ways this night could continue to get embarrassing. He shook off the self-consciousness and came back into the room proper. "Yeah. You'd think two phone calls already this week would be enough. She doesn't really get the Friday nights kind of equal social life now. Guess that tells you what kind of kid I was in high school."
Okay, well, there. David just found one of those ways to embarrass himself further. This kind of verbal ineptitude was also indicative of attraction -- it was his M.O. to become a blathering idiot around guys he liked, and he was not about to let that happen with Jack. Because he was not going to let himself like Jack in that way.
Jack smiled at him slightly, and settled at the edge of the spare bed, hands clasped between his knees. "You close to your folks, then?"
David moved to his desk chair, scooting it in closer to his desk from where Jack had abutted it to the bed earlier, and sat down to check his e-mail briefly. "Uh, yeah." No pressing e-mails, just stuff for class he could worry about later, and a forward from Les. "I mean, my dad doesn't have a job right now -- he got laid off when the plant he worked for went bankrupt -- and he's having trouble finding another one because he doesn't have a degree in anything. My mom's a secretary at an elementary school, so her job's okay, but Dad's driving her nuts being around the house all the time."
He signed out of instant messenger on the off chance Jack went to use his computer and recognized Sarah's flute_flirt92 screenname. It wasn't out of the question David would have his drum major on his buddies list, but her presence in the "family" category might be a problem. "My little brother still lives with them," he continued, "and my sister is . . . busy a lot . . . so I'm the one they call to complain about each other. Plus there's the whole first-generation-in-college thing, so they check in all the time."
Jack was giving him one of his happy, eye-twinkling smiles. David had this one narrowed down to meaning Jack was mentally making fun of you in his head or genuinely delighted by something you had said. He always leaned in favor of the former. "Sorry. It's kind of lame, I know." He got up to resettle on his own bed as Jack shook his head.
"No. It's real nice, Dave. Honest."
David was burning to ask Jack about his family in return, about where his dad was now, about why he never mentioned his mom. But he already knew he wouldn't get an answer. Jack always found a way to deflect those sorts of questions, or distract you from his having to answer. So far David had heard a handful of anecdotes about Jack's past, most dealing with stuff he'd done with his dad when he was very young. It made him more curious, of course -- the journalist in him know there must be a story there -- but he suspected pushing for answers would push Jack away.
Conversely, whenever Jack started asking him questions, he seemed to relax, as though he truly enjoyed hearing about David's sheltered formative years in the suburbs of Chicago. Tonight most of his questions were about family, David's parents specifically. David was happy to oblige, without naming names, of course. He liked telling stories, crafting them to maximize the drama or punch up details he thought would elicit a laugh, and Jack was an ideal audience. David couldn't help but feel a little flattered, glow a little under the attention. It wasn't the first time over an hour slipped by between them unnoticed.
It'd been late when the other guys left, and now it was almost two hours beyond that. Jack lay sprawled on his stomach, a pillow gathered in his arms beneath his cheek. His side of the conversation had become increasingly monosyllabic, moving toward Cro-Magnon, in the last half hour. Making him walk all the way home now -- wherever home was for Jack, off campus somewhere for certain -- when he was clearly so close to sleep, would have been cruel.
After a few minutes pause David ventured softly, "Jack?"
"Mmrgph?"
He kept his voice just above a whisper as he said, "You can just stay here tonight, you know."
"Nn. 'M go'n." Jack mumbled into his pillow. He made an attempt to scrape himself off the mattress, but didn't get much further than rolling onto his back.
"Really, Jack." David didn't know much about how and why Jack was the way he was, but he knew Jack had a definite aversion to relying on others, or accepting any kind of proverbial handout. "You don't have to go. I really don't mind."
"No?" Jack's eyebrows raised though his eyes stay closed. It made David smile.
"No."
"Mm," he acknowledged, and toed off his sneakers. "M'kay. Th'ngx, Davey."
And with that, he was out. David rolled his eyes, but wasn't all that surprised. He stared up at the ceiling for a minute, listening to Jack's slow breathing and adjusting to having a slumbering occupant in the room. It was odder than he thought it would be. To have Jack, someone so defined by movement and words, lying with slack stillness and verbal silence was somehow lonely and comforting at the same time. Jack: David's section leader, friend, and now unofficial roommate.
He got up and brushed his teeth, shucked his shorts and t-shirt, but hesitated before flicking off the overhead light. Jack lay on his back, hands loose on his chest, head cocked up and to the side on a pillow, but he was on top of the blanket David kept draped over the bare mattress. David debated for a moment then grabbed an afghan hand-knit in the Northern Midwest University school colors his mother had sent with him from the top shelf of his closet. He bit his lip as he swooped the blanket out over Jack's body and let it settle onto him, mostly from his waist down, just so he'd have it if he needed it. Then he hit the light switch and crossed the cool tile to his own bed.
A lot of things that could have crept into David's head as he lay there in the dark, but his mind went first to Sarah. He wondered what she must think of his spending so much time with her ex-boyfriend. Granted, she likely didn't know quite how much time, but just that they'd befriended each other in band. And she certainly didn't know that right here in this moment Jack Kelly was sleeping feet away, or that David was developing a crush on him.
No, he thought, tightening the knot in his stomach against that. No, that is not what's going on. He liked Jack, and thought he maybe could like-like Jack if, you know, life circumstances were entirely different. If Jack weren't his sister's ex-boyfriend. If Jack had any kind of an inkling that he could be into guys. If anybody at this school knew David was into guys.
But Jack was, and Jack didn't, and nobody did.
So. Jack was a guy. A friend. Just like everybody else. Except -- and David was hit en force by that rush of tingling around the crown of his head he felt when Jack focused attention on him and the warm flush of his skin when Jack had first touched him -- not like anyone else at all.
David sighed and rolled over, deliberately facing the wall and away from Jack, and ordered his brain to shut up and sleep.
---
When David woke up Saturday morning, Jack was gone. The blanket of the spare bed was smoothed and squared as if no one had disturbed it in days, and David blearily considered the possibility he'd dreamt that Jack had slept there. But then he caught sight of the blue and gold afghan, folded neatly and draped over the footboard.