Victorious is all mine because my name is Dan Schneider. Jay kay.
(22)
Beck would never admit it to anyone, but sometimes he called Robbie's new cell number in Chicago just so he could hear his voice. He had gotten it from Robbie's parents a while back; they thought that he and Robbie were still friends. He never said anything to Robbie when he called, he just listened to Robbie say "Hello?" over and over again until he got annoyed and hung up.
But one night when he'd had a bit more than usual to drink he forgot to block his number before he dialed the number he knew by heart. He didn't realize this until it was too late.
"Beck?" Robbie sounded wide awake, despite it being past four a.m. in Chicago.
Who's Beck? Beck heard a male voice ask in the background.
Beck should have hung up when he had the chance, but he didn't.
"H-Hey Rob," Beck had never felt so nervous in his life.
"I'm going to go take care of this, be back in a bit, okay?" Robbie's voice was muffled, he was covering the receiver.
Okay, babe. Robbie's friend giggled.
"You still there?" Robbie asked. It was quieter now. He'd obviously gone into another room.
"Yeah, yeah," Beck played with his hair. He asked a question he wasn't sure he wanted to be answered, "Who was that guy with you?"
There was silence. Then Robbie sighed, "That's my boyfriend, Beck."
"Oh yeah, of course," Beck had been about 99% sure that was the case, but he had hoped it wasn't. "Fuck, I'm stupid."
"No you're not, Beck," Robbie said sympathetically but Beck could tell he was annoyed.
"I saw your Comedy Central special; you're pretty damn funny Shapiro."
"Really? It wasn't horrible?"
"You're going places, Robbie," Beck paused. "And I kind of wish that I could go with you," Beck hung up before Robbie could respond. What the fuck did he just say?
(23)
Robbie got accepted into Second City. It had always been his dream; and now he'd achieved it. He and his boyfriend Dylan had lots of celebration sex. It'd been a year, but he still felt weird calling Dylan his boyfriend. Dylan looked like a model. But he was a bartender, not a model.
Dylan had been blowing Robbie for what felt like the fiftieth time (though Robbie wasn't complaining). Robbie had just reached the point of no return, grasping on to Dylan's blonde hair, "Oh Beeeeck!"
Shit.
