Note: As always, thanks so much for the lovely reviews, guys! I love ya. Mwah!
----
"Get. Off."
"Meeeeeow!"
"Ash, I'm warning you --"
"Rowr!"
"Ow! You freaking evil little . . . hey, get back here! Don't walk away from me when I'm talking!"
Jay groaned and pulled a pillow over his face, making a half-hearted attempt to smother himself. He could faintly hear Ash playing hockey on the kitchen tile with a stray piece of cat food and the people in the apartment next to his having their traditional early morning fight. Forcing his eyes open, he noticed a gray, overcast sky outside the window and thin lines of rain streaming down the glass surface. His alarm clock had, as usual, decided not to work again, thus forcing Ash to do the job. Ash was much more forceful, having sharp claws and teeth and being much quicker than his sleeping owner.
Rolling over onto his stomach and very nearly completely out of bed, Jay noticed the clock glaring back in the stubborn digital red way it always did. Ten past eleven. On a Saturday morning. Not bad. Ash, however, was throwing a fit. It was dark inside the apartment, he was bored, and the human wouldn't get out of bed just to entertain him. That would probably explain why he'd hopped up on Jay's shoulder just to bite his ear and wake him up.
Giving in, Jay rolled the rest of the way out of bed and landed with a dull thump on the floor, much to Ash's delight. The kitten immediately came bounding over, stopping short when Jay fixed him with the meanest look he could manage.
"You know the rules. Not before I have breakfast."
"Meow!"
"Don't sass me, young man." Jay stopped, then shook his head. "Oh, God, I really am losing it."
Ash just sat down and scratched behind his ear.
After somehow managing to pull himself up from the floor with the help of the bed and the night stand, Jay padded barefoot into the bathroom and winced at his reflection in the mirror. His hair was standing up everywhere, a small forest was in the process of growing on his face, and a bruise was forming on his left shoulder, though he honestly had no idea what had caused it.
All in a day's work.
Fifteen minutes later he walked back out of the bathroom in something he hoped was somewhat presentable fashion, freshly showered even though he'd had to beg, plead, and threaten the showerhead to work for him. As always, a few swift kicks to the shower wall helped his situation.
The breakfast he'd scolded Ash about forgetting consisted of a bowl of Cocoa Pebbles and half a glass of chocolate milk. At least the sugar rush first thing in the morning would be nice.
He yawned lightly, staring miserably out a window to see the rain was growing heavier. Not having much else to occupy themselves, his thoughts eventually drifted back to the previous night. Adam had ended up staying until well past two a.m., but despite Jay's frequent suggestions that he stay there for the remainder of the night, Adam left anyway. The conversations that had held him there so long in the first place ran the gamut, everything from video games to bands to movies.
And, much as he was loathe to admit he had anything at all in common with an Oakley student, Jay found himself having an uncanny amount of shared interests with Adam.
Now as long as Adam didn't turn out to be that insane psychotic stalker, everything might work out nicely.
******
"You, uh, do know it's raining outside, right?"
"Yup."
Michael Pulley was nothing if not realistic. It was because of that minor character flaw that he couldn't figure out why he was standing at the doorway joining the kitchen and garage, a heavy bucket of water in his hands.
"And you *do* know there's a car wash a few blocks from here, I'm assuming."
"Uh huh."
"And you still want to wash your car . . . in the garage . . . while it's raining out . . ."
"Yeah."
"Okay. I just wanted to make sure." Mike sighed and placed the bucket on the ground, then looked up at the younger man. Adam was scrubbing diligently at the hood of the car, stepping back every now and then to observe and then going right back to the spot. Mike said nothing of the scratch standing out sharply on the door.
Far be it for him to ruin a good thing, but he couldn't decide what had put Adam in such a good mood. Not only had he been halfway civil to his father that morning, but he'd also insisted on helping cook breakfast. Of course, there was a reason why he had been more or less pushed out into the garage. Many reasons, actually, among them being he'd set the kitchen fire alarm off twice and almost was successful in sending the toaster up in flames. Sophie, having enough of it, thanked him for his help but still shoved him out the side door and locked it behind him, promising to let him in just as soon as she cooked the meal herself.
Even the fact he was seemingly an arsonist at heart couldn't bring down Adam's insanely good mood, it appeared. It was, quite honestly, scaring Mike.
"Well, if you really must do this right now, can't you at least listen to something I can understand?" Mike pleaded, casting a mournful glance to the CD player set up by the kitchen door. Adam shook his head and began work on the tires. "All I can hear is rawr-rawr-rawr."
"Tool."
"What?"
Adam looked up to show strands of wet hair clinging to his face. "The band. It's Tool."
Mike's brow furrowed. "Tool? A tool is what goes in a shed or a box. Not something you'd name your band after."
"They did."
"I'm just getting old then, I suppose," Mike sighed regretfully, seating himself on an empty crate that had been upturned. "Mind if I ask you something?"
"Depends on what it is."
Mike closed his eyes and said a quick prayer. "Why are you so cheerful? I haven't seen you this cheerful in . . . hell, I don't know if I've *ever* seen you this cheerful, come to think of it."
Adam shrugged. "I dunno. I met someone a couple days ago and they're actually a lot like me."
Ah. That's where he'd seen it before, Mike realized suddenly. It was the look of a teenage boy in love. This was going to be worse than he originally thought. "And who is this 'someone', hmm?" When met with silence, he pressed on. "Is this someone male or female?"
Adam scowled. "I know where this is going."
"I'm curious."
Sighing quietly, Adam dropped the rag he'd been using into the bucket. "Blond, funny, really nice blue-gray eyes, and the most incredible voice. He's -- shit," Adam groaned, slapping himself on the forehead for having slipped. Mike grinned victoriously.
"I knew it! It's the boy you were talking to at the store, isn't it?" Greeted only by stubborn silence and a barely visible nod, Mike laughed. "Wow. You move fast, huh? Two days is some kind of record for you." Sobering just as quickly, however, Mike cleared his throat and caught Adam's gaze. "Sometimes I think you do these things just to drive David insane."
"If that was my real goal, I'd quit school and become a drag queen."
Mike raised his eyebrows. "And a very ugly one at that." When hit in the head with a soggy sponge, he chuckled. "What? Have you ever seen a six-foot-something woman with a goatee? Which reminds me -- when are you going to shave that sorry little fuzz off, anyway?"
"Hey, incase you've forgotten, jeeves, you work for me. I can snap my fingers and have you gone in a minute," Adam warned, adopting a stuffy, aristocratic accent for emphasis.
"No, not really. Then you'd have to figure out how to operate the washing machine."
"Damn. Fouled again."
"Job security, kid."
"Sounds more like you've got a monopoly on the washing around here to me."
Mike shrugged. "Whatever you wanna call it. I'm still working." He paused, glancing behind him as if expecting someone to be watching over his shoulder. "Seriously, though, Adam. I hope you know what you're doing."
"With what?"
"With this guy you're obsessing over. I don't need to tell you what your father thinks about --"
"No, you don't," Adam interrupted, green eyes narrowing into thin slits. "I think I'm pretty sure how he feels about every last damn thing about my life, but see, the problem is that it's *my* life, not his, and he has no right trying to rule over me."
Mike tapped his fingers against his kneecaps. "So why don't you try telling him that?"
"I have," Adam admitted in a voice so low and soft it was just barely audible. "Let's just say he didn't see things my way."
A tense, quiet moment followed, broken by Mike's clothes rustling as he stood. "I've seen how your father acts with you, Adam, and just so you know, I'm not going to just sit around and watch him do it again."
Adam lowered his eyes and finished his work on the car in silence.
----
"Get. Off."
"Meeeeeow!"
"Ash, I'm warning you --"
"Rowr!"
"Ow! You freaking evil little . . . hey, get back here! Don't walk away from me when I'm talking!"
Jay groaned and pulled a pillow over his face, making a half-hearted attempt to smother himself. He could faintly hear Ash playing hockey on the kitchen tile with a stray piece of cat food and the people in the apartment next to his having their traditional early morning fight. Forcing his eyes open, he noticed a gray, overcast sky outside the window and thin lines of rain streaming down the glass surface. His alarm clock had, as usual, decided not to work again, thus forcing Ash to do the job. Ash was much more forceful, having sharp claws and teeth and being much quicker than his sleeping owner.
Rolling over onto his stomach and very nearly completely out of bed, Jay noticed the clock glaring back in the stubborn digital red way it always did. Ten past eleven. On a Saturday morning. Not bad. Ash, however, was throwing a fit. It was dark inside the apartment, he was bored, and the human wouldn't get out of bed just to entertain him. That would probably explain why he'd hopped up on Jay's shoulder just to bite his ear and wake him up.
Giving in, Jay rolled the rest of the way out of bed and landed with a dull thump on the floor, much to Ash's delight. The kitten immediately came bounding over, stopping short when Jay fixed him with the meanest look he could manage.
"You know the rules. Not before I have breakfast."
"Meow!"
"Don't sass me, young man." Jay stopped, then shook his head. "Oh, God, I really am losing it."
Ash just sat down and scratched behind his ear.
After somehow managing to pull himself up from the floor with the help of the bed and the night stand, Jay padded barefoot into the bathroom and winced at his reflection in the mirror. His hair was standing up everywhere, a small forest was in the process of growing on his face, and a bruise was forming on his left shoulder, though he honestly had no idea what had caused it.
All in a day's work.
Fifteen minutes later he walked back out of the bathroom in something he hoped was somewhat presentable fashion, freshly showered even though he'd had to beg, plead, and threaten the showerhead to work for him. As always, a few swift kicks to the shower wall helped his situation.
The breakfast he'd scolded Ash about forgetting consisted of a bowl of Cocoa Pebbles and half a glass of chocolate milk. At least the sugar rush first thing in the morning would be nice.
He yawned lightly, staring miserably out a window to see the rain was growing heavier. Not having much else to occupy themselves, his thoughts eventually drifted back to the previous night. Adam had ended up staying until well past two a.m., but despite Jay's frequent suggestions that he stay there for the remainder of the night, Adam left anyway. The conversations that had held him there so long in the first place ran the gamut, everything from video games to bands to movies.
And, much as he was loathe to admit he had anything at all in common with an Oakley student, Jay found himself having an uncanny amount of shared interests with Adam.
Now as long as Adam didn't turn out to be that insane psychotic stalker, everything might work out nicely.
******
"You, uh, do know it's raining outside, right?"
"Yup."
Michael Pulley was nothing if not realistic. It was because of that minor character flaw that he couldn't figure out why he was standing at the doorway joining the kitchen and garage, a heavy bucket of water in his hands.
"And you *do* know there's a car wash a few blocks from here, I'm assuming."
"Uh huh."
"And you still want to wash your car . . . in the garage . . . while it's raining out . . ."
"Yeah."
"Okay. I just wanted to make sure." Mike sighed and placed the bucket on the ground, then looked up at the younger man. Adam was scrubbing diligently at the hood of the car, stepping back every now and then to observe and then going right back to the spot. Mike said nothing of the scratch standing out sharply on the door.
Far be it for him to ruin a good thing, but he couldn't decide what had put Adam in such a good mood. Not only had he been halfway civil to his father that morning, but he'd also insisted on helping cook breakfast. Of course, there was a reason why he had been more or less pushed out into the garage. Many reasons, actually, among them being he'd set the kitchen fire alarm off twice and almost was successful in sending the toaster up in flames. Sophie, having enough of it, thanked him for his help but still shoved him out the side door and locked it behind him, promising to let him in just as soon as she cooked the meal herself.
Even the fact he was seemingly an arsonist at heart couldn't bring down Adam's insanely good mood, it appeared. It was, quite honestly, scaring Mike.
"Well, if you really must do this right now, can't you at least listen to something I can understand?" Mike pleaded, casting a mournful glance to the CD player set up by the kitchen door. Adam shook his head and began work on the tires. "All I can hear is rawr-rawr-rawr."
"Tool."
"What?"
Adam looked up to show strands of wet hair clinging to his face. "The band. It's Tool."
Mike's brow furrowed. "Tool? A tool is what goes in a shed or a box. Not something you'd name your band after."
"They did."
"I'm just getting old then, I suppose," Mike sighed regretfully, seating himself on an empty crate that had been upturned. "Mind if I ask you something?"
"Depends on what it is."
Mike closed his eyes and said a quick prayer. "Why are you so cheerful? I haven't seen you this cheerful in . . . hell, I don't know if I've *ever* seen you this cheerful, come to think of it."
Adam shrugged. "I dunno. I met someone a couple days ago and they're actually a lot like me."
Ah. That's where he'd seen it before, Mike realized suddenly. It was the look of a teenage boy in love. This was going to be worse than he originally thought. "And who is this 'someone', hmm?" When met with silence, he pressed on. "Is this someone male or female?"
Adam scowled. "I know where this is going."
"I'm curious."
Sighing quietly, Adam dropped the rag he'd been using into the bucket. "Blond, funny, really nice blue-gray eyes, and the most incredible voice. He's -- shit," Adam groaned, slapping himself on the forehead for having slipped. Mike grinned victoriously.
"I knew it! It's the boy you were talking to at the store, isn't it?" Greeted only by stubborn silence and a barely visible nod, Mike laughed. "Wow. You move fast, huh? Two days is some kind of record for you." Sobering just as quickly, however, Mike cleared his throat and caught Adam's gaze. "Sometimes I think you do these things just to drive David insane."
"If that was my real goal, I'd quit school and become a drag queen."
Mike raised his eyebrows. "And a very ugly one at that." When hit in the head with a soggy sponge, he chuckled. "What? Have you ever seen a six-foot-something woman with a goatee? Which reminds me -- when are you going to shave that sorry little fuzz off, anyway?"
"Hey, incase you've forgotten, jeeves, you work for me. I can snap my fingers and have you gone in a minute," Adam warned, adopting a stuffy, aristocratic accent for emphasis.
"No, not really. Then you'd have to figure out how to operate the washing machine."
"Damn. Fouled again."
"Job security, kid."
"Sounds more like you've got a monopoly on the washing around here to me."
Mike shrugged. "Whatever you wanna call it. I'm still working." He paused, glancing behind him as if expecting someone to be watching over his shoulder. "Seriously, though, Adam. I hope you know what you're doing."
"With what?"
"With this guy you're obsessing over. I don't need to tell you what your father thinks about --"
"No, you don't," Adam interrupted, green eyes narrowing into thin slits. "I think I'm pretty sure how he feels about every last damn thing about my life, but see, the problem is that it's *my* life, not his, and he has no right trying to rule over me."
Mike tapped his fingers against his kneecaps. "So why don't you try telling him that?"
"I have," Adam admitted in a voice so low and soft it was just barely audible. "Let's just say he didn't see things my way."
A tense, quiet moment followed, broken by Mike's clothes rustling as he stood. "I've seen how your father acts with you, Adam, and just so you know, I'm not going to just sit around and watch him do it again."
Adam lowered his eyes and finished his work on the car in silence.