"He could see someone pulling the karaoke machine onto the stage, and was instantly filled with so much excitement that Shea's grip on his arm was the only thing that stopped him from running through the door. 'Can you fly over the moon after we get inside?' she teased, moving back into him until his breath caught in his throat and his heart fluttered inside his chest."
It wasn't that the next two days were boring - arguing with Shea about not leaving the apartment without him had been frustrating, worrying, but certainly not boring - it was just that the very moment his last lecture ended on Friday he shot out of his seat and booked it to the door. He might have run all the way to the bus stop, maybe even to the apartment, if the tightness in his chest hadn't reminded him of the inhaler he'd stuffed away in the back of his nightstand drawer over a year ago. He'd gotten tired of being teased for carrying it and had decided it was worth the risk. And usually, it was. Besides! He'd been… what, eighteen, the last time he'd had an attack? Clearly, he must not have any real actual need for the inhaler after three years.
Still, he was too excited to risk the chance of having an attack and having to wait another week for the chance to drag Shea to karaoke. And despite her insistence that she would not be singing at all that night, he was increasingly convinced he would get her to. And even if he didn't, he really just wanted them both to have a fun night together. Which they could, he thought a little bitterly as he boarded the bus, so long as that darned mic-hogging, gimmicky, spotlight thief didn't show up.
The bus moved agonizingly slow as if the driver had set off with the intention of making Drew squirm impatiently in his seat as much as possible. Once or twice he even would have sworn they'd stopped at spots the bus route didn't go to, normally. He almost tripped three separate times in his haste to get off the bus, when it finally arrived at his stop.
He only slowed down when the lecture Shea had given him the night before about giving open wounds the chance to heal by not hitting them against every available surface popped into his mind. But it wasn't his fault! The couch had definitely moved! He'd trekked blindly through that apartment countless times before! Well… seventy-three times since he'd moved in. Ah. He could actually count it. But he had never tripped over the couch like that before.
He'd felt bad for a bit, about waking Shea with his surprised exclamation as he tumbled to the ground. Of course, she wouldn't hear a word about the couch moving, lecturing on and on as she bandaged his hands again, until a stray thought about kissing her to shut her up crossed his mind. He immediately gave in, agreed it was his fault, and sat in the chair she'd all but shoved him in, waiting with feigned patience for her to find his glasses for him.
He should have realized she'd been messing with him faster than he did, but it wasn't until he heard her giggling as her blurry form somewhat dramatically searched the apartment, that he'd realized his glasses were on top of his head the whole time. Blushing furiously, he'd made to scramble back to bed with scarcely a goodnight, but she'd smiled so sweetly at him that he froze in place.
"I see you found 'em," she'd teased, that half-asleep smile still plastered to her face. It was the first time he noticed her hair, mussed up from sleep in a way that looked adorable rather than sloppy.
"No thanks to you, pest," he'd grumbled, his annoyance half-hearted at best.
She'd only smiled again, rubbing at her eyes with one balled-up fist, before insisting that he should get some sleep. "I'd tell you to keep an eye on your glasses," she'd mumbled, squeezing past him close enough her arm grazed against his chest and torturous flares of warmth spread to every atom of his anatomy. "But I guess that's not really possible for you." After a pause, she glanced back and added, "If you don't hurt your hands again, the bandages can come off while we're at karaoke."
And just like that, she'd been gone, leaving him in a puddle of uncertain emotions with that dopey smile plastered to his face, like it always seemed to be when he saw her.
Evidently, he didn't slow down enough before reaching the apartment. When he swung open the door, it slammed against the wall and Shea very slowly glanced up at him as he dug his heels into the carpet to stop himself from getting caught moving any faster than he normally did. Much as it had been nice every time she'd reapplied his bandages, he really had no desire to wear them at karaoke. Even if she was insistent that they would go right back on as soon as they got back.
With a quirked eyebrow, she asked him, "Are you being chased, or did you just suddenly have a desire to put a hole in the wall?"
In a panic, he quickly shut the door, scanning the wall for any sign of damage. When she snorted out a laugh he turned and stuck his tongue out at her. Much as he was embarrassed by his own childish impulses every time he let them win over, he was happy that he gave in to them so often. Anything to make himself unappealing to her. Not that, as previous evidence would suggest, he really needed extra help being repulsive to women.
For a moment he was split between telling her that she really should have reacted more quickly to his presence (given the growing number of flyers burnt to ash in their trashcan and the fact she'd effectively banned television news) and reminding her it was his apartment, so he could open doors however he pleased. In the end, he did neither, instead latching onto her arm to pull her to feet while he practically bounced in place, unable to stop the excited stream of babbled words.
He knew he must have managed to get to his point of telling her to get ready to go, because she pushed him away, laughing, "Alright, alright! I'll go get dressed just— Sheesh! Calm down."
He wouldn't - couldn't! - calm down! And from the smile she gave him as they headed toward their separate bedrooms, he decided she must not actually be all that bothered by his eagerness. After two days of his, surely obnoxious, nonstop chatter about how much fun karaoke was, and how the first Friday of fall term was always the best, he figured she should have been well prepared for his energy levels to skyrocket as they had.
Then again, after the same two days, he should have been more prepared to see Shea dressed for a night out. His heart caught in his throat as he took in how… put simply, perfect she looked. There wasn't anything particularly impressive about her outfit - jeans and the Joan Jett tank top she'd looked so nice in at the thrift shop he hadn't been able to bring himself to point out it was amongst her more expensive items. No, it wasn't that the outfit itself was nice, it was that she just… she seemed happy, and he almost wondered if he'd actually seen her look happy before then. Sure, he'd heard her laugh, and he'd seen her beautiful smile before, but had he seen her look so relaxed and eager? Maybe he had. She'd sure been more relaxed than him when she— Nope. He was not thinking about that awful movie.
Still, she looked so wonderful he just wanted to melt, and the feeling only grew when she brushed past him, asking if they were going to eat before they left or not. He wasn't sure any noise actually came out when he tried to respond. If it did it certainly wasn't anything coherent cause she glanced over her shoulder at him, raising an eyebrow before starting to laugh.
He cleared his throat, about to try again, when embarrassment struck, his ears turning warm, and he quickly rushed past her and into the kitchen with his head ducked. She pushed his shoulder, saying something teasing he didn't quite hear, as she hopped up onto the counter.
Peanut butter and jelly was, by far, not the most lavish meal he'd ever made. By cost alone, that title had to go to the fresh lobster bisque he'd made about a year prior. When James's father had announced a craving and willingness to pay for a good bowl of the glop (Drew had never had much fondness for seafood), he'd been quick to offer to make an attempt. Although the man stood just outside the kitchen, bemoaning the notion that, "Young men these days are too feminine! What kind of man does the cooking?" Drew had found himself overwhelmingly proud despite himself, when the man grudgingly told him it was, "The best damn bisque" he'd had to date.
Nonetheless, Shea seemed perfectly pleased to sit on the counter eating her sandwich while he - somewhere between nervous and excited - chattered away about the songs he was going to sing, and teased her that he was still sure he'd get her to sing. That had gotten him pushed again.
It wasn't until they were walking out the door of the building - he wondered if Shea was as relieved as him that his landlord wasn't perched in his usual spot - that he noticed the belt she wore. He hadn't really meant to look down like that, but the tank top had ridden up a bit when she'd lifted her arms to throw on the hoodie that he had to admit was now hers more than it was his, and he was weak. Only a small sliver of skin was exposed, but his eyes flicked down to it almost entirely against his will. As fast as he saw it, it was covered up by the hoodie that he was more glad than ever she'd thought to bring with her.
The image of her skin would have been the one he expected to have burned into his mind, but instead, he couldn't stop thinking about the neon green belt around her waist. A belt which had come as a pair with the one he currently wore around his own waist.
He had offered to pay for their bus fare but she'd insisted on walking, and he was incapable of denying her anything so simple, so stopping the thoughts he had about matching was impossible as they started their journey to the Click-Clack Club.
The belts, Drew thought, looked best when they were together. When it was impossible not to know that they belonged together. They fit like puzzle pieces and he was finding it more and more difficult not to throw his arm around her shoulder and pull her close. Maybe the two of them would fit like puzzle pieces too.
Several times throughout their walk he found himself all too close to putting his arm around her like that and he almost wondered what the harm might be in doing so. Or at least in taking her hand that was just there against her side, as if begging to be held. Within just a few minutes of walking, he wound up stuffing his hands in his pockets, telling himself he felt cold. It was the first night with any kind of chill in the air, so it wasn't too unreasonable an idea, even if the stupid part of his brain continued to argue that being in closer proximity to Shea would warm him more than stuffing his clammy fingers in lint-filled pockets.
James and the rest of his friends weren't typically inclined toward karaoke, but Drew couldn't help glancing around for any sign of them when Shea grabbed his arm as they rounded the corner. There was just… there was no way. There was no way she'd go grabbing at him like that, moments after he stopped himself from grabbing her hand.
Her entire existence in his life at all made no sense. He was never lucky enough to get even a moment's attention from someone like her and… and James had been showing off his fancy new video camera the very same night they met. For a moment he was convinced they had to be behind this, an elaborate prank to convince him a girl he liked might actually like him back - no matter how much he didn't want to like her.
He might have started rifling through bushes looking for hidden cameras if he hadn't caught a glimpse at the look on Shea's face. He stumbled to a stop when her grip tightened almost painfully.
"Are… are you okay?" he asked. She looked… scared, almost. Nervous, at the very least. He was immediately on edge. And who wouldn't be if someone who could easily fight her way out of almost any situation looked nervous? It was perfectly justifiable for him to start getting anxious too!
"Yeah, I'm fine," she replied, a moment too late for him to believe her.
"Shea?" he urged, his own voice growing as tense as hers.
"I just didn't expect it to be this crowded," she snipped. He would have worried she was angry with him if she hadn't stepped even closer against his side, so close he could he might as well have had his arm around her shoulder as he'd wanted before.
Idiot! What kind of a moron wouldn't think about the crowd when going out with a girl who had a bounty on her head? Not—! Not that they were "going out" as if on a date! Just "going out" as in out of the apartment! Together. As… friends? He wasn't sure. But it definitely wasn't a date! She had barely left his side at the grocery store! What could have possibly convinced him it would be okay to bring her to karaoke on the busiest night of the year? He couldn't believe how selfish he was.
And yet his offer to go back to the apartment and watch a movie or play a board game or to… well, do something was turned down without any hesitation on her part.
Meekly he tried again. "Are you sure? There will be other nights for karaoke - I really don't mind. We can come back when it's less crowded."
She insisted again that she was fine, by which point she was pressed so close he was almost tripping over her feet as they walked. And, by which point, their destination was in sight. He pointed the bar out to her, along with the stream of people entering the building, and hoped his unintentional giddy bouncing wouldn't make her feel like she couldn't change her mind. Excited as he might be he cared more about making sure she felt safe.
He didn't know what he expected her to say but, "I thought you said this place was a club," was certainly not it.
A sharp laugh burst out of him as he remembered that she would have absolutely no reason to know that "Click-Clack Club" was nothing more than a colloquial moniker - a term he utilized in his explanation, earning himself a pat on the head for using it correctly.
He rolled his eyes at her and hoped his face didn't show how flustered he was. "Since most people that come here are MIST students, a rumor started a few years back that - in the silence between songs - you can hear the click-clack of computer keys that aren't even there." He shrugged. "I guess some people got angry about that since MIST isn't just computers and technology, but it stuck anyway. Nobody really calls this place anything other than the Click-Clack Club anymore. Still one of the most popular dives in town, though."
She stepped away from him, leaving him uncharacteristically chilled, and turned to raise an eyebrow at him. Then she snorted and asked, "You just made that up, didn't you?"
"What? No!" he protested vehemently, although he was glad to see her relaxing a bit. "It's true! Ask anybody!"
Her laughter laced assurances that she believed him weren't all that convincing, but he elected to ignore it seeing as they had reached the entrance, and her laughter choked out as he - after one final nod from her - swung open the door. The bar was, as was to be expected for the first Friday of the fall semester, fairly crowded. Normally, Drew would be perfectly fine without a table, but for Shea's sake, he hoped they could manage to get one. Besides, he didn't want to lose her in the crowd of people grooving to the music on the dance floor.
He could see someone pulling the karaoke machine onto the stage, and was instantly filled with so much excitement that Shea's grip on his arm was the only thing that stopped him from running through the door.
"Can you fly over the moon after we get inside?" she teased, moving back into him until his breath caught in his throat and his heart fluttered inside his chest.
He couldn't say no.
And he couldn't believe their luck. Not only was there a small table available right next to the stage, but after scanning the room several times Drew was absolutely certain that there were no mic hogging, show-stealing, pain-in-the-butts - pains-in-the-butt? - at the Click-Clack Club. And on top of that! On top of all that, Drew was third on the sign-up list which was, he was more than certain, the best position to be in for karaoke. Nobody really pays much mind to the first singer. The second singer is usually the underdog of the night because people are still comparing them to the recorded music that stops playing to make way for karaoke. But the third singer! Oh, the third singer gets to feel like a god. Everybody is paying attention, but by then they're in the mood for karaoke. They can sing off-key, crack on every note, and miss half the words, but it won't matter. They'll get cheers all night.
Not that Drew would sing badly enough to need to be the third singer to get cheers! He may not be the next Elvis or anything, but he certainly didn't consider himself a bad singer.
To his relief, Shea didn't ask him to get her alcohol when he announced his first trip to the bar. Although, her request for a virgin strawberry daiquiri did make him decide he wanted the same thing, just… alcoholic. He was fairly certain, as nerves started bubbling in his stomach for the first time since he began attending karaoke night, that he was going to need to get tipsy to relax and get through the night. She wasn't even teasing him about his upcoming moment in the spotlight and he was still terrified he may mess up in front of her. Or that even if he sang perfectly she still wouldn't like it.
He couldn't wrap his head around why Shea, who he spied watching him get their drinks with a grin, was making him so nervous, but he was nervous enough that by the time the bartender walked away he had completely forgotten which of the identical drinks was his and which was hers. She laughed when he sheepishly confessed his uncertainty to her, and although there was no cruelty behind the laugh he wished he'd just ordered something different. Before he could say anything else she'd seized both drinks. She sipped one, then the other.
"This one's yours," she declared, passing the second back to him as he sat in the stool beside hers. As if proving his third-singer theory correct, his mind was wholly on the fact that her lips were just on the straw that he was now drinking from, and he didn't even notice the first singer until the song ended and the second singer walked on stage.
If he were in more of a mood to pay attention, the second singer may not have seemed quite so bad, but as it was he was flustered and nervous and that made everything about the poor woman's karaoke performance seem bad. Drew noticed every missed note, every offbeat word, and just how awkward it seemed when the girl tried to engage the crowd by dancing and pointing at seemingly random individuals.
To his delight and dismay, her song was soon over, and he was next to walk on stage. As he stood from the table Shea grabbed his hand and pulled him so close he thought she might kiss him again.
But then she just whispered, scarcely loud enough to be heard, "Don't look at me while you're up there." He didn't have the chance to ask what she meant before she grinned and added, "Good luck, dork," with a sly wink that made him wish she had kissed him again. It would have thrown him off less than the wink had.
Well, no, he knew if she'd kissed him again he would have been stunned silent for the remainder of the night, but the wink did fluster him enough he panicked and almost forgot the words to Fancy-Free. Only almost though.
As he reached the middle of the song he found the crowd fading out of his sight, the lyrics flowing out of him without effort while he bopped around the stage as if he couldn't fight the urge to dance. The only person he could still see was her. She looked gorgeous, and in the dim, multi-colored lighting of the Click-Clack club, even he could forget her skin actually was tinged green. All at once, he remembered her instruction not to look at her, as his eyes settled on the grin lighting up her face. His movements faltered as he jerked his head to look away, although he was sure he was still singing just fine.
Why wouldn't she want him to look at her? Was he that embarrassing to be around? James had once informed him that, when he got excited, he was embarrassing to be around. He'd refused to elaborate when Drew asked what exactly it was he'd done to be embarrassing and for nearly two weeks he sat in his dorm making a mental list of all the traits that might be embarrassing for his friends.
Was it his hair, which refused to stay in place except when he used the expensive hair-gel he tried to reserve for special occasions? Or was it that he was never aware of when he was being too loud? Was she embarrassed by the way he bounced around when he was enjoying himself? Or was it that his teeth brought too much attention to how strange his eyes looked behind his glasses when he smiled?
His song ended, and the crowd began to cheer as he passed his microphone to the next participant. Despite the overwhelming sound, he swore he could hear her delighted giggle above the crowd. He was even more certain it was her he'd heard when he reached the table and she nudged his shoulder before he could sit.
"Not half bad, nerd," she said, almost sounding impressed. Her eyes, however, were elsewhere.
And all at once, it clicked. She was still looking around for any sign of a threat, and by looking at her like that he might have just sent more unwanted attention her way. A young, muscular man in a jean jacket that didn't match his jeans and certainly didn't match the neon shirt he wore underneath, with unkempt hair that (in Drew's opinion) didn't match his ugly mug, may not have been exactly the kind of attention Shea was avoiding, but Drew was for sure kicking himself for glancing at her.
It didn't help that the man snagged the stool from under him just as he began to sit down, leaving Drew to notice his presence for the first time as he fell, sprawling, to the cold, sticky-floor.
"You know, you've got a righteous bod," he heard the… the creepy jerk say, as he climbed back to his feet, face flushing fire-hot with humiliation. He tried to pretend there weren't tears brimming in his eyes, as he mentally resigned himself to finding somewhere off to the side to stand.
Shea's voice was sharp and cold as she responded, "You're in my friend's seat. Move." The murderous undertones even made him gulp, although he was the one she was defending. Despite not likely knowing how terrifying she truly was, the creepy jerk scoffed and walked off leaving Drew to take his seat.
"Thanks," he muttered, his good mood taking a sharp turn for the depths of self-hatred. Why couldn't he just stand up for himself? Yeah, it was nice that she defended him and all, but he was still as humiliated as he would have been if the guy had made a point of dumping a drink over his head or throwing him into the garbage - both of which had happened to him before. He couldn't even bring himself to look at her.
Her sudden derisive snort brought his focus back to her. "You know, the more we get out the happier I am that you're who I ran into at the bus stop."
His heart swelled and the negative thoughts faded from his mind as the all-consuming desire to kiss her took over yet again. He settled on flashing a grin - not even worrying that his teeth would make his eyes look weird - and jokingly informing her that he was glad she'd bullied him into letting her stay.
"I'd hardly say bullied," she grumbled, taking a sip of her drink.
Or rather, he realized with a sputtered, "Hey!" in protest, his drink. Her's was already empty next to her. "You're not allowed to drink this," he hissed, "You're not old enough!"
"Yeah," she sighed, "I know." And she took another sip.
He scoffed and decided that as long as nobody else noticed… she'd earned the right to one alcoholic drink for the night, for standing up for him. But he wasn't going to let her have any more than that! He swore it!
Naturally, that meant that a few hours later she'd had nearly as much as he had between stealing sips of his drink when she thought he wasn't looking and 'taste-testing' drinks other guys had sent to her while he was singing, despite his repeatedly reminding the bartender that she was sixteen.
While he was getting tipsy and a little sleepy, she seemed to be growing less and less suspicious of the people in the bar - though not enough that she ever stopped scanning the building every few minutes.
He was very nearly ready to declare his next song his last and go home for the night when on a random impulse he mimicked her as she scanned the crowd again. His eyes settled on his most dreaded karaoke rival walking through the door, hatred immediately sobering him up. Hatred and Shea's bone-shatteringly tight grip suddenly latching onto his arm.
The purple-clad mic hog strolled over to the stage without so much as a glimpse in their direction and just as Drew complained, "Oh great, that guy is here," Shea urgently demanded, "We need to get out of here. Now."
Without another word he was yanked from his seat and was stumbling out into the cool, dark night behind her. She cursed under her breath and froze in place so suddenly he bumped right into her.
"You know, you could have left a note," a voice mocked, and Drew must have been more drunk than he realized because for the life of him he couldn't see who was speaking. "But I suppose it's not easy sharing the spotlight with me, eh, She-She?"