In An Instant
Chapter 7: Terminology
GENRES: Drama, Romance, Humor, Tragedy, Angst, ...pretty much everything. So...gen?
MILD CHARACTERIZATION SPOILERS for Chris Colfer's Struck By Lightning!
WARNINGS: lots of mentions of Sex and a shit ton of snark. Also, sexual tension. As if that wasn't already obvious.
PAIRING: Jesse St. James and Carson Phillips AKA Jarson AKA St. Phillips AKA Jarson St. Phillips. There may be mentions of other pairings down the line, especially ones from GLEE.
WORD COUNT: 7210
"I cannot believe you're missing the Halloween party," Lucas grumbled, and Jesse tossed him a smile.
"Carson has to work."
"You're sickening."
"So are the scarves that are literally never removed from your bedposts, but you don't see me complaining."
Lucas reddened at the jab, throwing himself down onto his bed.
"That's because you think it's hot."
"And you're covering attraction to my… Carson. To Carson."
Jesse frowned, brow furrowing, and fell to his own bedspread.
Lucas turned his head on his pillow to look over at him.
"You don't know what you guys are, do you?"
Jesse scowled.
"Go get tied up by your girlfriend or something."
Lucas looked taken aback for a moment before grinning and reaching for his phone.
"Maybe I will. Her class is almost out," he mused, far more pleasant already, as he checked the time, then went to his messages.
Jesse tugged out his own phone with a dramatic sigh.
Carson never answered texts while he was in school…
Maybe Jesse should go down there again.
Of course, Carson would kill him, but damn would that be a good death…
Instead, Jesse texted his theater director and got permission to use the stage when it was clear in an hour. Perfect timing for facebook!
He facebook-stalked Carson again, then Naomi and Lucas, then the girl Naomi had suggested he bang that he'd casually flirted with, because there was virtually nothing else to do. He moved on to Carson's cousins Andrew and Amy for a bit, but decided quickly that they were almost as boring as Mary had been, and moved on to looking up porn for the next half-hour.
The trouble was that even masturbating couldn't make him stop thinking.
Was it possible that for once he was being used, instead of doing the using?
Fuck, but he hoped not.
He'd done work for Carson! He didn't work for people, just parts- It was a rule. And yet, he'd chased the hell out of Carson. Jesse St. James was not supposed to come out of anything on the losing end. It was against the laws of nature.
Of course, Carson had to be in love with him now… He'd taken his first kiss after all, hadn't he?
Jesse grinned inwardly and then outwardly, settling himself back to smug.
He was a dashing Disney prince come to life, with a surplus of talent and far more sex appeal.
He'd just have to discuss it with Carson during Carson's Halloween shift. It wasn't like he was going to be incredibly busy, aside from his usual workaholic stuff.
Jesse checked the time and lazily stood, stretching.
He could head to the stage now.
They had a production called Spring Awakening coming up, and Jesse fully intended to be the lead role, Melchior. He'd be perfect for it, so much better than the original performer, Jake Epstein. The guy was talented, no doubt, but Jesse was better.
He was still trying to settle on which of the songs in his repertoire he should use to audition with. He should film it and show it to Carson.
If that didn't make Carson jump his bones, then nothing would.
"Carson Phillips?"
"What?" Carson snapped tiredly.
A sophomore girl was staring at him, mouth slightly ajar.
"Just…the office… Wanted to see you."
Carson stared.
"What?"
His classmates were all staring up from their work now, eyes on him, several snickering or muttering amongst themselves, while others simply watched stolidly, eyes guarded and unsure.
Carson rubbed a hand through his hair, glancing at his paper.
"What office?" he asked, taking the ticket she brandished at him with a look of mildly frightened repulsion.
"Mr. Sendry's."
"…The counselor's," Carson said quietly, as though dumbfounded. More and more of his peers were looking up, particularly at this latest revelation, irritation coloring a few of their features. Then, slowly, as if trying to decipher a particularly difficult problem: "Why would he want to talk to me?"
Carson scowled abruptly.
"They're not shutting down the newspaper, if that's what this is."
Laughter erupted through the room, along with disparaging comments, and Carson reddened against his will.
"I don't think it's about that," the girl's voice had turned nasty, emboldened by the clear dislike and disregard the room at large, teacher included, seemed to have for him, and Carson glowered at her.
"Then it can wait until I'm done with my work I guess. Tell Mr. Sendry I'll speak to him when I finish, and if not, tomorrow during lunch, okay?"
"He's so pathetic," a girl behind him said loudly to the girl next to her, who gave a hint of a smirk and nodded.
Carson cast the teacher with an exasperated look, but she was staring determinedly at her computer screen.
The woman hated conflict, something for which Carson had rapidly come to hate her.
Fine, whatever.
"It says immediately," the girl informed him, as though he were the stupid one.
People often said that freshmen were the most annoying at school, but Carson was pretty sure it was actually sophomores who deserved that particular title.
"Just… I'll finish in five minutes and be there, okay?"
The girl shrugged.
"Whatever. Hi, Allison!"
One of the girls in class waved sheepishly, and the student aide flounced out.
"Hey Allison," a boy mimicked, sniggering, and the girl smacked his shoulder.
Carson cast them a look of disgust and busied himself with quickly finishing off his paper, then turning it in and heading as promised toward the counselor's office.
Fuck, but he was dreading this… He just didn't understand why they wanted him in there.
He didn't really want to find out.
Carson rapped his knuckles twice on the door, then opened it the rest of the way, faltering a little before he stepped in, automatically shutting the door behind himself and walking slowly forward to sink into one of the chairs in front of Mr. Sendry's desk.
"Mr. Phillips."
The man hadn't looked up, though his words were very clearly more statement than question.
Carson cleared his throat and nodded, nonetheless.
The counselor looked up at him finally, a crease between his slightly overgrown brows.
"So. There have been some incidents lately that have left me concerned."
Carson swallowed a lump of irritation and shifted a little in his chair, reaching down to pull his backpack into his lap and against his chest. Mr. Sendry observed him for a moment, only turning away to cough into his elbow, then sighed.
"I'm sure you know what I'm referring to. Let's not play games here, Carson."
Carson scowled, fingers flexing around his chair's arms.
"I'm sure I don't," he retorted. "And since I am me, I think I'd know a little bit better than you what I know and what I don't, don't you think?"
The guidance counselor twitched and swallowed, taking hold of his tie and smoothing it over nervously.
"Look, Carson. Let's be honest here. You're not very well-liked by the student body."
Carson arched a brow.
"Is that so?"
Mr. Sendry tongued at his teeth a moment, his own brow raising and a small cluck emitting from his throat.
"So what if they don't?" Carson asked irritably. "If we're down here to discuss my popularity-"
"That is part of it," the man admitted, and Carson resisted the urge to snarl at him, thinking vaguely that Jesse's tendency towards dramatics must be contagious.
"Can we get to the whole of it? I don't actually care that I'm not liked by these morons-"
"And maybe that's the problem," Mr. Sendry commented, and Carson actually did snarl a little. "Perhaps if you went lighter on the attitude you might get yourself into less trouble, Carson. Not to mention that you might see a little more success come your way. As the saying goes, you can catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. There's a reason they say that, as I'm sure you know."
Carson crossed his arms over his chest, head shaking a little.
"But why would I want to catch flies? They're filled with diseases and all-around annoying, not to mention that they have a strong interest in both shit and trash."
Mr. Sendry stared at him for a long moment before sighing.
"There have been reports of incidents between you and your peers going back through your entire school career, but they've been becoming more and more frequent. We're only about half-way through our second six weeks, and you've had at least two major incidents, with at least seven or eight smaller."
Carson glowered at that.
"And I haven't started any of them or been violent in any way."
"I know," the counselor said, lifting his hands a little. "But we'd like to decrease the numbers nonetheless. Carson, you're very intelligent. That much is clear."
Carson kept his eyes narrowed at the man, though his attention was caught.
"This is a school, no matter what you may think of its abilities, so we do want you to succeed educationally. But part of being able to do that is being able to exist on a social level, and maybe not necessarily be friends with your peers, but at least be willing to appease them from time to time. Not everything has to be a fight."
Carson didn't know what to say to that, so he simply said nothing, arms tightening their grip over his chest ever so slightly.
"If you want to go to university," the man continued after a lengthy pause, "you'll need to have letters of recommendation. Do you think you're superior to that somehow? You can just get in based purely on your academics? That's not how these things work."
Carson's teeth ground.
"I will take care of it."
"Unpopularity," Mr. Sendry said quietly after a moment, "is not a qualification. Schools prefer their students well-adjusted, or at the very least pleasant."
Carson stared at him furiously, then hastily stood.
"Is that all?"
Mr. Sendry smoothed his tie again.
"Please sit down."
"No."
"Carson-"
"No."
"…I can call the principal in here too, if that's what you want."
Carson stood firm for a second, then slowly sat down, glaring ahead. He wasn't about to get a mark on his completely clean record for this asshole.
"Thank you. Now, what it comes down to is this: the process here is a two-way street. I've spoken to a few of the students you have a more…tumultuous…relationship with already, and they've agreed to stop as long as you do."
"I never start it," Carson pronounced, voice firm and verging on deadly.
Mr. Sendry watched him silently for a moment, then rubbed a palm across his forehead.
"I can't help you then, I guess. You can leave. I won't stop you again."
"Gee, thanks," Carson bit out acidly, immediately standing and moving from the office, anger simmering.
Who the fuck did this school think they were?
He cast a caustic look to the walls as he went toward his seventh period english AP class, balling up his pass in his hand and then glancing a little ruefully at it as he reached the door to his class and realized it was so rumpled as to be nearly unrecognizable by now.
Well, fuck.
He rolled his eyes and knocked three times, making sure to not stand in the door's window, knowing that to be just another way of keeping himself locked out from experience.
A girl, Annabelle, he was pretty sure, answered his knock, her expression fading into a nervous stoicism at the sight of him, glancing behind her.
"Who is it?"
Jonah.
Joy.
Every time Mr. Campbell left the class he put his nephew, Jonah Campbell, in charge, which always resulted in chaotic periods of English that ended up being more along the lines of a theater or debate class period, neither of which Carson had taken for a reason. Not to mention that Jonah was fairly spineless, and the jackasses of the class walked all over him.
Usually Mr. Campbell, for all his faults, kept his class fairly free of any big distractions, and caught on to and quelled any class taunting. But Jonah wasn't quite as apt at ruling with an iron fist, despite his alarming resemblance to Napoleon.
Carson would often end up attempting to wrangle the classroom control to himself in order to get anything done, which always meant taking a ton of shit in exchange to get a few things done.
At least his physics class the period before was as characteristically awful as ever, since English would have a hard time being any worse.
"Carson Phillips," Anabelle answered slowly, casting Carson a vaguely apologetic look before moving away, just in time for Jonah to appear before the door, enthusiastic and relieved as he echoed Carson's name.
Behind him Eric and Miles were visible and exaggeratedly grimacing at the rest of the class. Because they weren't annoying enough in the three other periods he shared with them.
Carson stared for a moment, thoughts flying, then directed at Jonah:
"Is your uncle coming back?"
"Not until next period," Jonah responded instantly with a grin. "Why?"
"Hey, Carsona, is it true you're working Halloween night at Barnes and Noble?" Eric's voice called from within, and Carson scowled in at him before turning back to Jonah.
"Count me present, alright? Here's my pass."
Carson quickly placed his crumpled pass in Jonah's palm, then turned on his heel, calling back a sneering "Have fun".
He figured he could skip this one time, instead of dealing with the antics of his school's Bevis and Butthead. Besides, he'd get more done this way.
Fuck though, Carson mused as he ducked into a dark computer lab, Jesse might also just be a really bad influence.
He wasn't sure if the thought pleased or disturbed him, only that he'd really rather be doing this anyway. And it was strange to think that sometimes Jesse might have the right idea, instead of himself, but as long as it didn't become a habit…
His fingers fell into position over the keyboard and everything fell away as he typed and researched with a sensation of careless comfort settling in, nesting in the process as if it was his home and a small part of him linking this randomly to how Jesse must feel and connect with the stage.
The fact that he'd made the connection at all would, no doubt, rattle him with its implications, with the novel and unsettling sense of familiarity it entailed, but for now he just typed.
Jesse loved few things more than he loved auditions.
It helped that he was an expert at them.
Spring Awakening was everything he wanted and everything he was good at, and he was sure he'd get the part.
But he was still going to go at it with all he had.
Jesse wasn't willing to work at much, but anything theater and show choir got all the effort he had and more. Auditions were in just three weeks, and he had printed out the entire actual script, numerous monologues, and the sheet music to seventeen different songs. Soon to be twenty, once he managed to get to the store and buy a little more ink.
He couldn't wait to show them to Carson tomorrow, because Carson had amazing critiquing skills, brutal honesty, and he was pretty sure that it would lead to a different type of practicing and performing Jesse just so happened to also really enjoy.
He had no regrets about deciding to go to Barnes and Noble instead of the Halloween party.
"Jesse," Naomi exclaimed, bursting into the room.
He rose up on his elbows, staring at her from the bed.
"Yes?"
"You have competition."
His brow furrowed in a very Carson-esque expression.
"Excuse me?"
She tossed a newspaper at him, and bounced onto the bed beside him.
"Front page of the Theater and Screen Arts section."
Jesse scanned it once then again, before shooting her a look of annoyance.
"I've never even heard of this kid before."
Naomi sighed exasperatedly.
"Patrick Levinstein," she informed him. "He's a professional actor coming to this school with his friend, Chad Sullivan, who I know you've heard of, since you're so obsessed with Broadway. They both plan on going out for the role as well."
Jesse's expression darkened.
"They won't get it. I am Melchior, Naomi. It's mine. The audition is just a formality."
"Not anymore," Naomi responded sharply.
Jesse stared.
"This makes no sense."
Naomi surveyed him a moment, then shrugged.
"What can you do? I'm just glad I still only have Lisa and that Hannah girl to beat out for Wendla. And even if I don't make Wendla I'll still have Ilse as a perfect back up role."
Jesse rolled his eyes.
"There's no way Chad will be an issue. I am meant to play this role."
Naomi smirked.
"Of course you are. Besides, from what I hear, the guy's even shorter than you. But still. You might want to practice a bit more."
Jesse nodded thoughtfully.
"Oh I will. It would be great if I could add actually beating out a Broadway star for a role to my resume."
"It'd be even better," she mused aloud, a finger patting at her lips languidly, "if you could also add him as another notch on your bedpost. But you have a boyfriend now, so I guess that can't happen…"
Jesse scratched a hand through his curls, smiling a little.
"I am pretty much taken," he agreed quietly. "Otherwise, I'd do it in a heartbeat. I'm sure the tabloids would eat it up."
"You don't get closer to Hollywood than that."
And she was right. But Jesse liked the idea of being able to call Carson his boyfriend a little more than he did Hollywood at the moment, strange though that might be.
Still, he couldn't wait to at least prove his talent by blowing Chad Sullivan out of the water. That would also get him some definite credit, though more in the Broadway universe than in Hollywood. He would just have to find more audition potentials to go through with Carson at Barnes and Noble tomorrow night, and beforehand.
He couldn't wait.
"Carson," Amy sang.
Carson raised a brow.
"Yes?"
"Will you please focus? I need criticism!"
Carson sighed, glancing up at his step-cousin with a look of consternation.
"When did I become the go-to person for performance evaluating? I'm not an actor; I'm not a singer; and I'm very clearly not a dancer. Why don't you just ask one of your friends from the troupe? Or Andrew?"
"We're friends but we're also competitors," Amy explained impatiently. "And Andrew? Really? If there's anyone who will give me an honest constructive criticism it's you, and it's definitely not Andrew."
Carson groaned, conceding her point on that one. But still…
"Ames, sorry, but I know literally nothing about dance."
"Oh please," she snorted, a hand going to her hip, while the other bounced against her thigh. "Don't pretend you haven't researched it thoroughly. You're the only person I've never had to explain the meanings of dance terms to."
"I have to introduce you to Jesse at some point," he grumbled, not bothering to argue further. "He'd be a much better judge than me."
Amy beamed, taking the statement as his acquiescence, then reaching over as her phone began buzzing loudly on the table, flipping it open.
"And Ty's coming over soon!"
"Andrew's coming over soon too," Carson reminded her, and she nodded.
"We can postpone a half-hour and I'll get all of your opinions, then! This is going to be amazing!"
"This is going to be World War three," Carson corrected her with an amused grimace. "I take it you and Ty are on again?"
Amy nodded, a foot tapping with excitement.
"All my favorite guys in one place! Carson don't take this the wrong way, but I'm glad you're working tomorrow night. You'd have never been able to be guilted into coming here instead of working if you didn't have to miss the usual Halloween party at Dad and Laura's."
Carson nodded slowly, thoughtfully, as if making a decision, then pursed his lips, scratching at the top of his hand.
"By the way, I had to see the school counselor earlier…"
Amy's face fell slightly, and she moved immediately from the floor to the couch, curling up on its other side so that she could still face him.
"What happened?"
"It wasn't a big deal," he fronted with forced nonchalance. "Just annoying. That guy's such a dick.
Amy licked her lips hesitantly.
"What did he say?"
"Just a bunch of bullshit about how I should try fitting in more so there are less classroom disturbances of people being jerks to me. Apparently they'd rather me change than those assholes."
"Maybe," Amy began gingerly, also attempting a casual air, though failing miserably, "It would be good for both of you to change. We love you the way you are, but… fitting in doesn't have to be such a bad thing. They definitely are the ones that need to change their ways and need punishing and all that, but… Maybe the idea of it isn't all bad? Just ignore me. I don't know what I'm talking about. Want some fruit punch? Or… We might have some ginger-ale or something…"
Carson stared at her for a long moment, then ran a palm wearily over his face.
"Coffee is good."
"Carson… Come on. It's like six o'clock."
"All the more reason."
Amy paused, swallowing, then:
"Why did you have to go to the office? They've never done that before…"
"Forget it, Ames. How would I even know?"
"Okay then. Why are you working tomorrow? You didn't really tell us. Are they tied somehow?"
"Amy."
Amy moved closer to him, laying her head on his shoulder.
"This doesn't have anything to do with the stuff you responded to on facebook when Drew hacked you does it?" she asked quietly.
Carson was silent, pensive.
Amy bit her lip, then opened her mouth to continue when the doorbell rang, and, barely a second later, the door swung open.
Tyson Westley was gangly and good-looking, if very clearly of the hipster variety. His hair was a rusty, darkened shade of blond, and vaguely sideswept, messy at the back, and falling slightly into his eyes, hazel and wide beneath square-framed glasses, a guitar slung pseudo-casually against his back.
He eyed Carson suspiciously for a moment as he took in Amy's position, then smiled as he remembered who he was and the very distinct lack of threat he represented.
"Hey Ty," Amy exclaimed warmly and he grinned his greeting, turning to shut the door behind himself, despite the footsteps clearly audible coming up the walkway.
Carson could hear Andrew's growl as the door closed in his face and hid a smirk.
He'd never let them know, but there was a reason Amy and Andrew were able to "guilt" him into hanging out with them every Halloween, and now the night before. They were literally his favorite people in the world. And, grudging though it may be, he always found himself enjoying his time with them, though often in spite of many words to the contrary. Only they and Jesse had ever been able to peel him from his work as often and easily as they did. Of course, they were all infuriating in the meanwhile, but…
"I see you invited your boyfriend," Andrew deadpanned loudly from outside, and a rolling laugh followed cheerily.
"Drew just open the door again, babe. It's not that big of a deal!"
"Other than being incredibly rude," Andrew complained, again very loudly.
Not that it mattered much.
Amy shrieked a little, jumping from the couch and heading for the door.
"Sarah! Oh my God! I didn't know you were coming!"
Sarah beamed back at Amy, her face crinkling with pleasure as she entered.
"It's been ages!"
"It's been like two weeks," Andrew interjected, bemused. "At most."
"Tyson, this is Andrew's girlfriend Sarah. Sarah, this is-"
"Ty, right?" Sarah asked, offering him a diplomatic hand, even as her eyes traveled perceptively over him. "I've heard a lot about you. It hasn't all been good, but some has, so I guess we'll see. I always take anything Drew here says with a grain of salt."
Tyson eyed her hand.
"I'm not much for hand-shakes, because they form the foundation of someone's first impression usually, and I'd rather avoid that, since it could lead to misconceptions about me."
"He's a special little snowflake," Andrew announced, reaching forward and seizing Ty's hand, shaking it a couple times, and smirking as Tyson simpered, rubbing his hand over his jeans, ignoring the now sniggering Carson.
"I wouldn't say that, but it's fine. I won't deplete my own karmic reservoir arguing the point. I'm a Buddhist now, and I meditate three times a day so that I can keep up my inner peace. It's really a beautiful culture and religion, Andrew. I'm sure you could learn a few things from it."
"I'm sure we all could," Amy pronounced, going to his side. "I've actually started meditating a bit myself. It really has helped with my dance."
"She's so talented," Ty gushed immediately, and Andrew sighed, moving to sit next to Carson, one hand in Sarah's and taking her with him, Amy and Tyson slowly following.
"Carson," Sarah chirped, leaning to hug him. "I heard you were forced by your boss to work tomorrow, but I'm sure you're not willing to talk about it. If you are, though…"
"It's not a big deal," Carson reiterated to her, sighing. "It's good to see you. Amy, you do have coffee, don't you?"
Amy frowned in disapproval, but gestured toward the kitchen anyway.
"There's a pot waiting for you to brew already."
"I'll go with ya, C-man," Andrew grinned, getting up and offering Carson a hand that was duly ignored, completely as expected.
The pair made their way to the kitchen, Andrew immediately sliding into a chair and watching as Carson found the coffee pot and checked the filter, then added another teaspoon of coffee to it before he started up the machine.
"God that guy pisses me off."
"I'm aware," Carson retorted, sliding over and dropping into the chair next to Andrew. "I don't blame you. Although I'll give him that he's kind of funny, in a horrible, 'how full of it can one person be' sort of way."
"He reminds me of Jesse."
Carson gave him a look of mild horror.
"That's an awful thing to say."
Andrew grinned.
"It's true though. They're both full of themselves, and full of B.S."
"You haven't even met Jesse," Carson muttered irritably. "Do not put those images in my head."
"We've talked on facebook."
"You've argued on facebook," Carson corrected, and Andrew smirked.
"You're dating your own version of Tyson."
"I hate you. And they're nowhere near the same. First of all, horrible though it sounds, Jesse can actually back up every egotistical thing that comes out of his mouth. It's annoying how legitimately talented he is; That Tyson guy isn't actually talented in the least. Furthermore, that guy is so obviously fake he's like a spray tan come to life. Jesse spouts a lot of shit, but he's not hiding who he is."
Andrew looked at Carson for a long moment, the coffee machine gurgling noisily through their silence.
"You really do like him," he said finally, sitting back.
Carson didn't answer, and after another few minutes of watching him a little too shrewdly for Carson's tastes, Andrew palmed his head and reached the other hand out to thump Carson on the back.
"I haven't seen you like this before. Even when it was… Well, okay. Just know that I've got your back alright? And I'm not laying off the guy. He bugs me, and I'm not about to sit back and watch if I feel like you might get hurt."
Carson scowled, twisting his thumbs against one another.
"Even if Jesse was like that, which he's not, I can take care of myself."
"You can, but you don't have to. Sarah said I should give him a chance, though, so… I'm meeting him soon, if you guys keep up whatever it is you are. Are you even in a relationship? How serious is it?"
Carson flexed a few of his fingers, concentrating a little too hard on the movement.
"I don't know."
Andrew nodded, like it was more of an answer than it was.
"Let me know when you find out, okay C-man?"
Carson didn't respond, though they both knew it would happen either way, simply standing at the sound of the slowly halting drip of coffee.
"You want some?"
"I'm good," Andrew snorted, watching Carson pour himself a mug-full. "Can't wait to hear what douchebag has to say about coffee. He's a jackass, but it's pretty good entertainment watching him make a fool of himself. I still hope Amy dumps him soon though… She's too smart to keep doing this to herself."
Carson frowned into his mug, then shook it off, reluctantly following Andrew back to the living room.
"Oh, and Carson! Don't be surprised if we all drop by tomorrow! Don't want you alone all night with that shift."
Carson groaned, shifting his weight awkwardly before dropping into an arm chair.
"I won't be alone…"
"Jesse's joining you?" Amy asked loudly, grinning. "Aw!"
Carson cleared his throat a little awkwardly.
"Yeah… He kind of wanted to be around."
"Well, then I'll definitely drop by," Andrew informed him with finality.
Carson took a large gulp of coffee, avoiding their eyes.
Great. That wasn't at all a recipe for disaster…
Jesse hummed loudly.
"Are you sure you don't want to dress up?"
"I never dress up," Carson replied, casting a sideways glance at Jesse laying on his bed. "And once again, you're not really dressed up either."
Jesse gave him a look of affront.
"Yes I am!"
"Dressing as yourself doesn't count."
"When you're Jesse St. James, it does," Jesse grinned over at him.
Carson shook his head, lips twisting with amusement despite himself.
A knock sounded and they both looked up.
Carson frowned and stood, going to the door and opening it a crack, then starting back when it was pushed back towards him, thudding towards the wall.
Jesse straightened.
"Mom," Carson said, a bit too loudly from against the wall. "You're up?"
"Obviously, Carson," Sheryl Phillips replied, her forehead crinkling. "What are you doing home? Don't you work today?"
Carson swallowed and nodded, hands jamming into his pockets.
"Yeah. I just don't go in yet. Uh…This is Jesse. I think I mentioned him."
He gestured stiffly toward Jesse, who jumped up from the bed and strode toward Sheryl, hand already outstretched.
"Jesse St. James, Mrs. Phillips. I see where Carson got his good looks then."
She shook his hand, looking completely bemused.
"Carson doesn't have friends."
Carson shifted his weight, clearing his throat.
"Only because I don't want them," he muttered, and his mom shot him a look.
"This is different, but good… Though- Jesse, right?- You don't talk like just a friend… Carson? I… Is there something you have to…." She trailed off, looking awkward, and gathered her sweater around her. "So! Jesse. Where are you from?"
Jesse smiled brightly at her, and Carson narrowed his eyes at him.
"Lima, Ohio. It's not very glamorous, I know. I go to UCLA now."
"Ah, a college kid. Carson's doing your work, then, isn't he? That's why you're here."
"Mom," Carson said lowly, and she glanced to him.
"What? No offense, kiddo, but this boy really doesn't seem like he's-"
"Mom."
"Carson, it's alright," Jesse spoke up, still with that bright smile trained on Carson's mom. "Carson has helped me a bit. He's really brilliant. But I like him for a lot more than that. He's kind of amazing. The second most amazing person I've ever met actually."
She gave him a look of complete bemusement.
"And who's the first?"
"Well, I should probably say you, but it's actually myself," Jesse admitted shamelessly, actually preening a little.
Carson groaned aloud, while Sheryl was unable to stop a loud burst of laughter.
"He's honest. I like it."
"Carson does too."
Carson shot Jesse a look of disbelief, and Sheryl turned to look squarely at him.
"Now, Jesse, if you don't mind," she said, eyes on her son, voice pleasant if a bit shaky, "I'd like to speak to my son. We should only be a few minutes. Carson?"
Carson flexed his fingers and swallowed, but nodded nonetheless, casting Jesse another, this time inscrutable, glance as he went, shutting the door quietly behind himself.
A moment passed as they walked silently down the hall, then ducking into another room. Mother and son looked at each other for a moment, before Carson cleared his throat, digging his hands back into his pockets with thumbs hooking out, his mother wrapping herself a little more firmly in her sweater.
"Mom… Ignore Jesse, alright? He's just like that. That's how he talks about everyone."
"Oh really?" she asked, looking at him, and a little bit through him. "Are you sure about that?"
"Yes," Carson bit out and she sighed.
"Be honest with me- Are you gay now? I can see the way that boy was looking at you. Even if he always talks that way, I'm sure he doesn't always look at people that way. And you… You don't like people that act like that usually, so why else would you be hanging around with him in your spare time?"
Carson stared at her.
"I'm not gay," he said after a moment, quietly. "I don't know what I am. I've done some research, but… it's beside the point. Why does it matter? Would you kick me out if I was?"
"No," she said immediately, voice harsh, incredulous. "Is that what you think of me?"
He kept his gaze pinned to the wall just past her, swallowing audibly but otherwise offering no response.
She took a breath, deep and quavering, softening with a kind of emerging emotion halfway between continuing fury and anguish.
"I just want to understand. You confuse me, Carson. I feel like I barely know you anymore. And this- this is just another brick in the wall."
"You've been listening to too much Pink Floyd," Carson muttered acidly, and her gaze on him grew sharper still.
"Carson."
His eyes flitted toward her then back to their place on the wall.
"Maybe you don't then."
"What?"
"Know me, mom. Maybe you don't. Maybe you haven't for a long time, and it's too late now. I can take care of myself. I always have. But what do you want me to do? Pretend just because you're having one of your random bouts of regret?" He paused, then sighed. "I'm sorry. I don't mean that."
"Yes, you do," she said, tone blank now. "You never say things you don't mean. Or maybe you do… I don't know though, so that must mean you're right. Do you want me to just leave you alone then?"
He didn't answer, and she sighed herself, arms tightening her sweater once more around her thin frame, one hand shuddering up to brush back a lank black curl then tucking back like a twitch.
She half-shrugged, neck and back pulling further in as if she were ducking back into herself, and turned away, pausing beside the door.
Carson saw and cleared his throat again.
"I- I think it's called pan. I don't know. But I don't really care. I've never been one for labels, mom."
She looked back at him, eyes dark, emotion unintelligible.
"I knew that. Always made it hard to call you my son. You don't act like one much at all."
Carson's face pinched.
"You're not much of a mom."
"I know," she agreed honestly. "I still love you, though, Carson. Okay?"
She walked out before he could reply.
Jesse sat up as the door opened and Carson's mom looked at him hard, then looked away, not making eye contact again as she spoke, voice hard but soft and coming fast.
"I don't know what's going on, and I don't know that I ever will. But our family's been through enough, so please don't put us through more unless you plan on sticking around through the mess."
She turned on her heel, sweater tighter around herself than ever, and retreated from the chaos back to her room, grabbing a beer on the way.
Jesse stared after her, only moving when Carson stepped into the doorway and shrugged at him, hands still deep in his pockets.
"What's a good costume, if I still have to look appropriate for work?"
Jesse grinned, going toward him and wrapping him in a hug.
"You can pull off going as yourself too, you know? In fact… maybe I should go as you."
"Oh no, Jesse," Carson groaned. "Please don't."
"Maybe we could go as each other!"
"I don't think I could handle the bad grammar usage it would take to pull off being you," Carson replied, smiling a little despite himself as he pulled back, and Jesse paused then smirked.
"Yeah, you probably couldn't."
Carson opened his mouth to ask the question that had been annoyingly on his mind for longer than he'd like to admit. But then he closed his mouth again, remembering his own words.
He really didn't like labels, nor did he need them.
He coughed instead and shrugged once again, raising a brow in Jesse's direction.
"It's almost time for my shift."
Jesse nodded, teasing his fingers through a few of his curls.
"Well, let's go then!"
A/N- Jarson needs reviews the way Rachel Berry and Tinkerbell need applause and the way Ty needs therapy and/or tact. Just sayin'. ;)