1990 Something
By Pseudonymous Entity
Summary: Lies don't end relationships - the truth does. Max, struggling under the weight of his father's overwhelming presence, anxiety and secrets, discovers Bradley has his fair share of experience in both and might be the only one who can help. But can Max handle it when Bradley's secrets are far more sinister? These two may have gotten off on the wrong foot but as they keep running into one another they make some alarming realizations, about themselves and the people in their lives.
AN: Just a lovely day at the library, nothing to see here.
-Pseu
"Just fill your drink with tonic gin this is the American dream
So sip the gossip, drink till you choke - sip the gossip, burn down your throat
...don't act like you don't know."
-Gossip
The rising morning sun cast long golden shadows across the university campus as one Bradley Uppercrust approached the street entry for the university library.
It was a tall building with many arches and massive windows glinting in the light. A wondrous marvel of architecture, no doubt. Bradley assumed as much anyway. It was always so glaringly bright and shining that he couldn't bear to look at it directly. For all he knew, it could be a blight on the souls of anyone with an ounce of taste or aesthetic.
He could think of several people to whom this applied.
Bradley pushed open the door to the entry foyer and was immediately hit with the scent of freshly brewed coffee and baked goods from the small café which presided over the foyer. Notorious as a place of gossip—and for its endless varieties of cream cheese—students and faculty alike could be seen on any given day lined up at the counter, debating between hazelnut, Irish cream, or caramel in their lattes, sesame or onion bagels.
On this particular day, on this particular morning, the crowd had only just begun to infiltrate the café, the time being quite early for all but the most studious. Or the most devious.
Not that Bradley would ever deign to keep himself apprised of such things. And if that were ever so slightly untrue, well, there were no commandments against lying to oneself.
Bradley gave a small nod to the barista as he weaved through the foyer, a cheerful girl with purple streaks in her hair, a nose ring, and a bright smile who moved through the elaborate coffee orders coming her way with all the practiced agility of a fencer.
Some students sat at the small tables near the windows, snacking cheerily on their baked goods and pretentious sugared caffeine, chatting softly. Clever whispers and quick laughter mingled with the clinking of ceramic cups, the hiss of the machines, the hum of the toaster.
The siren pull of gossip and sweets trailed after him in vain. Not today sweet sugary Satan.
Avoiding the stirrings of chaos enveloping him, Bradley made his way to the rows of glass doors leading into the ground level of the library proper, deftly avoiding a staff member carrying a box of unwrapped new releases. Bradley ducked through the first door which opened as he arrived and stepped into the library.
This level was wide and airy, with a staircase in the middle which wound up and up and up through the five floors of the library. He knew that the swirling patterns on the floor along its base were more than decoration; the library was designed in such a way that sound from the center of the spiral reverberated nicely throughout the library.
Many a performance had been held there. And many a high schooler with his parents or academic group visiting the college had stood there and—encouraged by their tour guide or mischievous friends—made an embarrassment of themselves letting out noises to test it. Bradley, while usually annoyed by unneeded noise, always found himself amused by this. After all, he could see the draw of commanding the attention of everyone in the vicinity.
If only for a short time.
He moved through the space, around an in-progress construction of a new release display, catching faint snippets of conversation as he passed through—a discussion about the latest fantasy novel, a debate over study guides, impolite wonderings about upperclassmen or professors.
"Have you read the new..." an excited voice asked.
"Not yet, but it's on my list!" came the reply.
To the left VHS and DVDs sprawled out in the media section, their shelves neatly organized. A librarian was methodically reshelving returns, her cart piled high. Bulletin boards dotted the wall along his right, filled with colorful flyers advertising various university events, library workshops, and club meetings. A bright poster announced an upcoming author talk, while another promoted a student film festival.
"...heard the guest poet is incredible," gushed a sandy-haired boy to a girl wearing an unnecessary amount of yellow.
She nodded at him, twirling a finger through her long ponytail. "It helps that it, like, totally counts as extra credit..."
Bradley entertained the thought of informing the little harlot that she would do well to bat her eyelashes elsewhere. That boy not only would not be doing her coursework for her, but he clearly had designs on the guest poet in question.
As he walked around a large poster of the handsome male poet, a small smug smile flashed briefly across his face. What would be the fun in that?
Finally, he reached the elevators. Bradley had no intention of taking any stairs anywhere if there was a perfectly good alternative. He stepped in and turned around, the polished metal walls reflecting himself in every direction. He never understood why elevators did this. To feel less tight and smothering maybe? Still, they could attempt to be a bit more flattering if the passengers were to be forced to stare at themselves for the entire trip.
Bradley waited for the soft ding signaling his arrival, the doors opening to reveal the first floor. This level had an alternate set of doors across the hall that led to one of the university buildings. He wasn't certain which classes were held there. None of his own and as such, he'd never had occasion to use them.
A steady flow of students and faculty entering and leaving could often be found here. This early in the morning, however, it was more of a trickle. The morning sun, rising ever higher in the sky, streamed through large arched windows casting a warm golden glow that made the library wonderfully aesthetic and inviting despite the ungodly hour.
He walked past a group of students huddled at a large round table, clothes wrinkled and eyes red. The sure signs of an all-nighter. The lot of them bent over a set of complicated diagrams.
"...all I am saying is if we just adjust the variables here we might-" a boy in a blue hoodie was saying.
"I'm going to run the calculations again," said a student with red hair, snatching a calculator from the middle of the table. His companions responded by groaning, burying their heads in their arms or shooting the red-haired boy dirty looks.
It was going to be a long, hard year for some of the new students. And if that benefited Bradley, as one of the many tutors available at the university, for a price, that wasn't his fault.
He didn't make them stupid.
Locating a round wooden table of his own, Bradley set his bag down on it and reached out a hand idly to feel the cool smooth surface. He'd always favored these particular tables. They were sturdy and felt like they belonged in some lord's study in a manor house somewhere. Perhaps when he left at the end of next year he could smuggle one out.
He made a brief stop at the long marble counter where the different librarians for this level stood. He spotted Miriam, one of the senior librarians, meticulously organizing a stack of reference books. She looked up as he arrived, removing her glasses and letting them hang by a long gold chain with stars.
"Bradley. Did you need something today?"
"Miss Miriam," he greeted, "I wondered if I could-"
"Double-check your reservation?" She finished, already turning to one of the clipboards hanging behind her and flipping through it. "The same study room and same time every day for the last five years."
There was no bite to her voice. It was just a fact.
"The very same." Bradley agreed.
Miriam turned the clipboard over and tapped at his name on the sign-up sheet with the back of her pen. "Nine to noon. Same time as always."
He gave her a smile for humoring him. "Thank you."
All around them librarians and clerks were busy transitioning the library of the night into the proper day shift, booting up rows of computers that had been unused overnight. Carts laden with books pushed toward their proper shelves, wheels nearly but not quite silent on the polished wood floor.
"Busy day?" He asked, leaning against the counter.
"As any other," she replied. "We do have a popular poetry reading and workshop afternoons this week."
"So I heard. Sounds chaotic."
"It always is," she said, glancing at a young librarian who was struggling with a particularly heavy cart of books. "David! Those go to the third floor. And be careful with the rare editions."
Bradley stepped away, letting Miriam continue on her business. He had a little time to himself; it wasn't even eight yet. Students were evidently beginning to wake up as more had made their way to the library. He assumed they either had afternoon classes or were genuinely morning people.
He shivered at the thought. No one had any business being happy and energetic first thing in the morning.
Horrifying.
As he approached his table, he noticed Max Goof slumped at a table by the windows, looking utterly exhausted. His bleary eyes and tired posture suggested he too was fresh off an all-nighter. A quick glance gave no signs of Max's little tag-alongs. He usually had the other two with him, didn't he?
Maybe he liked to study alone. Bradley certainly preferred to do so himself.
He sat and pulled textbooks from his backpack, settling at his own table, and saw Max stand, gather his things, and leave out of the corner of his eye. If Max didn't have afternoon classes, he was going to be hurting. That kid looked like a strong wind could blow him over at this point.
Not that Bradley cared. He just looked forward to beating Max properly at the X-Games in a few weeks and it wouldn't do for the only proper competition he'd had in a while to be too overworked to compete.
He flipped open a notebook and went over his schedule. The demands of his degree, his classes, his tutoring gig, and his duties as fraternity president kept him busy. Then there were the clubs he belonged to and training for the X-Games. This was going to be a long year.
Good thing he had organization and coffee to get him through.
He stood, intending to take a quick, brisk walk around the floor to stretch his legs—he would be sitting for hours at this rate—when the library doors flung open and a much harassed looking Max Goof came back inside. The freshman paused only a moment, scanning the room wildly like a hunted animal.
Max's eyes landed on Bradley, and then he was headed his way. Bradley wondered if he should be alarmed by this turn of events. He hadn't done or said anything particularly nasty recently, he thought. Not to Max at least. Not directly.
As Max approached, moving like a man with a purpose, Bradley's brain whirred, trying to figure out if he was in the right or in the wrong in this interaction. Max swung his backpack off and tossed it at Bradley. He caught it reflexively.
"I'm not here," said Max. "You didn't see me." Then he slid across the floor on his knees and ducked underneath Bradley's table.
Bradley stood there, blinking. Had that actually just happened? He looked around to see if there were any there witnesses and saw Miriam, paused mid-step, staring. Bradley leaned against his table and shot a charming smile at the older librarian. "Pleasant morning, isn't it, Miriam?"
Miriam narrowed her eyes at Bradley and huffed. "Don't cause a ruckus, Mr. Uppercrust," she cautioned sternly, walking off.
Mr. Uppercrust, now was it? How quickly the mighty fall.
Bradley straightened up and sighed, looking at the backpack in his hands and then at his table. If Max was going to be this inconvenient this early in the morning, he could at least give Bradley an explanation. Even the strongest of men could be bribed with the proper portion of gossip or scandal now and then.
Or maybe the skater boy didn't realize that sliding on the ground indoors was generally frowned upon? An unspoken rule perhaps but one all the same.
The elevator pinged, and out came the tall and easily recognizable figure of Max's dad. Bradley had never met the man, but he had seen him around campus. The news that Max's father had enrolled at the same college spread around fairly quickly the previous week. Bradley himself had given Max a good teasing about it on one memorable occasion.
Ah, so that's it. He's hiding from his dad.
Hiding from his... Bradley froze. He was holding Max's backpack. He quickly dropped it behind his back, letting it hit the floor, then kicked it hard. He heard a muffled grunt as it slid under the table and assumed it had hit Max. Deserved, he thought, with a smirk.
Bradley took several steps forward. "Hello, Mr. Goof! Looking for Max?"
Max's father turned to him. "Yes, I am! Uh...uh...?"
"Bradley Uppercrust," said Bradley, pointing down the main center walkway. "I think I saw him fetching a reference book—"
The tall man was already heading that direction. Perhaps Max had inherited his occasional rudeness? His footsteps echoed on the wooden floor, the sound gradually fading as he moved away.
Bradley watched him go, then crouched down to peer under the table. Max sat there, arms wrapped around his legs, face hidden. Bradley, with some effort, crawled under the table beside him, his long limbs seemingly unwilling to do any such thing. He tolerated being ignored for thirty seconds, then he kicked at Max's shoes. "Goof? You okay?"
Max said nothing. Bradley, growing impatient, kicked his shoes again, harder this time. "Need...a minute..." came a muffled response.
Seriously?
Bradley sat there in silence, curiosity absolutely burning. This may not have been how he planned his morning to go, but he was invested now. Why the game of hide and seek? One that his father didn't know Max was playing. Surely, even if his father was as horrendously embarrassing as rumor had it, that was no reason to behave in such a way? Max was only a freshman, and it was only September. The kid didn't even have a social life to speak of yet that he might risk jeopardizing.
So, Bradley sat there, willing the universe to deliver upon him the answer but unwilling to ask directly.
The library around them continued to wake up, the sounds of students settling in, the occasional ring of a cell phone that was quickly hushed. Then Bradley's watch beeped softly. Forty-five minutes until his study room opened. He really should be getting ready. Reluctant to leave the potential for a good scandal behind, Bradley forced himself to crawl out from underneath the table, his long limbs making the process less than graceful even with his flexibility.
Bradley climbed to his feet and stretched languidly. Not exactly the exercise he intended, but surely some calories were sacrificed.
"That was certainly something," Bradley remarked, dryly. Just loud enough for Max to hear him but not enough to draw attention to the strange situation under his table, "Have fun with whatever this is." He motioned at his table in general, though Max couldn't see him.
"I've got a prior engagement shortly, so I suggest you find somewhere else to cower or locate another lookout." He dusted off his clothes and sniffed. "Perhaps someone in cargo shorts or sweatpants."
He began gathering up his textbooks and double-checking the contents of his backpack. Max, crawling out from the table with his own backpack in hand, shot him a look.
"Even I don't walk around in sweatpants, Brad."
"Give it twenty years, I'm sure it'll be all the rage," he replied offhandedly. "You do seem to be the sort to put comfort before style."
Max snorted, dusting off his baggy pants—a lost cause in Bradley's opinion—and checking the straps on his backpack. "Speak for yourself. I'm not the one wearing the same red polo every day."
"Don't be ridiculous, freshman," Bradley said, the smallest of smiles on his face. "It's maroon. Red is your color."
When no further digs at his person came his way, Bradley looked to his side to see if Max had simply walked away. Instead, he found Max stiff at his side. Blinking, Bradley turned and, for the second time that day, saw the tall form of Max's father. This time, he'd seen Max.
Bradley immediately started reorganizing his textbooks as slowly as possible. Whatever happened next, he'd have a front-row seat.
Looks like he'd be getting sweet tea after all.
2024
AN: Bradley might enjoy gossip more than he lets on shhhh