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“If anybody asks,” you told Davey, sliding into the opposite side of the booth, “you and I are madly in love.”
You were pleased, in a roundabout way, that he looked more wary of the statement than anything. When you met him on the day grad students were meant to start at the university, he would probably have rued meeting you if you’d pulled something like this.
“Should I be expecting somebody to ask?” He pushed his plate of fries toward you, but you shook your head. This had been a Day. You would need your own fries. And maybe two or three milkshakes, really.
“I sure hope not. I’m sort of banking on people blindly accepting my lies.”
Davey had been grading papers for his political science recitation, like he always did on Thursday evenings. He put the papers back in his bag, like he always did when you arrived at the diner on Thursday evenings. “People don’t blindly accept my lies.”
“That’s true,” you said, taking a fry after all. You found yourself itching to raise your hand to get a waitress’ attention, like some middle schooler. “I need a better partner in crime.”
“You could just give up crime, and be my partner in monotony.”
You snorted. “Please. What am I supposed to tell stories about if I don’t need a fake boyfriend to cover for me?”
“What am I covering for?”
What Davey was covering for, as per usual, was a stupid decision brought on by blind panic.
“Is that your boyfriend?” The boy in the cafeteria had been standing much too close for far too long; close enough to see that your screensaver was a picture of you and Davey messing with sparklers on the Fourth of July.
Option One - tell the truth. No, Davey was not your boyfriend. No, you did not need a boyfriend to explain the fact that you weren’t interested in every guy who wanted to get with you.
Since when was the first option ever the best one? What a ridiculous idea.
Option Two - yes, that was your boyfriend. Yes, you two were serious. Yeah, see you later, but hopefully not.
There you go.
“I’m not sure why this is an issue,” Davey said. He stole a few of your fries once they arrived, ignoring the hurt look you gave him. You owed him many fries, and he never cashed in. “You don’t know this guy.”
“Yeah, see, apparently that isn’t quite true.”
As it turned out, this guy was going to be the other TA in a class you were helping out in a few weeks from now. As it turned out, you were going to be spending a great deal of time around him for months.
“If he leaves me alone because he thinks that I’m shacked up with you, we’re in the clear,” you said. “If he keeps an eye out for a change in my relationship status, I’ll need you on call.”
Davey sighed. “Y/N, this was easily avoidable.”
“And I failed to avoid it. It’s time to face the consequences of my actions, and I’m dragging you down with me.”
“You’re paying for our dates,” he said.
“Chivalry is dead,” you said.
In a way, there was only one moment that truly required that you and Davey look like a couple. When class got out, Davey was waiting to walk you home.
His eyes darted between you and the other TA, who had been talking to you about a band that would be in town the next week. You gave Davey a meaningful look, and his lips thinned.
“Y/N,” he said, simultaneously nervous and warm. He leaned in, kissing your cheek so the corner of his mouth pressed into yours, and you had to close your eyes to keep them from widening. “How was class?”
“Fine,” you croaked. “Fine.” It came out more confident the second time, thank God, and Davey’s smile was convincing when you wrapped an arm around his waist in a hug. You pressed your head into his shoulder.
“Howdy, partner,” you whispered.
“You looked a little shaken, there,” he whispered into your hair.
“What, when you kissed my cheek? Thanks, Grandpa.”
You jumped when he slipped his hand into your back pocket. “If I had known that you saw me as a grandfather-figure, I never would have agreed to be your fake boyfriend. Gross.”
You laughed, pulling back. The TA was gone, but you kept an arm around Davey’s waist. You wanted to make the most of the moment. “If I had known that you acted like a grandfather, I never would have let you be my fake boyfriend.”
“It worked,” Davey said, nodding toward the receding back of the TA. “I’m a pro at this.”
“Oh, yeah, the hand in the back pocket is super racey. Guys always do that.”
His cheeks went a little pink when he pulled his hand away. “That’s always how I imagined relationships. Too weird?”
“No,” you said. “No, it was perfect.”
It had been Davey, so it was. When he offered to keep up the ruse, you didn’t bother telling him that it might not be necessary anymore. Something about it felt very necessary.
“It’ll look fishy,” he protested. “I never go to parties.”
“You’ve been to parties with me before.” You grabbed a few bucks for an Uber later in the evening, then a few more when you couldn’t decide if this counted as a date with Davey. Better safe than sorry.
“Never as your date.”
“You don’t have to be all romancy,” you assured him. “Just keep close. People who know us will think that we’re just sticking together. The Problem Boy will think we’re there as dates. Foolproof.”
He double tied his shoelaces, setting his jaw when he saw the upturn of your lips. “You say that a lot, for somebody who makes a lot of bad plans.”
“I’m hurt.”
He smiled, apologetic. “They’re fun plans, at least.”
“Oh, really?” You straightened his collar, smile sickeningly sweet. “You’re enjoying this?”
“Not - not like that, Y/N.” He rolled his eyes, but the twitch of his fingers nulled the sincerity of it. “It’s just exciting, is all.”
“You just like putting your hand in my pocket,” you crooned. “I had no idea you were such a romantic.”
“I’m not,” he mumbled, and held the door open for you on the way out. “I didn’t think so, anyway.”
The party was loud enough that Davey winced every time the bass dropped.
The two of you sat in a back corner, nursing long-warm beers and making up stories about the party goers.
“That frat boy over there?” Davey pointed at the beer pong table, where a curly hair boy laughed uproariously. “He’s failing his English class. He paid a kid in the writing center to write a paper for him, and he’s drinking to forget about how broke he is now.”
“The crying girl is in love with the moon,” you told a grinning Davey. “She forgets when she’s sober, but getting drunk makes her remember how much she’s missing.”
“The girl dancing on the table in an FBI agent. She’s trying to catch a killer who targets people with lisps.”
“That boy owns a talking dog. They got in a fight today, and he’s looking for somebody to take home. The dog is very territorial, you know.”
You hadn’t expected Davey to last this long, but he looked almost relaxed. You liked him like this - with ruffled hair, sleeves rolled up, and blazing eyes.
You probably liked every Davey. Every Davey had an abundance of patience for you, and every you had an abundance of need for him.
You offered to pay for an Uber, but he said that it was a nice night. “Perfect for walking,” he said, and you decided to walk with him.
“That wasn’t as bad as I thought,” he admitted under the streetlights. “No horny boys trying to jump you, though.”
You shrugged. “We can probably stop worrying about it, then.”
“I was never worried,” he said. “That was all you.”
“It’s nice to know that you worry about my wellbeing, Dave.”
You smiled at him while you spoke, careful to be teasing instead of accusatory. You saw the way his eyes darted around the streets. You felt him position himself in front of you when somebody else walked by, partially blocking you from view. You knew that he had a hand in his pocket, keys tucked between fingers, so he would have something cutting if something happened.
“I wouldn’t have to be - not if you gave up on crime,” he said.
“Never,” you declared. “Better to ask forgiveness than permission.”
“Forgiveness for what?”
You shrugged. “Being a handful, I guess.”
“I have big hands,” he said. When you snorted, he grabbed your hand. It was a swift, impulsive move that was followed by a stuttering pause. He was second guessing himself. He gave a shaky laugh. “See? Big enough.”
You had not doubted Davey’s actions once, not in all the time you had known him. Only a fool would bet against him. That being said, you had not been sure he would ever gather the courage to make a move. You were the impulsive one, so maybe you should have tried something months ago, but he mellowed you out. It made sense, in a way, that his thoughtless act had to do with you.
You squeezed his hand, and he relaxed. “Yeah, they’ll do. You’ll have to tell me if I get to be too much. If I really have to be your partner in monotony, I will.”
“No,” he sighed. “What’s a little chaos?”
Chaos looked good on him, and he evidently thought the same about you.