Work Text:
Far too many formative moments of Jon’s high school career had occurred on Elias Bouchard’s bedroom floor. This was where he’d watched Elias get blackout drunk in a two-player game of never have I ever that Jon won by a drastic margin. This was where he’d smoked his first blunt at Elias’ very strong insistence and had an anxiety attack curled up with Elias’ favorite stuffed owl Mr. Magnus. This was where Elias had explained the term blow job in unnecessary and unasked for detail while hanging upside down off their bed. And now, this is where Jon sits, caged between Elias’ legs, as his best friend curls his hair for the homecoming dance.
“I really don’t get why this is necessary,” Jon complains, flinching away from the heat of the iron every time it creeps too close to his head. “We don’t have dates, why are you putting in so much effort?”
“It’s because we don’t have dates that it’s so important.” Elias flicks the fringe of their bangs out of their eyes and slowly pulls the iron out, leaving a dark, fluffy ringlet behind. “We need to show everyone that they were idiots for not asking us along. And maybe steal someone else’s date while we’re there. I’m undecided.”
“You did get asked, though. I heard Simon Fairchild asked you in front of the whole band and you turned him down so hard that he cried into a tuba.”
Behind him, Elias snickers in a way that proves the rumor is at least 60% true. “I meant a real actual date, Jon. We have standards.”
“Well, I have standards at least,” Jon grumbles.
“Being hopelessly hung up on Martin fucking Blackwood after he made you a paper mache heart in kindergarten is not standards, Jon.” Elias leans over Jon’s shoulder and fixes him with a very firm glare. “That’s just sad.”
Jon frowns. He’s far beyond the point of trying to justify his crush on Martin to Elias. It was like trying to explain the intricate plot of your favorite movie to a dog who keeps humping your leg. He loves Elias (god knows why but they’ve grown on him), but they’re just not the kind of person who understands love.
“I only say this as your best friend,” Elias straightens back up and winds another lock of Jon’s hair around the iron, “but you could do so much better.”
“Right,” Jon says, deadpan. “Because everyone is just lining up to date Jonathan Sims, head of the newspaper club whose extra curricular activities consist mainly of extra credit.”
“Hey, you’re with me now, Sims. That opens a lot of doors for you. Just have to stay closely nestled under my wing of popularity.” Elias illustrates this by winding a thin arm around Jon’s shoulders and sliding off their bed to plop to the ground next to him. Their other hand holds the curling iron, up and away.
“Can you be careful with that? It’s hot.”
“This is where I insert a joke about me being hotter, right?”
“This is where I insert a comment about personal boundaries.”
“This is where I insert a joke about inserting things,” Elias says with a wink. Jon rolls his eyes so hard he fears they might never come back down. Elias leans in and walks their fingers slowly up Jon’s chest. “I’m serious though, the offer’s still on the table.”
“I think we’ve been over how bad an idea you and me would be.”
“It doesn’t have to be a you and me,” Elias makes dramatic air quotes. “We could keep it casual. Just a little something to loosen you up a bit. Get that stick out of your ass. Martin might even appreciate it.”
“I don’t think Martin would appreciate anything that involves you at all. He’s...he’s different.” Jon pulls at one of the still-warm curls of his hair, straightening it and then letting it bounce back up.
“Ugh.” Elias sticks out their tongue. “Write a poem about it in your diary, and then come see me when your balls drop.”
Jon shakes his head. Sometimes, he can’t understand why Elias singled him out to befriend. They glide through high school life, breaking hearts, bending guys to their will, even teachers adore them. Jon is just...Jon. A dime a dozen, and less interesting even than most. But they had, and despite how paradoxical it was, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy their company. School had been a much lonelier place before Elias.
Jon watches Elias quietly as they stand up to unplug the curler and fetch some bobby pins to complete the hairstyle. After a moment, he calls out, “So we need to show everyone they were idiots for not asking us out, huh.”
Elias pops their head back around the doorframe of their bedroom. “Yeah, that’s what I said.”
Jon cocks a meaningful eyebrow. “You mean you need to show Peter Lukas he was an idiot for not asking you out?”
Elias scoffs. “I couldn’t care less about Peter fucking Lukas.”
***
“Holy shit, he’s here.” Elias grabs Jon’s arm and wrenches it nearly out of its socket dragging him back around the corner. “Don’t look.”
“Who?”
“Peter!” Elias hisses through their teeth. “I thought maybe he was too cool for dances.”
The homecoming dance is in full swing, colorful lights flashing and a mob of their classmates out on the dance floor, already inappropriately close. Jon and Elias were what Elias called “fashionably late” and what Jon called “Elias spending a literal age in the bathroom fussing over their makeup and dress and hair”.
Rings of tables with green and black balloons circle the edge of the room, and even farther beyond them, leaning casually against the wall with his arms crossed, is Peter Lukas. The broad-shouldered, mysterious, muscular, loner transfer student Elias hadn’t been able to shut up about all week.
“I thought the cool kids came to dances,” Jon protests.
“Right, they do, which is why if you’re really cool you don’t go.”
“What.” Jon stares at Elias. “Then why are you here?”
Elias smacks Jon in the arm. “Shut up. Do you think he’s looking at me?”
“I don’t know, Elias, you told me not to look.”
“Well obviously look when I tell you to look, Jon.”
Jon glances up again at Peter and their eyes catch each other across the room.
“He’s looking at us,” Jon says. Elias smacks Jon in the arm again. “Stop hitting me I’m already listening to you!”
“Quick,” Elias gets up on their toes and grabs Jon by the collar. “Make out with me.”
“What?”
“To make him jealous!”
“I’m not making out with you, Elias!” Jon shoves Elias off him.
Elias pouts. “If you were a real friend you’d make out with me.”
Jon rolls his eyes and sighs. Asks himself again how he can possibly be friends with Elias Bouchard. “Yup. You got me. I’ve secretly hated you all along and am only hanging out with you because I’m a complete masochist.”
“Fine.” Elias holds out a hand, expectantly. “Give me your cigarettes then.”
Now Jon is actually confused. “Why do you want my cigarettes? You don’t smoke.”
“No, but I heard Peter does. I’m going to offer him one, it’s a great excuse to step out together.”
“No way. No way are you dragging me all the way out to this dance and then immediately abandoning me.”
“Come on, Jon.” Elias whines, and then blinks their eyes endearingly. “I’d do it for you.”
“No, you wouldn’t. You’re literally the most selfish person.”
“But I would if you really really wanted me to.” And Jon has to admit that, for all their flaws, Elias does always have his back. In general terms. So he sighs deeply and reaches into his breast pocket for his crumpled box of smokes.
“Fine. But I don’t want him to start sitting at our lunch table.”
“Lunch table?” Elias laughs and Jon can see the edge of lipstick staining their teeth. “Jon, look at the guy’s arms. I’m going for the ride of my life, yeah, but nobody is sitting at anyone’s lunch table.”
Jon watches as Elias threads their way gracefully through the crowd of students, shimmering purple dress catching the light in all the best ways. They stand out like a bright spot of color in a sea of monotony. Jon honestly can’t imagine anyone besides himself denying them anything they want. Even a tough guy like Peter Lukas.
Jon thinks of the sudden, genuine panic in Elias’ eyes when they caught sight of the transfer student. Maybe Elias isn’t as dead to love as Jon assumed they were. If only Elias knew themself as well as Jon knows them.
Jon shakes his head and heads for the bathroom to escape the ceaseless pounding of the music.
The hotel housing the dance has one of those odd little hallway rooms between the lobby and the bathroom proper, and Jon sinks down gratefully on the little silk chaise lounge set up in the corner. The noise bleeding out of the closed doors into the ballroom is like his grandma watching tv downstairs while he works on his homework, a present but easily ignorable distraction.
“Is this uh, are you waiting?” Jon looks up and sees the awkwardly hunched figure of Martin Blackwood. He’s wearing a dark green velvet suit jacket with what used to be a bow tie but is now just a scrap of undone fabric hanging around his neck. His usual unruly curls are slicked sharply backwards with so much gel, Jon can see the mounds of it reflecting in the light. His braces are two different colors of blue.
Jon’s tongue feels three sizes too big and made out of leather. Vaguely he’s aware that he must be staring, but something has fried his nervous system and rendered his panicking brain unable to control his body at all.
“Yes,” he stammers out finally, before cursing himself and quickly amending, “I mean, no. I mean, I’m not waiting. Just. Just sitting outside the bathroom.”
Fantastic, Sims. That’s what guys find attractive, weird bathroom perverts.
“It’s a bit much in there, huh?” Martin says, rescuing Jon from his own tied tongue with the easy grace that comes so naturally to him.
“I don’t like loud music much,” Jon admits, drawing a nervous hand down his tie. “It makes it hard for me to breathe and then I get a bit nauseous. Sometimes I throw up.”
“Ouch.” Martin chuckles nervously, which is only fair considering Jon is acting like he’s never spoken to another human being before. How can he spend so much time with Elias and not absorb even a tiny bit of their ability to flirt?
He just needs to keep it simple. Focus on the positives. Tell him he looks nice. And he does look nice, a mint green cummerbund shimmering around the soft swell of his stomach, contrasting beautifully with the charming red of the freckles coating the backs of his hands. Jon wants to take that smile that pushes Martin’s eyes into cheery crescents and dimples his left cheek and hold it between his hands and let the warmth of it roll through him. He wants that smile to be his. He wants that smile to be because of him.
But instead what he says is, “Do the chaperones know someone undid your bow tie?”
Martin’s smile drops away and his cheeks go red until Jon can hardly tell skin from freckle. He lifts a hand self-consciously to his neck and grabs at the bow tie and Jon regrets letting Elias talk him into coming to this, he regrets trying to be anything more than the wallflower he’ll always be, he regrets fantasizing about getting the opportunity to get to talk to Martin Blackwood if he’s just going to make everything worse.
“N-no,” Martin answers quickly, defensively. “It’s not like that. I was just hot. It’s hot in there with all the, uh, you know, the d-dancing and such.”
“Right, no, yes, of course,” Jon stammers, hoping that his heart isn’t being hyperbolic as it threatens to die right here on the spot from embarrassment. He could do with an easy escape from this disaster of a situation. “I didn’t mean to insinuate—”
Martin laughs again, sounding even more strained and unhappy than before. Ah, the classic Jon effect. “Dances must be much more fun for the not tragically dateless.”
“Nobody asked you?” Jon intends it to be incredulous, he feels incredulous, but it comes out sounding too-flat and off somehow and Martin visibly winces and ducks his head a bit as he turns away.
“I just needed to use the bathroom. Excuse me.” Martin all but flees past Jon, hitting the door to the restroom hard enough to leave it swinging behind him and Jon staring helplessly at nothing.
This had been his chance. His perfect chance, and instead he spent the entire time with his foot in his mouth. Jon buries his face in his hands and tries not to dwell too miserably on how pretty Martin had looked, all soft cheeks and sharp buttons. He’d been right there, and Jon had driven him away.
With a long sigh, Jon pushes himself to his feet. Maybe Elias somehow struck out too (as deeply unlikely as that seems) and it isn’t too late for Jon to go back to their place and have Elias heat their curling iron back up and burn out his stupid tongue.
***
It takes the entirety of the walk out to the front of the hotel for Jon to realize Elias was his ride. The perfect cherry on top of what was already a wretched evening. Jon pulls at the choking knot of his tie as he steps into the drive and plops down to sit on the curb. He tugs at one of the bobby pins in his hair and slides it free, his head aching just a bit as the tight curls fall loose. What was even the point of all that effort to look nice if he’s just going to end up out here, miserable and alone? He might as well just not have come. Every year before this he’d known better than to try attending a dance. People like Jon don’t belong at dances. They don’t curl their hair. They don’t date Martin Blackwood.
Jon drops his head into his hands, digging the heel of his palms deep into his eyes.
“You should be careful.” Jon looks up and sees Elias, one hand perched on their cocked hip, staring down at him with the barest edge of a smirk. “Someone might take a picture of you and put it on the cover of Super Fun Highschool Dances Monthly.”
“Ha ha.” Jon scooches over to the side unnecessarily, a wordless invitation for Elias to join him on the curb. He feels his nice trousers scraping against the pavement and he tries not to think about what his grandmother will have to say about it when she sees. Elias collapses down to sit next to him in a graceful waterfall of glittering, purple fabric.
“Having a fun time?” Elias asks, their voice facetiously bright and cheerful.
“What are you doing here? Why are you not,” Jon wrinkles his nose as he suffers through echoing Elias’s earlier wording, “going for the ride of your life.”
“Would you believe me if I said I bailed on Lukas because I wanted to spend more time with you?”
“Nope.”
“Ah well then,” Elias sighs dramatically and leans their head over to rest on Jon’s shoulder. “It just. It wasn’t what I expected. I thought there would be more grabbing and ravishing and less stammering and running away.”
Jon snorts. “What class are you reading Wuthering Heights in?”
“He has that kind of old money, windswept moors kind of vibe, though, doesn’t he?” Elias picks absentmindedly at the cuff of Jon’s jacket, twisting the buttons between his fingers. “I gave him all your smokes too. So. You’re gonna have to buy more.”
“Last time I do you a favor,” Jon says, and both of them smile into the darkness because they both know it’s not true.
“What about you? Why aren’t you in there showing off all my hard work, making all the people swoon?”
Jon laughs, and all the bitter self-resentment that had been building up all evening chokes out in the noise. “I ran into Martin. Attempted to flirt.” He doesn’t need to say anything else, Elias knows him well enough to assume exactly how that shook out. As if his current position hunched over on the sidewalk wasn’t enough of an admission of defeat.
“Oh, Jon.” Elias slips an arm around his shoulders and pulls him close enough to press a warm kiss to his temple. “You know, you’ve already thoroughly seduced me, if you’re ever interested in getting over that crush of yours.”
“I really don’t need teasing tonight, Elias.”
“Who’s teasing?” Elias grabs Jon’s face and pulls him until he’s forced to meet their eyes. “I don’t hang out with losers, Jonathan. I picked you for a reason.”
Jon stares into Elias’s eyes, just barely lit by the light bleeding through the hotel windows behind them. The cacophony of the pumping music sounds so impossibly far away.
“You’re perfect, Jon,” Elias says, as if it’s the only thing in the world that matters right now. And this, right here, is worth his packet of cigarettes. It’s worth a whole allowance of cigarettes, and getting dragged to a dance, and dolled up and pulled around and fussed over. Because Elias always sees Jon as the person he wishes he could become.
Jon leans forward, just a bit, just enough to give Elias a soft kiss on the cheek. He can feel their foundation chalky against his lips, and beneath that, the shocking warmth of what might be a bit of a blush. Elias Bouchard? Flustered? Jon never thought he’d see the day.
“A kiss on the cheek was not really the action I thought I’d be seeing tonight,” Elias says with a mournful sigh beneath his words.
“Do you want to go back in there? Shimmy around a bit? I’m sure Simon would fall over himself for the chance to dance with you.” Jon cringes a bit at the thought of going back into the crowded, noisy hall which has no doubt devolved into makeouts and whatever sexual movements his classmates are trying to pass off as dancing, but Elias is his friend. His best friend. He’s willing to make that sacrifice.
“Nah.” Elias pushes themself to their feet and bushes off the back of their dress. They hold a hand out and help Jon up as well. “How about we go back to my place and watch the Wuthering Heights movie to help me prep for my Lang Lit test on Monday?”
Jon winds his arm through Elias’s, pressing their sides together against the slight chill of the autumn air. “Sounds perfect,” he says.
And it is.