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Albert is woken on the morning of the incident with a persistent pounding on the front door to his apartment. He thinks that maybe if he ignores it, it will go away. Spoiler alert; it doesn’t. It just gets louder, and eventually Albert snaps. He sits bolt upright in his bed, throws on whatever clean shirt is nearest to him and stomps his way to the door to find out who is banging on his door at eight o’clock in the morning. He rubs his eyes as he unhooks the chain and pulls open the door. Only to find that Racetrack fucking Higgins is standing at his front door. The front door of his apartment that is in a completely different building to his. In his drowsy haze, he has three coherent thoughts.
1. It is eight o’clock on a Saturday morning and I should be asleep right now.
2. Why on God’s green earth is Racetrack Higgins at my front door?
3. And why does he look so damn attractive.
Maybe we should have prefaced this by saying that Albert has a teeny tiny crush on Race. OK, fine. He is head-over-heels in love with him.
They met in 3rd grade when Race transferred schools and have been inseparable ever since. Around freshman year of high school, Albert started to notice that something was different. He started to feel different around Race, and started seeing him in a different way. Suddenly, everything was different with him. His jokes were funnier. His smile was warmer. His laugh sent swarms of butterflies rushing through his stomach. And then there was junior year. Race got together with Spot Conlon, and everything was different again. But not in the nice way it was before. Everything felt cold. There was a dull ache in his chest every time Race was around. He started skipping hangouts and spending more time away from him, because every second he spent with him was another reminder that he wasn’t the one that gets to kiss him in the halls between classes. By the time senior year rolled around, they broke up, and Albert found himself spending time with him again. He was the first person by Race’s side when he got dumped, and then he never left his side. College came around and they moved to the same college with different majors and different apartment buildings.
Which leads us right up to now. With Race standing at his front door. Wearing pyjama bottoms and a shirt that is clearly too small for him with the way it hugs his small frame. Albert has never seen him like this before, and God, is he pretty. Blonde curls messy and draping over his face, shirt slightly too small, but fitting enough to outline the subtle definition in his arms. Albert just stands there, slack-jawed for a period of time that was definitely far too much to be comfortable. He picks his jaw up off the floor and leans against the doorframe in an attempt to make himself look somewhat awake. (It doesn’t work.)
He has to spend the whole conversation pretending he isn’t shamelessly checking Race out. He is.
“Higgins it is eight o’clock in the fucking morning this better be important.”
He pretends to be mad. He’s not.
“I need you to pretend to be my boyfriend.” The blonde boy says all-too-quickly, almost stumbling over his words.
Albert has no words. At all. He just stands there mouth agape again until the cogs in his brain can form a sentence.
“Excuse me, you need me to what now?”
“I need you to pretend that we are dating.” Race repeats. “My parents asked if I’m bringing a boy home for Christmas and I panicked and said yes.”
He can’t believe what he’s hearing. Racetrack “voted (unofficially) prettiest boy in high school, slept with every guy on the football team, straight A student” Higgins, doesn’t have a boyfriend to take home to his parents on Christmas. Albert almost laughs.
“Why don’t you ask someone else, literally anybody other than me, to pretend to be your boyfriend? You know for a fact that I’m a dancer and not an actor, you saw me in the school musicals.” He bites back a smile.
“You were the first person I thought of.” Race catches his gaze before immediately dropping his view to the floor. “And I may have already told my parents that you’re my boyfriend.”
His words trail off towards the end, and Albert’s eyes look as though they might pop out of their sockets.
He backs inside his apartment and beckons for Race to follow. He gestures to the couch before sinking into it himself before he actually collapses. Race doesn’t take a seat. He paces, biting his nails, while Albert sits cross-legged on the couch with his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.
“What the fuck are we gonna do?”
“It’s four days, Al.” He stops pacing and looks at him nervously. Albert is barely paying attention. All he can think about is the way that Race’s voice is still thick with sleep.
“Yeah, Tonio.” Albert’s voice wavers. “Four fucking days upstate with your family who think I’m your boyfriend.” He tosses him whatever hoodie was next to him on the couch. “Put that on, it’s cold.”
“Oh, thanks, but don’t call me that.” Race always hated people using his real name, he said that ‘Antonio’ felt too formal and ‘Tony’ made him seem like a mafia boss. “Anyways, we’re going to be fine. If they ask questions about our relationship just let me take the lead and make sure our stories add up. It’s not like we have to make out or anything to make it believable, they’re traditional but they’re not stupid.”
I wouldn’t mind that, Albert thinks to himself. He had to endure Race making out with Spot Conlon against the lockers every morning for nearly a year, so surely, he’s allowed to have maybe one or two thoughts about it. Besides, it’s not like it's ever going to happen anyway.
“Fine.” He sighs.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Race babbles, pulling Albert into a bone crushing hug.
The car ride to Race’s parents' house has got to be quite possibly the longest and most awkward journey in the history of long and awkward journeys. Race is still wearing Albert’s hoodie. Three and a half hours of complete silence, aside from the occasional snarky side comment about other drivers or a complaint about how heavy the traffic is. (Although it is two days before Christmas, so he shouldn’t really be all that shocked.) Albert finds out that the radio doesn’t work and that there’s a disc stuck in the CD player, so the only thing you can use is the AUX lead. Neither of them dare to touch it.
After what seems like a lifetime, they finally pull up in the driveway. Race doesn’t get out of the car. His hands stay white knuckled and trembling on the steering wheel. His gaze stays fixed on something in the distance. He takes a deep breath before opening his mouth to speak.
“There are a few things you should know first.” He speaks slowly and chooses his words carefully. “My family are kinda traditional, so when I said I was bringing home a boy they weren’t exactly thrilled.”
Albert nods carefully, just as an indicator that he’s listening. Race seems to appreciate the gesture though, as a very small smile cracks his lips.
“My mom’s side is Italian, so if you don’t compliment her cooking just be prepared to be exiled from the family before you can even be fake welcomed into it.” He continues, and Albert can’t help but notice the way he lights up and speaks significantly faster than he was before. “My brothers probably won’t even notice your existence, and if they piss you off feel free to kick them in the shins.”
Albert makes a mental note of that.
“I think that’s all you’re gonna need to know for now.” He steps out of the car and salutes to him with an expression of mock seriousness. “Good luck in there soldier.” Albert follows suit and copies him before pulling both of their cases out of the trunk of the car.
Race fumbles with the keys for a bit before finally finding the right one and sliding it into the lock.
“Oh, and another thing, my mom is gonna expect us to sleep in the same bed, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.” He turns the key and swings the door open before Albert even gets a chance to process properly.
The next half-hour is filled with introductions and a bombarding of questions. You’d think that after over 10 years of friendship, Race’s family might know a thing or two about Albert, but given the fact that they always hung out at the park getting high or playing video games at Albert’s place, they’d only really met once or twice.
After far too many questions about their “relationship”, Race comes up with some bullshit excuse about being tired as it was getting late and manages to drag the two of them off to the spare room where they’d be spending the next four days together; despite protests from Race’s mother that they need to eat. They were lucky enough to have left in the afternoon and grabbed food to take with them, otherwise they’d have to sit through even more questions with answers that were made up on the spot.
There was, in fact, only one bed. Three nights. Only three nights. It won’t be that bad, will it?
As it turns out, the idea of sharing a bed with your best friend that you’re in love with, is a lot nicer than the reality.
“Can you, uh, turn around? I’ve been in these clothes all day and don’t particularly want to sleep in them.” Race manages to mumble out without sounding too embarrassed.
“Really dude?” Albert laughs a little at the thought. “This isn’t middle school anymore.”
He stops laughing immediately because oh my God, for once in his life, Race is actually being serious. He turns himself to face the wall reluctantly, and waits for the OK to turn back around.
Three taps to his shoulder signal that it’s all clear to turn around and holy fucking shit Race isn’t wearing a shirt. Albert thinks he might pass out. All his cognitive functions stop for a split second and he swears that his heart skips at least seven beats because standing right in front of him is his childhood best friend and crush, wearing nothing but loose sweatpants that hang low on his hips. He feels as though this would be the right moment to slap himself across the face and tell himself to pull himself together. But he doesn’t. Instead, he shuffles awkwardly to the bathroom to change and splash cold water on his face in an attempt to get rid of the dark blush; which he is now finding out spreads to the tip of his ears and across his chest.
Albert walks back to the room without a word and slips into bed. He lays in bed on his back, staring at the ceiling and tries his hardest not to think about Race. And he is most definitely not thinking about the fact that he is surprisingly toned. Or the fact that his freckles carry on all the way down his neck to his chest. And definitely not the fact that he just fell even more in love with him. The weight on the bed shifts slightly, indicating that Race has finally come to bed, and Albert can’t help but want to turn his head and look. He wants to look at his best friend and shamelessly check him out and watch the way he would get all flustered and shy and hide his blush with the back of his hand. But he doesn’t. He shuts his eyes and tries his best to fall asleep and not think about it.
Somehow, Albert wakes up, and he isn’t dead. The world didn’t explode. He’s still in the surprisingly comfortable bed in the guest room of Race’s parent’s house. And Race is asleep (still shirtless) on his chest.
Hang on.
Albert’s eyes open slowly. He looks down very carefully. There he is. Race is asleep on Albert’s chest and their legs are tangled together. Albert has a hand in Race’s hair, and one planted firmly between his shoulders. What the fuck happened.
He tries to move his hands away, but it’s immediately grabbed by Race who drags it towards him and laces their fingers together. He slowly wakes up. His eyes blink open and expose tiny slivers of blue. Those tiny slivers very quickly become wide open as he realises where he is. Without a word, he springs out of bed and practically sprints to the kitchen.
“Shirt?” Albert calls after him.
“Right, yep, good idea.” Race stumbles over his words, and Albert tries to hold himself together while witnessing the combination of him still being shirtless, and his voice being all low and rumbly in his groggy state.
The morning goes by in a blur. It's snippets of side glances and giggles and whispered conversations over coffee in the kitchen. It’s hiding blush behind hands. It’s accidentally bumping into each other while putting their mugs in the sink. It’s knees knocking and thighs pressed together playing MarioKart. The birds outside the window went on with their day, and Race’s family went on with their days, and the world carried on. But not Albert and Race.
All they could think about was the fact that everything was normal when they went to sleep, and then morning came and suddenly everything was different. Well, nothing changed as such, but nothing feels right.
The rest of the day goes surprisingly well, and they manage to get through without too many awkward questions. They’re doing fine. Right?
They’re doing fine until the evening. It’s Christmas Eve. The Christmas lights have been switched on, and everyone is out in the garden drinking chilled champagne and terrible eggnog. Maybe that's where the problem arose.
Albert ducks back into the house to get a hoodie, shortly followed by Race who grabs his arm just as he's coming through the kitchen door. Oh God.
“Hey! What the fuck was that-” He’s cut off before he can even finish.
Race gestures towards the door frame, “Mistletoe.”
His lips curl at the edges and he desperately tries to fight off a smile. Confusion and anger ebb away from his eyes and are replaced with something Albert can only describe as ‘The Race Look’. It's a look he’s had documented in his mind for years now. It’s only ever seen when he wants something. Not in a possessive or greedy way, but in the way that he looks at something as if it's the only thing in the world that would keep him alive at that very moment.
Before either of them can say a word, Race cups Albert’s jaw with one hand, the other carding through red hair. Race pushes himself up onto his tiptoes. He searches his face, as if asking for permission, but he's immediately answered with Albert’s lips on his and it’s all he could ever ask for. Whatever creature was clawing at the inside of his chest is finally set free and soaring because they finally, finally kissed. The ache that’s been settled uncomfortably in Albert’s chest for five years finally dissipates the second their lips meet. Everything feels warm and his head is spinning and his heart is beating faster than it ever has before and it’s everything he’s wanted since freshman year. He feels whole.
They've kissed once before. Senior year of high school. Jack hosted a party at his place and seeing as they were cliché teenagers, they all got drunk off their faces and played spin the bottle. Just Albert’s luck, he spins the bottle and lands on Race. That kiss was nothing like this one. That kiss was all awkward teeth and drunken giggles. This kiss is all love and passion and Race can feel the way Albert smiles against his lips, and it feels like relief and peace. Years of pining has built to this and God, it’s perfect.
When they finally pull away for air, Race drops from his tiptoes and all they can both do is look at each other and smile and giggle and Albert can’t help but whisper “wow, wow, wow” over and over again.
“Yeah, wow.” Race breathes out. Race’s arms are wrapped around Albert’s neck and they’re subconsciously swaying to whatever music is playing outside. All he can feel is Albert’s hands on his waist and his burning face.
“Race, I’ve been in love with you since 9th grade.” It all falls silent. The music outside is still playing, the people are still talking. Everything is the same, apart from the way that Albert’s grip tightens slightly and Race’s breath hitches in his throat as he chews his bottom lip nervously.
Albert’s gaze falls and he stares at his shoes. He’s really fucked it up this time. His only job was to pretend, and he just had to go confess. Clearly, this is just a quick thing, right? It’s just to put on a show for Race’s family. Race would never like him back in a million years. He wants to pack his bags and get the next train home to get away from whatever the fuck just happened; but he doesn’t. He doesn’t know whether it's the alcohol or the way his feet feel frozen to the ground or the way that Race’s arms are wrapped so surely around his neck, but he just can’t run away.
“8th grade.” Race whispers, and Albert turns his head so fast he swears he got whiplash. He moves a hand to place it gently on Albert’s jaw. “I’ve been in love with you since 8th grade, I got you beat.” And there’s that smirk again.
“But there was Spot Conlon? And you always said we were always nothing more than friends, and I was the idiot that believed you.”
“I wanted to make you jealous.” He says carefully. “I wanted you to see me how I saw you, and I thought that maybe if I got with Spot, you’d be jealous enough to tell me you liked me.”
“Oh my God, we’re the most oblivious idiots ever.” Albert hides his face in Race’s shoulder.
At some point or another, slowly, and then all at once, one was in love with the other. Then slowly (far too slowly), and then all at once, they were in love with each other. Right then and there, they were the only people in the world.
Their fingers lace together and Race practically drags Albert up the stairs to their room before pulling him into a bruising kiss and slamming the door.
Maybe the next few days won’t be so bad after all.