Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He stood there breathless staring at the sky. the car lights shining off the small studs and zippers on his backpack. It was a cold night at Point Pleasant and the trees seemed to shiver in the breeze. A meteor shower had been scheduled for that night. But that was the last thing on Pierre’s mind. A shadow gracefully fluttered in the night sky, almost moth-like but bigger, much much bigger. Pierre fought the urge to run and hop into his car, his curiosity palpable. Just as he thought he was about to burst with fear he heard a loud honk behind him. Pierre flinched then realised it was a car.
He hopped quickly into the driver's seat shocked by what he'd just seen. He set off quickly keeping in mind the driver behind him who was rightfully annoyed.
After a bit the car behind him took a turn onto another road. Two bright red dots briefly appeared in the rearview mirror. Pierre could swear that it was real but convinced himself it was just a trick of the light. With one final glance they disappeared into the night.

The sun shot through the blinds, piercing Pierre’s pupils with warm yet harsh light. He was late to work. The happenings of the night before flipped through his mind as he rapidly put his uniform on and shoved a piece of undercooked toast into a ziplock bag for breakfast.
Work at the gas station was boring, but it paid ok and Pierre got to choose his hours.

“Late again Pierre. You better be glad I won't tell our manager, but for making me work extra, I need a quick favour.” snarked Marie
“God, what is it? I'm too tired for this shit.” grumbled Pierre
A slight smirk appeared on Marie’s face. She knew he couldn’t say no.
“There's a party tonight. I need you to come with me.”
“Why? You know I hate parties. Who's even hosting it, they probably dont want me there after last night's embarrassment.” Pierre whined
“Come on man, it's not your fault you didnt know Henry wasn’t gay. He's probably not gonna be there anyway, and I'm sure he hasn’t told the whole town.” Marie assured him
“There’s a new guy in Point Pleasant and I've heard he’s cute. I need you to be a wingman for me. He’s hosting the party.” she begged
“Fine, fine but you're organising the ride home.”

Work was boring. there were a few odd customers but nothing Pierre hadn’t already dealt with.
It was reaching the early afternoon when a tall, dark haired man walked into the station. He was wearing what seemed like way too many layers of clothing.
“Hi, can I please get two bags of ice?” he asked in a surprisingly high pitched voice while hauling two huge bags of ice onto the counter. Pierre stuttered for a quick second, it wasn’t often that you met new people in this small town, especially not attractive ones his age.
“That’ll be 42 cents, would you like to buy anything else?” Pierre said as he recollected himself.
“Ummm… just this chocolate bar.” He pulled out a Reese’s peanut bar (not sponsored) from under the counter.
“Good choice.” Pierre responded without even thinking about it.
“May I ask your name, I haven't seen you around before?”
“Oh… um… my name's Morgan.” The strange man replied.
Did he just forget his own name? Pierre thought as Morgan pushed a few coins through the hole in the plexi-glass. Morgan proceeded to open the chocolate bar, place it in his mouth and use his hands to carry the bags of ice.
“Are you coming to the party tonight?” Pierre blurted out just as Morgan was about to leave. He mumbled for a second trying to speak with the chocolate bar still in his mouth then proceeded to nod in defeat.

“You’re dressed surprisingly well.” Marie noted. He was dressed in a patterned button up shirt and a pair of shorts. He looked more like a stoner than nice. But it was more effort than he usually put into his outfits and he didn’t just come in his work uniform. When the
“You said the new guy was cute, and i’m hoping his gay.” Pierre smirked.
“Wow you moved on quickly.”
They arrived at an old house. loud music was already playing through the still boarded up windows. Other than the music it looked completely empty.
“Are you sure we’re in the right place?” asked Pierre, rapidly searching for signs of human life. Marie briefly nodded and opened the car door.
The garden was overgrown, and the path leading up to the door was just some poorly poured gravel. Just before Marie knocked on the door it was opened, to Pierre’s surprise, by Morgan. He smiled and without a word invited them in.
It was surprisingly warm and the smell of sandalwood incense filled the air. A record player sat in the corner of the room they walked into loudly playing talking heads.
There were a few people around the room. Pierre knew all of them. Including Henry. Of Course he was here, how could he not be? It was just Pierre’s luck. After a quick second everyone in the room turned to face him. Eyes filled with pity and disgust shattered through the soul of Pierre.
“Anyone want another drink?” Morgan suggested, sensing the tension in the air. Pierre placed himself on a tartan couch with no one else on it. Morgan re-entered the room with a tray of shot glasses full of woody gin and sat down next to Pierre, placing the tray on a coffee table in front of them. Right behind him came a plump labrador that looked like she had just been pulled off the street. The black furred dog jumped up onto Morgan and Pierre’s lap crushing Pierres thighs.
“Wow, Cindy seems to really like you. If you need me to get her off you just ask.” Morgan laughed.
Cindy stared at Pierre with beady black eyes that seemed to light up when he smiled.
Morgan poured himself a glass and sat back on the couch softly rubbing Cindy’s ears. The light of the sunset poured through the cracks in the boarded up windows and lit up Morgan's face in streaks of gold. It was like a scene from a movie. Time seemed to stop for Pierre as the music of David Byrne played on.
The night seemed to fly away into drunken dancing and chatting. without a word Marie had left, forgetting to tell Pierre.
As the night went on Pierre got more and more drunk, trying to drink away the awkwardness. Morgan didn’t seem too affected by the alcohol which made sense given the amount of bottles of gin he owned. Morgan and Pierre kept on talking and talking. Pierre wasn’t the dancing type, but somehow Morgan convinced him. The people thinned out until there were only a few in the building. Pierre pushed Morgan away from the crowd.
They stood in the corridor silently. A few people pushed past, but soon it was empty. Pierre stared deeply into Morgan’s dark brown eyes. He felt a large hand come up to his chin and push away a bit of hair. Pierre leaned in and in a moment he was in heaven. Morgan warmly embraced him as their lips touched. It felt as if a million flowers had bloomed at once. They had only known each other for a day yet it felt like forever. Pierre gripped Morgan's hand and led him to another room. It was Morgan's bedroom. He pushed him onto the bed, lust filling his mind. Finally another gay man in this town. He started to unbutton his shirt.
“No.” Morgan exclaimed, staring Pierre straight in the eyes.
“I would love to, but you're too drunk. I don't want you regretting this.”
Pierre whimpered, tracing the curves of Morgan's face. A single tear ran down his face and in a flash he was unconscious.

Chapter Text

BANG!! BANG! Bang… Pierre's head was spinning, a headache tearing through his brain and down his neck. What had at first sounded like gunshots was actually just his flimsy, plywood front door being knocked. Still hazy, Pierre got up from his own couch, quickly regretting the decision. His blood ran to his legs, leaving his brain to figure it out by itself. He stumbled forward, nearly hitting the hardwood coffee table in front of him. Reflexively catching his footing, he proceeded grudgingly to walk to the front door. With great effort and blurry vision, he unlatched the little old lock on his door.

Odd, he thought. He didn't remember locking his door. He didn't really remember anything from last night. Although he very rarely bothered to lock his door, especially when he was drunk. The town was so small; there was no need. He carefully pushed it open.

“Hello!” Morgan blurted, large bags under his eyes. Pierre searched for words but was unsuccessful, mumbling under his breath as he tried to draw out the happenings of last night from the least hungover corners of his brain. He was unsuccessful. All he could remember was Morgan's face staring at him, subtle and sorrowful, as if he had known him for forever and a lifetime.

Morgan continued to stand there, raising his lips awkwardly in something close to a smile. The sun shone right behind his head, creating a headache-inducing halo, turning the tips of his black hair a reddish-brown. Pierre winced before briefly signalling with his hand for Morgan to come in.

The lamp in the corner of the room buzzed as they chatted. They grumbled about what they remembered and what they didn't, about their pasts before last night, and what they wanted to do in the future, the music and art that they liked, and the movies they hated. Talking to Morgan felt so natural to Pierre; their conversation stretched and eddied like they'd been friends since childhood. But as they chatted, Pierre started to realise something—he never remembered actually going home after the party. He had just woken up with a blanket from his room draped across him and no texts on his phone. The pieces quickly clicked together.

“Did you take me home last night? Because I know Marie didn’t; I heard she was back with her ex again this morning.”

“Actually, I did. How did you know?” Morgan inquired.

“I figured with the blanket and all, but how the hell did you carry me that far? There wasn't a car in your driveway, and I live all the way across town,” Pierre responded, becoming more and more confused by the minute.

“You weren’t too heavy,” he replied.

Pierre knew that was a lie. Carrying a limp body that long and that far was physically impossible for someone of Morgan's stature. He raised his brow questioningly.

“I’m just kidding,” Morgan laughed. “I got a friend to take you.”

Pierre was not assured. Morgan was new to the town; the only friends he had would've been drunk at the party. As he spiralled, Morgan stood up and walked over to the TV, which he oddly turned on; the controller was on the table.

“You said you liked movies, right?”

Pierre nodded.

“Why don't we go see a movie this evening, something convoluted to watch like 'Copperman' or 'The Cubicle'? I can pay for it.”

“I can't see movies at cinemas,” Pierre muttered.

“Why not?” responded Morgan in a careful tone.

“I get overwhelmed. It's too bright, too loud, and I can't stop hearing everyone eating around me.”

“Oh… it's okay then. See you around, I guess.”

Morgan abruptly made his way to the front door, wrongly reading Pierre's genuine concern as a rejection rather than a warning.

“No, no, don't go. I'd still love to do something; I just can't do theatres,” he yelled from the couch.

“Why don't we go to the mountain? I know everyone else finds it creepy, but the stars are much more beautiful up there.”

Morgan stopped trying to tie up his shoes and walked back over beside the couch. He just shook his head. It was as if Pierre had scared him off. He was weirdly hard to read. Pierre was unsure if his facial expressions were hiding something deep or exactly what they looked like. Either way, they made no sense. He stood there for an eternity, staring sadly at Pierre, ever harder to understand. A man who had just moments ago felt like a close friend had suddenly become a stranger.

“Why don't we just get dinner at the diner? It's not fancy or anything, but the waffles are dirt cheap, and they don't skimp out on the syrup,” Pierre awkwardly blurted.

The light came back to Morgan’s face as if he had just re-associated. He nodded keenly, almost dog-like in his movements.

“Six o’clock?” he yapped, heading toward the door.

“Six o’clock,” Pierre affirmed.

Morgan was out the door in a clutter of untied shoelaces and excited footsteps. Only once he had heard the door slam did Pierre relax a bit. He was sitting right up. He fell back onto the cushions with a sigh and glanced at the old clock in the kitchen.

It was one o’clock in the afternoon.