Chapter Text
Nick was running late. He grabbed some cold strawberry Pop Tarts out of the cupboard, swallowed the last bit of coffee in his mug and headed for the door. Wallet, cellphone, keys - check. “Bye, Mom! Home by midnight!”
“Okay. Good luck, Nicky!” came Sarah’s reply yelled from upstairs. Hopping in the left-side of his old, beat-up blue Honda Fit, he backed out of the drive and turned towards the freeway. He got Siri to shuffle his Amp Up playlist and he bounced in his seat as he made his way to the fairgrounds two towns away.
Luckily the parking was cheap and still plentiful plus there seemed to be lots of volunteers in orange vests directing traffic; Nick followed their arm waves and tucked himself into place between two large SUVs on the packed dirt. He shut off the music, grabbed all his stuff and climbed out of the car.
Sliding his smaller belongings into the furry little bag they got at the specialty store, his feet carried him towards the gate on their own. There was a clumpy line of people, all ages and types, stretching to a small booth on one side but he craned his neck and saw a couple of tables with no lines. One had a sign which said “Band Leaders” and one said “Other Competitors” - he beelined for the second.
A friendly-looking plus-size white lady sat there with several clipboards. “Drum major, right? Last name?” she called out as he rushed up. Her hands had already picked up one of the clipboards and a pen.
“Nelson,” he panted. She nodded and found his name. After making some quick notes, she looked up and smiled at his flustered face.
“You know you missed the Opening Ceremony, right?” He nodded glumly. “Okay, you’re prepaid. Here’s a map and the schedule. You’ve got Dress competition starting in twenty minutes; you better hoof it to this field I’m circling. We are here at this little X so you’ll jog past those stables and then turn right. Got it?” He nodded again, more eagerly.
🥁
Charlie was hungry but not nervous. The ceremony had gone well and they had time before their Medley round so he pulled a granola bar out of his black leather sporran and unwrapped it. As he started to chew on it, he looked down the fairway and then he froze, teeth halting their methodical grinding, to watch the most beautiful boy he’d ever seen run past.
He got a few seconds only but it felt imprinted on his brain. Tall, wide, sturdy. Red round face with a handsome jawline. Floppy blonde hair. White shirt with a darker kilt, mostly blue and red. A black doublet with colorful sashes under one arm and a long black and grey tube under the other. Probably a fishing rod carrier holding his mace, Charlie’s brain filled in, already placing him as a drum major competitor.
Turning, he watched the back of the kilt react to every kick of the powerful looking legs. His jaw started working again but his eyes followed the boy until he lost him in the crowd. He blinked and shook his head a bit.
“He’s straight, Charlie!” He whipped around to match glares with his best friend Tao. The short boy was bristling, ready to make his case. Charlie just tilted his head and frowned at him.
“Your gaydar is terrible so shut up. Plus there’s nothing to it; I was just looking!”
“He was very attractive and I say that as an absolute lesbian,” the bleach-blonde next to them said with a smirk. “I bet he could pick you up, Chuck, and throw you over his shoulder.” She winked.
He huffed easily at her and finished his snack. Based on five years of attending these Highland Games, he knew their pipe major Mr. Farouk would be assembling them for another round of dress inspection soon, before they were shuffled off to the Medley judging station. He glanced down and started straightening his outfit.
He brushed a crumb of granola off the front of the black vest which covered his long-sleeved white dress shirt with its solid blue tie. He checked the seam on his kilt, with its light blue background and dark green stripes, and bent to make sure his white hose and black brogues were spotless. Satisfied, he glanced over at his friends to find his Chinese-American friend already doing the same and Darcy trying to throw a dandelion puff into the nearest bagpipe drone; he grabbed her arm.
“Stop it or F Major will k word you,” he hissed. He straightened her shoulders and pulled her tie down, tucking it back into place. “Almost time; hold it together, space cadet.” She smiled ruefully and they all readied themselves for the next thing.
🥁
Nick checked in with the event organizer running this heat, found the bench where he could open his mace case, pulled it out and removed the cloth covering the metal head. Holding it carefully by the collar, he then used the cloth to wipe off his spats and boots.
Laying cloth and then mace down together, he took a minute to shake out and then retuck his linen shirt before donning his fancy jacket and fussing with the sashes pinned to it. Last but not least, he resettled the furry bag (spore-something?) so it lay smoothly over the flat front of his kilt. He was as ready as he could be.
He glanced down the bench where everyone else had already been settled when he arrived. They mostly had fancier outfits, some with those tall black bushy hats and others with the little caps. Nick was relieved to see at least one other competitor choosing to go bare-headed. Hmmm, the only female-presenting person too. He told himself he would say hi as soon as he could in case she was feeling nervous.
He took a moment to close his eyes and remember all the encouragement Mr. Lange had given him. Granted it was mostly about managing his expectations. “You probably won’t place since it’s your first ever competition. As long as you aren’t featured in any viral fail videos, it really doesn’t affect me in any way whatsoever. See you Tuesday!” Yeah, in hindsight, not very encouraging at all…
🥁
Tao and Darcy stowed their snare drums and lifted their carriers off their shoulders. They laid those down next to each other’s and then shoved their drumsticks in between, on the grass where their midsection group had staked out space within the band’s area. Charlie was more exacting with his tenor drum and carrier, laying them on a towel he brought for his stuff. His drumsticks, with their crucial cords and their fluffy heads, got placed in a special case; if the heads got dirty, it would mar the effect of his flourishing. He liked being one of the showier parts of the band; he got to add a visual element to their performance that actually competed with the overwhelming sound of bagpipes.
Their medley wasn’t long, just over the minimum at around six minutes, but it still felt good to be on the other side of their first round in front of a judge this year. They had a practice later today for their March, Strathspey & Reel round tomorrow plus the mass bands again for Closing Ceremony where all the results were announced. Otherwise his time was now free and he intended to enjoy himself.
Tao was arguing with the other tenor drummer, Allison, about some movie they had both seen. Darcy had disappeared. Charlie took a moment to check the time; yeah, he should find another snack soon. He decided to go look for his favorite food truck.
The line was long but moving fast so he stuck it out; finally it was his turn to order from the tiny high window. “Banger and mash please.” The brown face nodded and he already had his debit card held up before they could say anything. As it traded hands, the cashier broke into a huge grin.
“Eres Mexicano?” Charlie blinked and then realized his sleeve had fallen back when he stretched up, revealing his very not-regulation collection of skinny black leather bracelets, one with a red, white and green flag buckle on it.
“Oh, pues mi abuela sí,” he replied easily. They smiled at each other and completed the transaction. “Gracias,” he said as his food was delivered; he could see three other brown faces moving quickly around each other in the tiny kitchen area. He said it again, louder, and two of them turned and waved. He stepped aside and went to find the table where all the condiments were; he needed a fork and some napkins.
🥁
Nick sighed, stowed his mace and shucked his jacket thingy. One of the other competitors had reassured him his stuff was safe there while he waited for the March and Deportment heat later that day. He set off to find something to eat.
There were food trucks down either side of the main fairway, in clumps between the various barns and other fairground buildings. He noted some for later; he would try a deep-fried banana, maybe, for dessert.
Everywhere he looked, people in colorful kilts were walking around. Some were obviously here for the pipe band competition; they seemed to tend to stay in groups, their matching outfits often simplified compared to his own - he presumed it was in order to make the strenuous activity easier. There was a flurry of young girls who ran past, each in a different pastel shade of argyle socks and matching kilts; he remembered this event also hosted a highland dance competition.
Finally he found a large grassy area with several options that worked for an actual lunch. One truck had a longer line than the others; he decided to look at the menu of the ones with smaller lines. Was he ready to try haggis? Not today; stomach too burbly still from the stress of being inspected from head to toe just now.
Meat pies and pasties? Sure, that might work. Wait, is that banner redundant? He couldn’t remember; shrugging to himself, he glanced over and saw they also sold fish and chips. All right, trying that!
Once he had his paper tray of food, he headed for the communal table of condiments and napkins. He wished he could get a beer from one of THOSE trucks but, unlike his mom, he was certain they enforced the drinking age and he was still 16 months away from 21 but who’s counting? Me, I’m counting, he thought.
As he glanced up from snagging a fry before it fell, he practically crashed into a young man who was just turning from the table, a bunch of rough brown paper napkins in one hand and his own tray of food in the other. Oh! His eyes are… REALLY blue.
Nick felt his bisexual heart lurch in his chest. Oh dear. They were only a foot apart, without warning, and this boy was stunning. He saw the lips, wow plump, curve into a smirk. He watched helplessly as the dark-haired man stepped back and motioned in a direction away from the table.
“Uh, yeah… sorry?” came a delicious voice and he still had no words, only the thumping in his ears. He tried to restart his brain. His eyes were flickering over this figure, trying to take him all in at once. Slight yet somehow strong. Tan skin. Decked out much like Nick himself but way more comfortable in it, he sensed.
Suddenly his attention was caught by a small rainbow ribbon tucked behind some kind of metal fastener near the bottom of the other’s kilt and his chest expanded. Desperate to keep this man near him a while longer, he heard himself blurt out, “I like your hat.”