Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The room is lit brightly by the autumn sun. There are a few clouds visible from where Eric stands behind the counter. The room is brown and orange, just like the leaves outside. The walls remind of tortilla. The orange lights on the walls regularly give Eric a headache.

So does the chatter of the custumers. Every now and again though, they have some juicy drama Eric likes to picture in his head. The coffee machine dulls the chatter and Eric misses half of it.

"Hi," says a pretty girl.

"Hello," Eric smiles. Genuinely (unlike most of his smiles).

"I'm not sure what to get," she says.

"No problem, maybe you can try a macha latte. I think you'd like it."

"You know what? I will."

The time drags slowly after the girl is gone and he rolls his eyes. Neither Kim nor Nate work alongside him today. It is instead a middle-aged Mexican woman. She is pretty, of course, but only if she loses a few pounds.

Sometimes, when he is feeling particularly bored he wonders what she looks like naked. It isn't unpleasant to his surprise, but it still makes him feel weird. Ashamed almost. And a little young and dumb. The woman has three children and a husband, which is to say Eric will never actually see her naked.

“Excuse me,” A man's voice brings the worker out of his misery. It is a faggoty-looking man with hair to the end of his ears. It does look pretty smooth, to his credit (but it is a bit greasy). “I'd like a coffee, please,” he smiles. Eric returns the smile. Not genuine.

“Of course. What kind?”

"Erm..." he drags and takes a painfully long time to say anything. "Why don't you tell me a good one?"

"I'm not here to give recommendations, I just take orders," he struggles not to roll his eyes.

"Right. Sorry," he pauses once more. "Iced latte and muffins please."

“Right,” he says and as he turns away, the faggot (who also likes faggoty drinks) opens his mouth but only manages a weak “erm”.

Eric pretends not to hear it.

Once the Coffee is done, Eric delivers it to the man's table. He thanks the worker and fiddles with his shirt.

“Hey,” he says. “You're like…” he fights with himself for a few seconds. “Good at your job,” Eric sees him pinch the skin of his right hand. Must be left-handed then.

“Thank you,” he says with put on enthusiasm. “Is that it?”

“Yeah,” he says, gaze low and voice laced with… disappointment.

But Eric doesn't have time to console this faggot, who by the way, looks his own age, so instead Eric tends to other customers.

The faggot comes back the next month. Eric almost doesn't recognise him because his hair is up in a ponytail and he's wearing faux glasses. When he approaches his table with an iced latte (no muffins this time), the custumer is disappointed again. Eric starts to wonder if the man has something against his service, but dismisses the thought. After all, he came back.

But maybe he thought someone else would be here to take his order? The hot Mexican mom?

But there's his eyes. They keep seeking Eric out, as if trying to say something without words. Eric finds his nostrils flare and eyes roll at how much time he spends thinking about those looks, those disappointed sighs. The guy really needs to learn how to speak up or shut up.

The next day Eric doesn't have a shift, so he doesn't see the man but on Friday, he recognises the faggot as he enters the building.

He finds himself annoyed at the sight of him.

“What do you want?” He asks, once the man has approached the counter.

“Iced latte, please,” he says a bit confused as Eric's tone was quite rude and laced in annoyance.

“No, what do you want? Why do you keep looking at me like that?”

The man grows red and scratches the back of his neck. “Nothin’ I swear! It's an accident.”

“Don't let it happen again then…” he turns to the coffee machine.

The customer hurries to the table, this time a different one than the first time, because his usual one is taken.

Eric doesn't catch the faggot staring anymore and that pleases him.

He spends the weekend playing Doom in the computer room, he'd spend the money he got from his job (it pays surprisingly well), but he is too tired for it. And when it's time for his shift after school, Eric sees the man again. This time he is with the blonde woman Eric saw before. No way that faggot landed her of all people.

“Hello! Matcha latte, please!” she chirps. Eric smiles, but wants to tell the woman to run away from the faggot while she can.

“And an iced latte too,” the man (who is dressed way nicer this time) adds.

“You got it!” Eric responds. Why would they have a date right here? Sure, plenty of people come here with their partners, but why would a sad sack like him get a girlfriend and not Eric?

He must be a huge piece of shit. She's probably only with him because she pities him. Maybe he manipulates her into it.

Whatever. It isn't his buisness. He'll just make them the coffee and be done with it.

Once the drinks are ready, Eric brings them to their table. He notices them laughing together, the man's hand resting casually on the table near hers. The sight makes Eric's stomach twist uncomfortably. It goes unnoticed by the couple when he delivers the cups and it infuriates Eric. There's no sad looks, no deep sighs, no anxious picking of skin.

Eric scolds himself. Why does he care? He doesn't.

The next time the man comes in, he's alone again. Eric finds himself watching the way he fidgets with his sleeve, wondering if the date didn't go well. It makes him snort. Of course this faggot couldn't land a girl. Not when he looks like that.

He orders his usual iced latte, and Eric notices his hands are shaking slightly as he pays. The woman must have dumped him. Serves him right for being such a pathetic excuse for a man. With his faggy hair and faggy gait and… he's such a faggot. Eric despises him. That's why he keeps watching him walk away.

The next time he sees him, he finds himself unable to take it. The pressure in his chest every time he thinks of the customer. Every time he calls him a faggot in his head.

He's had conversations with other customers, why not this one?

He walks up to the man and sits down. The other fixes his eyes on the table. He has stopped fidgeting. Eric hates it. It's like he's frozen.

"It wasn't what you wanted to say, right?" he keeps trying to make eye contact, "when you said I was good at my job?"

The other doesn't speak.

"I'm sorry. It was unprofessional and rude to tell you not to look at me," Eric says, even though it pains him to. "You can do it if you want."

The other smiles, but doesn't raise his gaze.

"So..." Eric stretches his legs out and puts his hands in his pockets. "What did you want to say to me?"

The other's smile drops. He picks up his coffee and slurps it up. The worker lets the silence drag out. He knows the man across from him will answer if enough pressure is applied. And he's right.

"Nothin'," he pushes out. "I'm Dylan."

"Alright, Dylan," he smiles. "I'm Eric."

Dylan nods and looks at the other for the first time  since last week. It only lasts a fraction of a second, but Eric takes great pleasure in it. He likes that the faggot man is timid. It makes him feel that much more confident.

"Are you sure you didn't want to tell me how..."he leans in, "awesome I am?"

Dylan freezes once again. "No. That's," he thinks for a moment. "Gay."

"... How was your date?"

He recalls the event. "Uhh, it was fine."

"Fine, huh?" Eric's heart feels a twinge of pain. "Alright then," he stands up. The customer looks at him as if to say "You're leaving already?" "Enjoy your beverage!"

Dylan sinks in his seat. He totally fucked everything up. Now Eric thinks Dylan is into Robyn.

It's Tuesday evening and Eric is getting ready to drive to a concert. All he really needs is his driver's license and his trenchcoat.

The trip there is tame. When Eric finds a place to park, he grabs his trenchcoat and pushes his arms through it. The venue is very full and Eric is proud to be one of the people who see NIИ live tonight.

As he makes his way through the crowd, he looks for a spot he can see the stage from. Once he is settled, he listens to hear a band called KMFDM (they made sure to say it a hundred times) preform. They are the opening band for tonight. Eric finds he likes the vibrations going through him right now from these KMFDM guys more than he likes any NIИ song. He hears some people chant the lyrics and the guitar hits the right spots in his brain. NIИ is good, but these guys are better.

"Eric?" He hears and looks around. It's Dylan. "I didn't know you had such a good music taste."

"I didn't know you could talk," he wants to say, but bites his lip instead.

Dylan smiles and talks confidently and loudly, "This band is pretty rad" Surprisingly, Eric doesn't miss the timid version of him.

"Yeah," he nods and smiles back at Dylan. Genuine this time.

The performance of KMFDM comes to an end and the crowd awaits NIИ with roaring applause. Eric doesn't applaud. He doesn't want to look stupid in front of Dylan.

Trent Reznor flashes a smile and Eric mirrors his expression. He has always liked the man. Even though his fashion sense is a bit questionable. (Something Eric pictures Dylan would like to wear.)

Dylan's hand brushes against his own and Eric tenses, but doesn't dare look at him.

When the beat to closer starts playing, Eric's eyes light up. It doesn't go unnoticed by Dylan. "Is it your favorite?" he asks. Eric nods. "The Downwards Spiral is Reznor's best album," he says. "Maybe even the best in the universe," he sighs. "You let me violate you,"

Eric is surprised that someone like Dylan actually knows the words to a song like this.  "You let me desecrate you."

Eric debates if he should join in too. He decides against it.

"You let me penetrate you. You let me complicate you," Eric stares at the stage, because he's too afraid moving will cause them to touch again. "I broke apart my insides. I've got no soul to tell."

Fuck it. If Dylan’s doing it, there's no way he'd make fun of Eric for it. "Help me get away from myself," they both say.

"I want to fuck you like an animal," he hears thousands of people say and it feels like a highly addictive drug entering his bloodstream. "I want to fuck you like an animal," he isn't afraid to sing this time. "My whole existence is flawed." He makes the mistake of moving his arm. It touches Dylan's again. "You get me closer to god," he hears the other man's voice crack.

He laughs at it. So does Dylan. Eric notices the way his eyes squint and the way his left arm reaches to his stomach. 

Eric has a brilliant idea. He bumps his knuckles against the other and he pays no mind, he does it again and Dylan looks at him this time and stares Eric into his eyes. Eric feels the smile plastered on the other's face stick to his own.

"You can have my isolation. You can have the hate that it brings," Eric says and let's his arm rest so that it touches Dylan. "You can have my absence of faith. You can have my everything." Neither of them pull away. "You tear down my reason. It's your sex I can smell." Dylan moves his finger and it sends a jolt of electricity through Eric's spine. "You make me perfect," neither of them try to reach to note. "Help me become somebody else!"

Once again, the crowd recites some of Eric's deepest thoughts. Ones he encounters daily. It feels surreal. He must have died on the way here and went to heaven.

Every beat goes through his bones, straight to his heart. It shakes his lungs and every time he sings, it's distorted. It's the best feeling Eric can think of at the moment.

After the concert, they split up and Eric goes home happier than he's been all year. He thinks back to the Dylan he saw. It wasn't the fidgety faggot back at the cafe. This Dylan was someone Eric could actually get along with. Someone who understood him and made him feel like himself.

Eric feels Dylan's touch when he goes to bed and even though he tries to shake it off, the other's smile still lingers beneath his eyelids.

The comfortable warmth coming from the blanket turns into unbearable heat. He takes the cloth off, leaving it besides him. He falls asleep shortly after.

The next time Dylan enters the shop, Eric scratches his neck and feels heat creep up to his face. "I'm gonna go to the bathroom," he tells Kim.

Dylan catches only a glimpse of the back of Eric's head as he approaches the counter. "Hi!" He tells Kim. "I want an iced latte."

"Alright," she turns away to make the coffee.

Eric is back when Kim serves him the coffee. He notices their casual nature and asks Kim about it when Dylan is out of earshot.

"Yeah, I know him," she confirms. "He goes to our school. And he comes here so often I couldn't not know who he was even if I wanted to," she laughs and gets back to work. Eric grunts.

Of course that asshole would make friends with Kim. As if Eric wasn't enough. He needed to befriend every girl.

He glanced at Kim. She had everything under control. He made the decision to walk over to Dylan.  "What the hell are you doing?" He asks.

Dylan places his drink back on the table and smiles. "What's up your ass today?"

"Why the hell are you so friendly with Kim?"

"Oh," he pauses. "Didn't realise you guys were a thing."

Eric scrunches his face. "What? No! I just don't want you coming here with girls to meet more girls and it just pisses me off!"

Dylan's eyes widen and he looks away sipping on his drink again. Someone is sexually frustrated.

"Don't fucking act like you know her. I know Kim more and longer and you don't need to talk to her like that."

"Are you this demanding with all your customers or...?" He says once the straw escapes his mouth.

"Don't fuck with me," he stands up and walks away.

Dylan widens his eyes demonstratively and, pursing his lips in a thin line, nods to himself.

The coffee tasted different today. Kim always made his coffee just a bit too icy.

He watched Eric periodically while sipping his drink. He was giving Dylan dirty looks, but was forced to get back to work and put on a smile soon after.

"Hey, Kim?" He said having finished his drink and walking up the counter. "What's up with you and Eric?"

She eyed him curiously. "Are you hitting on me?" She  smiled.

"Not really," he confessed. "He's awfully...protective of you..."

"He gets like that sometimes. He can't stand new people. Like a guard dog," she laughs. "I've gotta get back to work though. See you later, Dylan"

He nods and waves and turns around.

Chapter Text

The lights are bright and music—unintelligible because of the reverb. Boring to say the least. Nothing like NIИ. Thinking of which, the guy Dylan saw at their concert is here. Eric is his name. Dylan excuses himself. "I need some fresh air," he says. Being seen with his parents, shopping like a little kid would be embarrassing. He had to get out of there as soon as possible. 

"You can't leave through here!" The cashier says as he walks past the register outside the store. Dylan ignores her because how else is he supposed to leave the store? Fly away? These rules are ridiculous, so he doesn't mind breaking them. 

Outside is sunny and warm, but having heard the weather forecast on the news a few hours prior, Dylan knows not to be fooled by the sky. Soon it will be covered with nimbostratus clouds and the last living bugs will be washed away from the streets.

The people around him are all dressed for this weather, not the one in the future, unlike Dylan. They are wearing T-shirts and jeans, or even shorts, but Dylan is wearing a trenchcoat like an idiot. He takes it off and tries to hide it behind him, but unfortunately for him, theres people behind him as well. He feels out of place and he wants the ground to swallow him up. Just as he starts sulking, he notices a shorter male frame that he recognises.

"Eric!" 

The man turns his head. He nods at Dylan and walks further away, but the lanky man catches up.

"Hey," he says.

"Mhm," Eric hums. He has to get his groceries to his car. 

"Can I help?" Dylan asks and regrets it as soon as Eric's face contorts.

"Why'd you leave your mom?" He asks as if to take revenge for insinuating Eric can't carry groceries on his own.

Fuck, Dylan thinks, he noticed.

As Dylan feels shame creep up his face, Eric sets down a bag on the concrete ground of the parking lot. He fishes for his keys in the pocket of his shorts, because of course he's like everyone else and didn't bring a trenchcoat like Dylan did, and when he pulls them out, unlocking the car, he sets the bags in the backseat after opening the door. 

Eric doesn't even say bye, just revs the engine and pulls away from the parking lot. Dylan feels like a loser and sulks again, before his mother calls out to him over the entire parking lot. How embarrassing.

Dylan doesn't go to the coffee shop after that. Eric wonders if he has fucked up until he enters a pizzeria. 

It was quite pathetic, walking into a pizzeria by himself, but fuck it. He needed some calories to intake while playing Doom. 

Dylan works at the register Eric finds out. He stops in his tracks when he sees him, but soon resumes the walking.

"Hello," Dylan borderline whispers.

"Damn," is all Eric says and it drives Dylan's anxiety up the wall. He looks at the options they have and decides on a "Jackpot" which he understands is just a bunch of shit thrown together. It must taste good, right?

"What would you-"

"Large Jackpot. I'm taking it home," he says. "I need a box."

Dylan nods. Eric scoffs. Since when was he a soyboy again? Where's the guy who asked him what was "up his ass" last week? These guy who sang along to NIИ like nobody could hear him?

Dylan leaves to give the order to the chefs and when he returns, to his horror, Eric is still standing at the counter.

"You forgot to take my money," he says.

Dylan cringes at himself. He's such a retard goddamnit. "Right," he sighs. "16.99$"

Eric gives him twenty dollars and struggles not to scream when Dylan takes two minutes to give him back his change.

"Have a nice day!" He says and Eric almost turns around before spotting a young blonde. It is the same girl Dylan had a date with at Eric's workplace.

He puts on one of his flirty smirks and approaches her behind the counter. When she stops talking to Dylan, Eric says, "Hey."

"Do I know you? You're looking at me like I do," she laughs awkwardly. Eric wants to scoff, but he sees an opening. 

"No, but you could."

She smiles.

"I'm dating someone," she says and walks suspiciously close to Dylan.

"No," Dylan says. "We get off at five."

The girl sighs. Eric rolls his eyes. He didn't ask when Dylan got off. He doesn't care about that fool. Mama's boy. Stupid faggot. Always gets the girl. Retard. 

He ends up walking away to sit at a table. He watches the girl leave as Dylan continues to tend to customers. 

How could such a soyboy land a blonde like that?

The minutes drag like hours and Eric is exhausted by the time he gets his order.

"Hey, Eric?" Dylan says after handing him the box. "Do you ever want to hang out? You can give me your AOL," he says. It sounds like he is experiencing immense releif just saying that. 

"No," he says.

"I could give you mine but it changes often..."

"No," he repeats and walks away.

"Okay..." Dylan clears his throat.

Fine, fucking fine. Eric can admit it. He feels regretful about not giving Dylan his AOL. Seeing the man's broken expression when met with Eric made him annoyed. All that because Eric doesn't want to be friends. A smile looks way better on someone like Dylan. He seriously has to stop being a faggot and he has to start acting like he did before. When he was normal.

So Eric picks up a pen and writes "Rebldomakr" on the back of Dylan's check. When he gives Dylan the coffee and check, he tries to get out of there as soon as possible.

He senses the boy look at him, but Eric is too self conscious to look back.

Dylan looks at the check in his hands. "Rebldomakr" it reads. He decides not to write Eric just yet. He's probably not online right now anyway. 

He continues to lay in his bed and look at the beautiful handwriting of Eric. He could very well be a doctor or a politician with such a handwriting. 

Dylan finds he wants to read more of what Eric writes. He wonders how his own name would look in Eric's handwriting. Would it look better than it sounds coming from his lips? How did it sound coming from his lips? The first and last time he heard it was two weeks ago.

He has to make him say his name again.

Chapter Text

He is only able to go to the cafe on the weekend and unfortunately Eric had other plans that day as he was not at the counter. It is instead a man with a fairly long face and bushy eyebrows. Dylan notices lots of birthmarks on his face.

While waiting for his drink, he decides what he was going to do. He puts on his worst handwriting and writes his own name next to some numbers on the check the worker gives him.

Even he has trouble reading it. Not that he doesn't have trouble reading his usual hand writing... he really should put more time into that. His teachers keep complaining about it.

Dylan turns down a shift on Monday. He has more important things to do. He smiles upon seeing Eric. "Hey," he tells him.

"Iced latte?" Dylan nods. "With muffins?"

"Why the hell not?" Eric scoffs and rolls his eyes. "Something up your ass again?"

"You didn't write."

"I couldn't find your account." Eric scoffs again. What a lame excuse. "But I wrote mine down. I can give you it later."

Later. Does he mean never? Faggot. Dylan was the one who wanted to talk to Eric. Why should Eric be the one left hanging here? What an ass that Dylan.

Dylan sits down at his usual spot by the window and waits for Eric. He watches him work and smiles when their eyes meet. Eric never looks long enough to catch the smile.

When his coffee is ready, Eric approaches him. "Sit down," Dylan says. He hands Eric the piece of paper. 

"That simple?" 

Fuck. Eric understands the handwriting.

"Just write it down on some different piece of paper. I need this check." He praised himself for his quick thinking.

"Then why'd you write on it?"

"...don't need the other side," he said after a sip.

Eric got up. He is going to go back to work and never talk to Dylan's ass again. Or not. He just picked up a pen. He started scribling on his arm and Dylan exclaimed "No! Read it to me first." Eric raised an eyebrow at his urgency. "I want to make sure you write it correctly."

"Dylan six six six? With a small d?"

It is false. His name sounded better from Eric's lips than written down. Although the writing was very magestic.

"Why are you smiling like that? You're creepin' me out!"

Dylan's eyes widened. "Yeah, yeah, you wrote it right." Eric nodded and got back to work.

That night Dylan fell asleep with a smile on his face.

Chapter Text

Eric checks his AIM as he eats. He has a few messages from Nate, talking about how awful yesterday's shift was. He smiles at the other's pain and places the plate down to respond.

A name he doesn't recognise has also sent him a message. Hi Itz Dylan, it reads. I thought your user was dylan666, Eric manages to reply before his mother starts complaining that he's eating at the computer again.

He turns off the computer and walks down the stairs to the kitchen. When he's down in his room, he spends a little while looking for suitable pants to wear. Not too thin, but not thick enough to make him sweat excessively. If the weather broadcast his mother watched yesterday was to be trusted, today is going to be warmer than yesterday.

He settles for a black shirt and prepares himself to hear his mother ask "Are you going to school or a funeral?"

And there it is. As he is walking to the door she asks the million dollar question. Eric opts to ignore her.

His new boots are hard to get off. He is reminded of it while changing his shoes for more school-appropriate ones.

"Eric?" His gaze lifts to a man dressed in a long trench coat.

Eric scrunches his nose. Is this guy part of the gaywad club?

"What's up with that dress," he spits. Dylan rolls his eyes.

"I like wearing it."

"You like grabbing dicks too?"

"No?" He furrowes his eyebrows. "The fuck is up your ass?"

Eric turns around to put his boots in his locker "Why are you wearing that?"

"I've got nothing to do with those guys, man. I just like how my trench coat looks."

Eric pauses and turns around. "Okay."

"I was thinking... maybe we can play some games after school?"

"Nah man, I gotta go fetch some CDs."

"Actually, I've been meaning to buy some too."

Eric tries not to react. "You got a car?"

"Nah, not yet, man."

"I got eight periods. I'll meet you at the parking lot."

"Yeah, okay," he wipes nonexistent dust off his face and walks away.

Eric sighs and makes his way to his first period – math.

The smoke makes his throat dry. "Hurry the hell up. I ain't got all day."

Dylan smiles. "You really want those CDs, huh?"

"I gotta get there before some faggot hogs them all."

"Someone...like you?"

"Shut the fuck up before I shove that cigarette down your throat."

"Alright, alright," he lifts his hands up in surrender. The filter drops to the ground before it is smushed and the lava-like glow estinguished. Dylan follows Eric to the car.

Dylan places his backpack on top of his feet and adjusts the seatbelt height before putting it on.

"This is the shit I have to listen to," Eric says while turning the radio down.

"Don't you got other CDs?"

"Yeah, from middle school. I ain't listenin' to that."

Dylan looks out the window. "You'll drive me home, right?"

Eric doesn't answer, instead turning the radio back up.

"Asshole," Dylan mumbles.

"Damn, so it was their new album?"

"Yeah," Eric says, looking at the track list.

"'Spit Sperm'" Dylan reads the song name. "That's pretty gay." He says, peering over Eric's shoulder.

"Your trech coat is gay." Eric says walking away to look for another CD. "Reznor has songs way worse. Fucking 'Forkboy'. What the hell does that even mean?"

"It's not Reznor's song, retard," Dylan says.

"He was on the album. Might aswell be his song."

Dylan rolls his eyes as Eric looks for more KMFDM CDs. "The movie was good though. Mallory is so pretty."

"Yeah."

"Why the hell were you even at the concert if Reznor has shit songs?"

"Because my mom was using the computer."

"Oh, so you knew she'd be using the computer that day months beforehand, when you bought the tickets?"

"Shut the fuck up, man."

"Did mummsy not give her little boy any money?" Eric asks when he walks out with three items as opposed to none, like Dylan.

"You were at my job, dude."

"And you sucked so bad at it they fired you."

"I wasn't fired, asshole! And you're one to talk! You sit at my table more than you make coffee." Dylan counters and Eric flips him the bird.

"It's not your table, asshole."

"It's not yours either."

"You like Doom?"

Dylan stops laughing and thinks for a bit. He has played it, but he doesn’t really feel like playing games most of the time. "Yeah, I like it."

"I can show you my WADs."

Dylan smiles and nods. The shitty pop tune in the car is substituted with harsh guitar.

"Damn, they really shunned you out?"

"You tellin' me you dont live in a basement?"

Dylan's hand finds his way on Eric's shoulder. "I'm afraid your parents don't care about you."

Eric scoffs, but looks away as if soaking in the words. It makes Dylan cringe and he retracts his hand.

"So, where's the computer?" He asks, breaking Eric's glazed over stare.

"I'm not a millionaire, man. Don't keep the computer in my room," he says and places two CDs on his desk, keeping the third one in his hands.

"Ah, how could I forget," he smiles, but Eric doesn't look at him.

"Get the hell outta here," he gestures for Dylan to walk up the stairs.

The computer room is small and has no windows. It seems more like a pantry or a walk-in closet.

The keyboard has an orange object in between the E and D keys. "The fuck is that?" Dylan says picking it up. Its mushy and wet.

Eric takes it from Dylan's hands and tosses it in the bin. "Just a carrot from this morning."

"Ew, dude."

"It ain't that bad, calm down, you pussy," he said, booting up the computer.

When he put the CD in, it opened with what sounded like a gun from an advanced alien race. It was soon accompanied by German, guitar and bass. By the time Eric saw the orange man and red text, the chorus was playing again and Dylan was humming along to the guitar. "This isn't that bad, I didn't hear it at the concert."

"Was one of the first songs they played," Eric explains as he is clicking away.

"Seems like a bad idea. Shouldn't they keep it for last to keep people listening?"

"They're not the main event, so I doubt anyone would leave. Well, if they do, they're retarded." Dylan laughs. "Go down to my room and get a chair, you're pissing me off."

Chapter Text

"Iced latte and some muffins too, Mr. Eric," Dylan smiles.

"Harris," he corrects and doesn't even bother to write down the order.

Dylan nods and walks to a table that is well lit. They had met in computer class today. Eric wonders how they hadn't become friends sooner at the memory of them drawing the teacher with a mustache and a unibrow. A few warts portrayed with black dots were involved as well. She had always been a bitch to Eric and after seeing their take on her appearance, she was bound to be a bitch to Dylan too.

"Why, hello," Eric says to the blonde girl Dylan was with the other day. He could only hope she is aware of Eric's handsomeness compared to Dylan's.

"Hi, Eric," she says looking at his nametag. "What can you suggest me today?" she taps her fingers on the counter.

"Well, miss, I can suggest you a regular cappuccino. There's no risk with it. What you see is what you get."

"Hmm..." she lets out demonstratively. "Well, alright, Eric."

His name sounded sultry on her lips. He was captivated by every move they made.

"You know," she drew a circle on the counter, "Dylan told me about you."

His eyes widened. Dylan's name looked and sounded way better on her lips than Eric's did.

"I'm sure that can wait," Eric's manager said. It was the Mexican woman.

The blonde looks behind her, at the people in line. "Oh, of course."

The mature lady gives Eric a stern look and turns away. Eric rolls his eyes.

The blonde leaves half an hour later, yet Dylan remains. He is looking at Eric like always. As there is no line in front of him, Eric walks up to Dylan.

"Who the hell is she? There's no way she's your-"

"Robyn is my friend."

He closes his mouth and thinks for a bit. "You... told her about me?"

"Yeah. The fuck kind of a question is that?"

Eric's brows furrow. Who was Dylan to question him? "Robyn," he repeated.

"Trust me, she doesn’t want you," Dylan smiles.

"Like you'd know."

"You didn't even know her name up until a second ago!"

Eric scoffs and turns around. There is a middle-aged woman staring at him disapprovingly.

"You know," Dylan starts, pretending to pay attention to the teacher. "I would do a much better job making coffee than you do."

"Then why do you keep comin' back?"

"Nowhere to spend my money," he shrugs.

"Why work if you don't need money?"

"Get to hang out with Robyn."

Eric raises his eyebrows. "Maybe we should switch jobs."

Dylan takes a look at Eric's unmistakably flushed face and glazed over gaze. "She ain't into you," he reminds.

"Well, she sure flirts a lot for someone who 'ain't into' me."

"She's not flirting. She is talking."

Eric scoffs and turns to his work. She's not stupid, she knows what she's doing to him. But wait... "Ain't she say she got a boyfriend?"

Dylan debates if he should tell Eric the truth. He imagines Eric entering Blackjack's pizza just to shoot his shot with Robyn and, when she inevitably rejected him, he would do something dumb like lay on the ground with a rock in his hand and hold his breath so she doesn't notice his chest rising and falling, struggling to keep his laughter in. "Yeah. Happily taken."

"Then what's she doing talking to you alone here?"

"You are also taking to me alone here, Mr. Harris."

"Are you retarded? I don't ride dicks."

"And she does?" Dylan raises his eyebrows.

"Yes. Welcome to the world, buddy. Girls get action."

"Oh, and it's bad how?" Dylan asks, more so to see where the line is, not to defend Robyn.

He scrunches his nose. "They get all crumpled up like paper."

"I like crumpled paper. It has character and it's got a fun texture."

"You won't be sayin' that when your girl is covered in warts and leakin' filth."

"I like warts," Dylan laughs at the absurd lies coming out of his mouth.

"You're a fuckin' faggot, Dylan."

Dylan continues laughig because the warmth that circles around in his stomach at the sound of his name, begs to be let out into the air so it could potentially enter Eric's lungs and blood. Dylan chokes on his spit.

Chapter Text

Probably not the best idea to leave his hand wet like that, not to mention his sheets, but tommorrow is the weekend and he doesn't have a shift, so fuck it. Closing his eyes and forgetting about the sand-colored hair, he thinks about his day. Recalls popping off the cap of the pen he hated to admit he sometimes chews on, and scratching at the paper more and more until it formed a mildly amusing picture of Mrs. Miller with an unflattering amount of hair on her face (not that any amount was flattering. Hell, if Robyn had a mustache, Eric would not have allowed himself to or even considered tugging on his dick while thinking of her). It solicited a pleasant laugh from Dylan, whom the teacher had allowed to chanage seats next to Eric, thinking the former boy would be a good influence on the latter. Instead, when she walked over to investigate what was making the two students act out, she found a drawing of herself, unmistakably so, with a mustache, a few hairs on the chin and a united eyebrow. Eric laughs at it even now. Seeing her face redden and nose twitch was almost as satisfying as seeing Dylan grin before consequences slapped them both in the face in the form of yelling and shaming in front of the three pretty girls in that class.

Thinking of angry women, he remembers his manager and winces. He is now on thin ice, and if Dylan really wants to apply for a job at the orange madhouse Eric works at, Eric will have to suck up to her for his good words about Dylan to stick. Or maybe they can go the traditional way and just hand in Dylan's resume, not expecting special treatment. Probably not, as Eric needs some practice with women if he wants a chance with Robyn. His last cold approach didn't work at fucking all. To be fair, she was a bitch anyway and had a red zit on her face.

Eric pulls the blanket over his chest, hand sticking to the fabric. He could show Dylan the dead rat by the dumpsters and teach him how to sneak those muffins he likes. Most people don't know there are supposed to be four of them, so there is little risk. Hell, Eric even stole one of Dylan's muffins the first time, because Dylan was such a faggot back then. 

On the theme Dylan being a faggot, that trench coat he wears actually made him look taller, albeit a little bonkers in the face and heavier beneath the coat. Eric could imagine the looks of slight terror on people's faces as he walks the hallways of Columbine looking like the guy from Postal.

As Eric is showing Nate his new song collection, he is thinking about Dylan. He has scratched his The Downward Spiral disc, so he has to get a new one. The image of Eric's hand brushing against Dylan's one enters his mind and that's when he knows he needs to get back to reality (ironic, since he is holding Nate's provided joint).

"Alright, alright," Eric murmurs to himself as he opens AIM. His mind had been pestering him all morning about how Eric had to show him the finished WAD. Dylan had only seen the work in progress the first time he visited. Eric, being proud of his work, wanted to show him the beautiful halls of their school painted with the color red. As little revenge for the Robyn stuff, Eric placed Dylan as a former soldier in the game, so he could blast his head off. A weak little bitch, just like in real life. 

He, of course, wouldn't reveal this little detail to the boy.