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Fabian loves Riz. That isn’t the problem. Well, technically it is sort of a problem, depending on how you look at things like love and Fabian’s ability to form healthy relationships and his interest in getting his kisses in.
Specifically, the problem is that Fabian’s becoming more and more concerned that the Ball likes him, as like, more than a friend. Which shouldn’t be the end of the world. Fabian knows that friends get crushes on each other and start dating each other all the time. It’s normal, or whatever. But Fabian doesn’t- he isn’t- the Ball is his best friend, as loath as he was to admit it in freshman year. And he doesn’t want to ruin that, or change it.
But lately the Ball has started looking at Fabian. Like, staring at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish trying to decide whether it’s going to talk, or whatever. And then looking away quickly, hair whipping slightly under his little hat, and jumping into a loud and rapid-fire tangent about something unrelated. Most of which is pretty on par for the Ball, if Fabian’s honest, but there’s an energy to it. Like the Ball is waiting for the right time to admit something.
Fabian has seen the soap operas his Mama watches- the Young and the Hasted- he knows what it means when someone starts staring at you longingly. The Ball is, obviously, in love with him.
Which is. Well, it’s. The thing is that-
Fabian doesn’t like the Ball that way.
He’s thought about it. At length. Mulled over going on dates with the Ball, just the two of them. Hanging out at Riz’s office, going to movies, eating ice cream at Basrar’s- but without the other bad kids. He’s thought about kissing the Ball, superimposing his friend atop the pre existing fantasies he built around Aelwyn during sophomore year. And it’s just- it’s weird.
Fabian isn’t homophobic. Literally half of his friends are gay, or bisexual, or- when you’re here, you’re family, Kristen’s voice unhelpfully recommends in his mind- so he’s not homophobic. He loves his friends, and he’s happy for Ayda and Fig and Kristen and Tracker and Ragh and- Riz, he guesses, by default. He just. The idea of kissing Riz, of recoloring the way they hang out- their bro time, Fabian sprawled out in Riz’s spinny office chair while he reworks his current theory board, or playing fantasy Mario in Fabian’s room- makes something weird and uncomfortable squirm in his stomach.
But that’s not homophobia, right? That’s just- that’s just Fabian wanting to stay bros. Even if it ruins their friendship.
Fuck. Fabian doesn’t want to break Riz’s heart. The Ball is his best friend, and Fabian just wants things to stay like they are. He feels the same way about kissing Kristen, or Fig, or Adaine. It would be weird, like kissing his sister. (Almost literally, when it comes to Fig, Fabian thinks with a shudder.) They’re the bad kids. They rule the school already and they’re only juniors. It’s a friendship Fabian never thought he’d get to have, and the Ball is a huge part of that.
What if the Ball confesses, and Fabian says no, and the Ball hates him for it? What if Adaine and Kristen and everyone else also hate Fabian for breaking the Ball’s heart? What if he goes into his senior year the weird friendless loser everyone hates because he didn’t want to go out with the Ball?
This sucks. All the teen rom coms Fig watches lied, there isn’t anything fun or cool about being in love- not in love- with your best friend. It’s just uncomfortable and weird and has the potential to ruin everything.
The worry crawls under his skin and sits there like static, buzzing to life any time Riz smiles at him or pokes him in the ribs or frowns in Fabian’s direction like he’s thinking too hard. Things that used to happen without a second thought every day, and now Fabian can’t help but do a double take, or jump a little when they happen. Which then makes Riz do his little there’s-a-puzzle-to-solve-here frown at Fabian; and what if he thinks Fabian’s acting weird because he likes the Ball? So then Fabian acts more freaked out and Riz pays more attention and- it’s all just some horrifying positive feedback loop of weird unspoken feelings that makes Fabian feel like he’s perpetually falling down a set of stairs.
One day, after the six of them hang out at Seacaster, Adaine hesitates at the door, lagging behind Fig and Kristen running towards Jawbone’s fan idling outside. (Fabian had spent the whole time on the other side of the room from Riz, catching his little concerned looks out of the corner of his eye, like the Ball knew Fabian was avoiding him but couldn’t figure out why.) (Which just made the knot of guilt and anxiety in Fabian’s stomach pull tighter.) Fig yells something from the driveway, but Adaine just waves her hand vaguely at her through the doorway, gesturing for them to wait. She turns, fixing Fabian with a concerned and piercing stare. He swears her eyes glow a bit, which- unfair of her to use her oracular powers on her friends like that.
Adaine tilts her head, blinking, and then smiles at Fabian far too sympathetically. “Just talk to him, Fabian,” she offers, cryptic. “I think it’ll work out.”
Fabian opens his mouth to- say something. Argue. Ask for clarification. Ask for advice. Something. But Adaine steps out the door before he can think of a single word, closing the door firmly behind her.
“What,” Fabian breathes, still staring at the front door, “the fuck, Adaine.”
It’s bad enough that his best friend is in love with him, but now Fabian’s other friends are getting on the bandwagon too? The Elven Oracle telling him it’ll work out. As though that’s helpful information when it feels like Fabian’s life is on the precipice of shattering on the floor in front of him. He can’t decide which is worse: that Adaine saw Riz confessing and thought it would work out when Fabian rejected him, or that she saw their whole friend group breaking apart because of Fabian and is- what? Okay with it?
Fabian slumps forward, knocking his head against the wood of the front door. Maybe if he gives himself a door-based concussion he won’t have to deal with this. Maybe the Ball will see him spread out in his hospital bed with a bandage wrapped dashingly around his forehead and think, god he’s a dumbass, my crush is wholeheartedly misplaced and I don’t want to ruin our friendship.
Probably not, Fabian decides. Riz has seen him in far more embarrassing and compromising positions than a self-inflicted door-concussion. It’s what makes the Ball such a good friend, that he doesn’t care about vapid, surface level stuff like that. He doesn’t even seem to care about Fabian’s looks. Fabian has sauntered into Mordred or the Ball’s office sweaty after dance class or sword practice or Bloodrush more times than he can count, and the Ball never seems to notice or care. Even when Gorgug comes in right behind Fabian, looking equally sweaty and shining and laughing with Fabian; the Ball always raises a hand in greeting and keeps his head buried in whatever he’s researching.
Obviously the Ball is attracted to Fabian’s personality, which is- well. Also understandable, Fabian supposes, if a little less expected than being desired for his stunning good looks.
It all, inevitably, comes to a head when Fabian gets a crystal message from Riz- only Riz, not on the Bad Kidz group chat, or the Bardy Boyz group chat, or the Crab King group chat, or the Fuck Goldenrod group chat- in the middle of the night.
Hey Fabian can you swing by my office? I want to talk to you about something. Riz.
And then, five seconds later.
NOTHING’S WRONG I’M NOT IN DANGER OR BEING KIDNAPPED AGAIN I JUST WANT TO TALK. Riz.
Fabian blinks at his phone. His heart hammers like a swollen gland in his throat, like something he’s going to choke on. For the second time, he considers slamming his head into the nearest available door in favor of a concussion-flavored excuse. But Fabian swallows against it. He’s Fabian Aramais Seacaster. He can gently rebuff his best friend’s romantic advances and not ruin their friendship and adventuring party, right?
A text from Adaine pops up at the top of his screen, annoyingly convenient: just be honest with him, Fabian <3.
Fuck.
With shaking hands, Fabian types out a reply to the Ball.
ok
omw w the hangman
He rolls out of bed. Enjoys lying face down on the floor of his bedroom for a moment, before crawling to his feet. Fabian shoves on his sneakers and reaches out to the Hangman mentally, feeling it roll out of the garage and around to the front of the house as he walks down the stairs. He grabs his varsity jacket off the hook as he opens the door, slinging it over his shoulders. Fabian stops, hesitating on the steps as the jacket settles around him- abruptly remembering he stole Gorgug’s jacket after practice yesterday. The jacket is (bafflingly, disconcertingly) two sizes bigger and smells like Gorgug. (Fabian doesn’t think he ever realized Gorgug had a smell- much less one he recognized- until now.) Weirdly, it helps calm down the riot of dread in Fabian’s stomach. It almost feels like Gorgug is there, wrapping his arms around Fabian’s shoulders, helping ground him. Fabian closes his eyes, shoves his hands into the pockets, and takes a deep breath.
“Okay.”
Master? The Hangman rumbles in his mind. Are you- where are we going?
“To the Ball’s,” Fabian answers, climbing onto the Hangman.
It’s a journey they’ve made hundreds of times, at least. It’s not uncommon for Riz to text one or all of them- often unrealizing in the middle of the night- on the cusp of a breakthrough. And then everyone summoned shows up to his office, hears out his theory, and then bullies him into putting down the coffee and getting some sleep.
This isn’t that, and Fabian knows the Hangman can tell. But thankfully, neither of them say anything. They make the drive in strained silence; it goes by both much slower than normal, and much faster than Fabian wants. Eventually, they pull up in front of Riz’s building. Fabian hesitates again, hating how uncertain this whole thing makes him, the Hangman rumbling a comforting growl under him.
“Okay, Hangman,” Fabian mutters, finally climbing off. “Wish me luck. Hopefully I’ll still have friends tomorrow.”
You’ll always have friends, Master, the Hangman replies immediately, you’re Fabian Seacaster.
“Right,” Fabian says, walking up the sidewalk. He wishes that it was still as comforting as the Hangman thinks it is. He lets himself into the building and hikes up the stairs, clenching his key to Riz’s office in his palm the whole way up. The frosted glass is clean, as always, when Fabian gets to Riz’s floor. Riz Gukgak: Licensed Detective. He swallows, and with the hand holding the key, knocks lightly on the glass. Fabian doesn’t know exactly why, but it feels weird to let himself into Riz’s office, tonight of all nights.
The door opens immediately, the Ball smiling nervously up at Fabian for a moment before stepping back to let him in.
“You have a key, don’t you?” The Ball asks, and Fabian nods in answer, not elaborating. He bee-lines for Riz’s office chair and sits down, precariously crossing his legs on it so he spins kind of ambiently for a moment before grabbing onto Riz’s desk to steady himself. The Ball is still standing by the door, one hand on the doorknob, peering at Fabian.
Fabian remembers growing up on his father’s ship, how sometimes they would find wads of rope balled up in corners or cabinets, tangled beyond comprehension. Bill used to make Fabian sit and try and unwind the ropes, hoping it would teach his son how to make something useful out of something ruined, how patience is just as important as strength though harder to come by. It didn’t work. Fabian doesn’t remember successfully ever untangling any of the ropes his father assigned him- as far as he knows, they’re still shoved in a closet somewhere, waiting for him to dig them back out and solve them.
If the knots in those ropes were difficult, the one twisting ever tighter in Fabian’s stomach is impossible.
Slowly, the Ball closes the door to his office and walks the length of the room towards Fabian. There’s something careful on Riz’s face, confidence pasted over terror with heavy lumps of glue that haven’t dried yet. It makes Fabian wonder what he looks like. Whether the Ball can tell how Fabian is feeling. Whether his own terror is as obvious as Riz’s.
“Fabian.” The Ball has his hands folded together tightly in front of his chest. Some odd approximation of formality or maturity. His voice shakes a little and his eyes jump from Fabian to the desk to Fabian to the windows and back to Fabian. Always back to Fabian. The Ball’s gaze like a dart, landing straight into the bull’s eye of Fabian’s chest every time, pinning him in place. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while.”
“I know,” Fabian moans, like a wounded animal, “the Ball, I know-”
“And I know that it might be, I don’t know, weird, but- wait what?” The Ball is staring at him, eyes wide. His hands drop from protectively clenched in front of his chest to hang at his sides.
“I know, and I’m sorry, but I don’t- I don’t want to ruin our friendship, the Ball, but I can’t-”
“Oh.” Riz’s voice is cold. He’s stopped looking around the room, eyes firmly pinned on Fabian. “I didn’t know that you felt- I thought you’d be. Huh. I don’t want to ruin our friendship, either, Fabian.” And, oh. The Ball is mad. “I didn’t think that was in question. I thought you’d be- I don’t know. Human about this?”
“The Ball- Riz- you have to understand, I love you, I just don’t- feel that way about… you know. I tried, I wanted to, but I can’t.”
“What the fuck do you mean you tried? Did you have to try with Fig? Or with Kristen? Or is it just me? The fucking Ball. Always the third wheel, always the weirdo little outsider. I thought you were going to be different, Fabian. I thought we were best friends.”
“W- we are.” Fabian feels like he’s falling apart at the seams. This is worse than any of the hundred different ways he imagined this happening. He never pictured the Ball looking quite so hurt. “That’s why, Riz, you’re my best friend-”
“Then act like it, Fabian. I know you’re straight and whatever, but I never thought you’d be bigoted about this-”
“I’m not homophobic!” Fabian screeches, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically. “I’m not! I don’t mind the idea of you kissing guys- I don’t even mind the idea of me kissing guys, I just don’t want to get my kisses in with you, the Ball, I’m sorry!”
Silence hangs like a lead sheet over the office.
Riz stares at him, mouth hanging open. Fabian pants, having stood up from the office chair at some point in their shouting match.
“What?” Riz asks, voice small.
“I don’t have feelings for you like that,” Fabian manages, feeling like he has to throw the words up; spitting them out onto the floor like phlegm that lays on the linoleum.
“No. What you said about- me kissing guys? Getting my kisses in?” Riz sounds hollow, a dull simulacrum of Fabian’s best friend. His chest aches- he did this, he broke Riz’s heart, he’s the reason the Ball sounds so baffled and hurt and quiet.
“I’m sorry, the Ball-”
“No, I’m not- Fabian I’m not gay.”
“I don’t- okay?? I’m not biphobic, whatever, the Ball, what I’m saying is-”
“No, no- Fabian. I’m not. I’m not- into guys at all. Or- people. Dating. Kissing. Whatever you want to call it. I’m-” Riz swallows- “I’m asexual. Is what I wanted to tell you. So. There it is.”
“You’re- what? You’re not trying to get your kisses in? You’re not- in love with me?”
Riz boggles at him. “In love with you?” He echoes.
Fabian feels his face heat up, a horrified, embarrassed flush crawling down his ears and across his face. “Yes? I thought- you were always looking at me, and smiling, and- don’t look at me like that, the Ball, I’ve seen movies, and tv shows I know what it looks like when someone likes someone.”
Riz exhales, a sharp, bewildered sound that’s almost shaped like a laugh: hah. “So you- that’s why you’ve been so weird? Because you thought I had, like, a crush on you?” He sounds almost amused now, and Fabian wants to melt into the crust of the earth even more than he did two minutes ago.
“Yes? It’s not- it’s not crazy to think someone could like me, the Ball, don’t laugh.”
“I’m sorry-” Riz coughs a shocked chuckle into his palm- “I just. That’s really funny, Fabian. You’ve been freaking out this whole time, thinking I was in love with you, and I was trying to figure out how to tell you I’m not in love with anyone. And I’m not going to be. And I don’t get the whole- getting your kisses in and having crushes on people, thing. I feel like I need to reiterate: I’m ace. I feel like that might have gotten kind of. Buried. In this whole-” Riz gestures awkwardly between himself and Fabian- “thing.”
“No, yes, you mentioned, that’s- Riz, that’s wonderful. Thank you for telling me.” Fabian scrambles in his brain for the things he heard Kristen lecturing about on what to say when someone comes out to you. “Uh. I love you and you’re my best friend, and I’m happy for you.”
“Right.” Riz smiles, tension leaking from his shoulders. “Uh, good. Cool. That’s… more how I was hoping this whole thing would go, if I’m honest. I wasn’t really expecting the whole… yeah.”
“Honestly I’m kind of-” Fabian hesitates, sitting back down in the spinny chair and tucking his hands under his thighs- “is it bad if I say I’m glad you’re not in love with me? I’ve spent the last couple weeks trying to figure out how to let you down without breaking your heart, or making everyone mad at me, and… yeah. This is a lot better news.”
“Yeah,” Riz breathes. “I’m… I’m glad you’re cool about it, I was kind of worried you’d- I don’t know. Some people are assholes, and you’re my best friend Fabian, I didn’t want you to hate me.”
“I’d never be an asshole about something like this, the Ball. I paid attention during Kristen’s powerpoint. She said all that stuff about demisexuality and the gray-ace spectrum, and sex-neutral versus sex-repulsed and…” Fabian trailed off, watching a dark green blush flood Riz’s face. “All of that. So.”
“Right. Yeah, cool, uh. Yeah. So I’m ace and aro. That’s what feels… good. I’ve talked with, like, my dad some, and Jawbone, and Adaine, and- yeah. It’s good.”
“Good.” Fabian smiles at Riz, and for the first time in weeks, feels a weight lift off of him. A barbel of tension he didn’t know he swallowed, dissolving in his stomach.
“Wait. You don’t-” a new shade of concern creeps across Riz’s face- “you don’t have a crush on me, do you?”
“No!” Fabian says quickly. Then, for emphasis: “No. Sorry, is that rude? I don’t like you, or, rather, like-like you, Riz.”
“I don’t like-like you either, Fabian.”
“Cool.”
“Yeah,” Riz breathes, shaky but smiling. “Cool. Do you want to hear about the new theory I’ve been working on about the-” he leans in closer, stage whispering- “Night Yorb?”
“Yeah, the Ball,” Fabian answers, “is that Gilear on your white board? Is he the chosen one?”
Riz launches into his theory, and it’s good. Easier between them than it has been in weeks, like a wall between them has been broken down and Fabian can just breathe and talk to his best friend again.
Then, five minutes later, looking up from his theory board mid-explanation, “Hey, Fabian, what did you mean about not minding the idea of you kissing guys?”
Three days later, after school, Fabian lets himself into Riz’s office with his key. He slams the door behind him and slumps down onto the floor in the middle of the room with a dramatic huff.
Riz, to his credit, does not seem phased.
“The Ball. I have something to tell you.” Fabian feels Riz’s eyes land on him. He sighs, long suffering. “I’m not in love with you. Are you going to hold that over me forever?”
He hears Riz’s shirt shift in a shrug, then, nonchalantly, “Not forever, just until it stops being funny.”
Fabian considers that. “Fair enough. I am, however, having a crisis.” Riz hums in agreement, and Fabian lets himself flop fully to the floor, protecting the back of his head with his arm. He drapes the other arm dramatically over his eyes, making a kind of arm-head-arm sandwich. “Riz, what would you say, if I told you I was maybe perhaps not entirely heterosexual.” He hears the scratch of Riz’s pen stop.
“Uh. I would say I’m happy for you?” Fabian opens his eyes, moving his arm enough to peek out at Riz. He’s standing very perfectly still and pointedly not looking at Fabian. His knuckles are white around his crystal. Fabian groans.
“Fig already told you?”
“She didn’t- tell me in those words. But, uh, yeah. Pretty much.” Fabian groans again, for emphasis. “You told Fig, Fabes, what did you think was going to happen?”
No, yeah, that was fair. She probably texted Riz- if not also Ayda and half of the Seven as soon as she left his house.
The whole thing was the culmination of three days of spiraling- on top of multiple prior weeks of slightly tangential spiraling, so it’s hard to put a finger on where it started. Looking back, there are a lot of clues that feel kind of glaringly obvious. The buzzy feeling Fabian always ascribed to jealousy while standing in the Bloodrush locker room. The way warmth always effused through his chest when Ragh talked about being gay. How he and Gorgug traded varsity jackets more often than they wore their own. How he spent half of freshman year thinking about the way Gorgug kissed him- and the other bad kids- that one time. How Fabian had been more torn up about the idea of Riz, specifically, being in love with him, regardless of the fact that they were both guys. How it had hurt, in a terrifyingly deep place in his chest, when Fabian wondered if he could be homophobic- how wrong it felt to consider.
“So. I am. Bisexual.”
“Yeah, I- sorry, Fabian, I might have guessed by the way you said you wanted to kiss dudes last week?”
“The Ball!”
“Sorry. Thank you for telling me, and for prefacing you’re not in love with me. I appreciate it. And you. Happy?”
“Yes. Sort of. I don’t know.”
There is a dull click as Riz puts down his pen on his desk. Then, the shuffle of his socks on the floor as he walks over and settles on the ground next to Fabian. Gently, the Ball puts his hand on Fabian’s shoulder. “Fabian? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have joked like that. I know what it’s like to- to come out to someone you really care about, dude.”
“It’s not even that.”
Fabian can hear Riz thinking, pulling on the red strings in his mind, trying to figure out what Fabian means. “What… is it?” The Ball asks, pitching his voice so high at the end that it squeaked.
“I think… I am in love with Gorgug,” Fabian declares, probably too loud for an apartment building at 4pm in the afternoon; but if they live next to the Ball they’re probably used to it.
“Oh,” Riz says, unsurprised, “okay.”
“Wh- the Ball.” Fabian rockets into a sitting position, staring at his friend in utmost betrayal. “How did you know? I didn’t even tell Fig.”
“Uh.” The Ball quirks a guilty smile. “You didn’t really… have to? She and Kristen have been texting about when you’re gonna tell us, like, all week.”
Fabian groans again, even more long suffering, and flops back against the floor. “So everyone knows but me?” He sits back up. “Does Gorgug know?”
The Ball shakes his head quickly, “No, no, I don’t think so. But Fabian, have you thought about talking to him?”
Fabian scoffs. “You sound like Adaine, the Ball. The last time I tried to talk to someone about feelings was- well. You. And we both know how that went. No, I’m just going to wallow in my feelings forever.”
“Productive,” Riz mutters under his breath. Fabian wholeheartedly ignores him.
“God, the Ball, is this karma for trying to reject you? Now I’m the one in love with my other best friend?”
“I don’t think that’s-” The Ball sighs, cutting himself off. “Fabian, dude, you’ve gotta be normal about this; at least, if you’re not going to tell him. If you get all jumpy around Gorgug like you were with me last week, he’s gonna think you hate him.”
Fabian moves his arm and blinks up at Riz, concern filling his chest like cold water. “What? Hate him? The Ball, you didn’t think I hated you, did you?”
The Ball shrugs. “No, not really, not until you tried to reject my romantic advances.” He jabs a sharp finger into Fabian’s side, making both of them laugh. Fabian swats his hand away, and pushes himself upright again.
“I don’t want Gorgug to hate me.”
“He doesn’t, Fabian, he’s your friend. And if you’re not going to tell him how you feel, you need to figure out how to be normal around him. Or you need to find out whether he feels the same way.”
Fabian raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “And how am I supposed to do that?”
“Just, like, hang out with him. I don’t know how flirting works! Just stop getting all your romantic advice from your mom’s elvish soap operas. It’s a nonstarter.”
“Yes,” Fabian answers, dry as the Red Wastes, “I think I’ve learned that much.”
“Like. Go get ice cream or something as friends, and see how it feels- see how Gorgug acts, or whatever. Take notes, maybe?”
“Ball, I don’t-”
“Yeah, okay, maybe that isn’t how dates work or whatever. You’re the one who doesn’t want to talk to him.”
“Fine! Fine.” Fabian digs his crystal out of his pocket. Dictating as he types, Fabian reads aloud, “Gorgug, do you want to get ice cream at Basrar’s after your rehearsal tonight? There.” He presses the send button before he can think too much about what he just did. “Happy?”
Riz is watching him- not because he’s in love with Fabian, thank god, but because he likes to stare at his friends when they do something weird- but eventually he nods. “Sure, Fabian. Have fun on your not-date hang out, dude.”
Fuck, Fabian realizes, flopping back onto the hard floor of Riz’s office, he’s going to get ice cream with Gorgug. Alone.
“I’m going to be so normal about this,” he mutters to himself, ignoring the fond little chuckle he hears coming from the Ball.
Gorgug sits, knee bouncing beneath the table. He feels kind of silly, perched on the vinyl seat with his hands folded atop the table. He kind of wishes Basrar let him light a real candle on the table, instead of the plastic one Fig prestidigitated for him, but it’s better than nothing, Gorgug guesses. The ice cream shop is empty, save for Basrar quietly puttering around in the back room. He was nice enough to close the shop early for the night for Gorgug, so it’s just the two of them until Fabian gets there.
Well, technically Gorgug knows Fig and Kristen are around the corner outside the building, equal parts snooping and waiting to be emotional support; but they promised to give Gorgug privacy, and only interfere in cases of an emergency. It’s kind of nice, knowing they’re close. That if something goes wrong or gets weird, he can text Fig and they’ll come slamming through the door.
Gorgug exhales slowly through his mouth, tapping his fingers against the side of the table. He kind of wishes he brought his sticks, so he could try and drum out some of the nervous energy coursing through his body, but settles for replicating the new beat Fig wanted for a song she’s writing with his hands. Every five seconds Gorgug glances up at the door to see if Fabian is walking up, just in case he didn’t hear the little bell ring his arrival.
Really, Gorgug doesn’t have any reason to be this nervous- Fabian is the one who asked if he wanted to get ice cream at Basrar’s tonight, not the other way around. But when he freaked out at band rehearsal with Fig, staring down his phone and trying not to go into a Rage out of sheer panic- she called Kristen and they helped him figure out what to do.
Gorgug, do you want to get ice cream at Basrar’s after your rehearsal tonight?
“It’s one hundred percent a date,” Fig said, looking up from Gorgug’s crystal with a glint in her eye.
“You think so?” Gorgug asked, catching his crystal in mid-air as Fig flung it back in his direction.
“Abso-fuckin’-lutely, dude. Wait, you want it to be a date, right?”
“Uh.” Gorgug’s face heated up. “I mean. I wouldn’t mind if it wasn’t not a date?”
Fig squinted at him, suspicious. “Ok. Weirdo.”
“But what if it’s not a date? What if Fabian just wants to get ice cream- like, as friends? Pals? Buddies.”
“He could have texted the group chat,” Kristen interjected. “But he didn’t.”
“Honestly, half of what makes a date a date is, like intention.” Fig said, picking at random chords on her bass. “If you go into it all hetero bro about it, it’ll just be a hang out between guys being dudes. But if you make it a date, then it will be one.”
“But what if it’s weird?”
Fig shrugged, “You and Fabian are tight, if it’s weird, it’ll be weird for like a week, and then you’ll get over it. We’re the bad kids, dude, we can do anything.”
“A little misplaced homoeroticism between dudes is nothing to get stressed about,” Kristen added wisely.
“Right. Uh, okay, how do I make it a date, then? We’ve gotten ice cream a hundred times.” Fig and Kristen glanced at each other conspiratorially before turning to Gorgug with identical grins.
And now, Gorgug’s sitting alone in a quiet, dim Basrar’s ice cream parlor with a fake candle on the table wearing a blazer.
(If it’s a date, dude, you’ve gotta look hot, Fig said, shoving the formal jacket over his shoulders.)
He runs his fingers through his hair again, pushing it where Kristen had gelled it off of his forehead. He checks the time, looking down his crystal and making sure Fabian hasn’t texted him anything else since Gorgug told him he was heading to Basrar’s after rehearsal ended. (Technically, rehearsal ended early, after Fabian first texted him, but Gorgug didn’t want to tell Fabian he’d been setting up a date this whole time.)
Then, just as he’s looking down at his phone, Gorgug hears the bell on the door jingle.
He whips his head up to see Fabian standing in the doorway, and Gorgug’s heart jumps into double time.
It’s just- look. Gorgug is a simple guy, okay? He loves his friends, he’s here to have a good time and to make sure people are happy and safe. But there are still times when he thinks he’s going to wake up one morning and find himself back at the beginning of freshman year, awkward and angry and friendless. Sometimes it feels crazy that Gorgug has such good friends that love him- friends like Fabian. They’re in the same adventuring party, on the Bloodrush team together, they’ve saved the world multiple times- and still Fabian will take Gorgug’s breath away at the most inconsequential times. When Gorgug murmurs a joke under his breath and Fabian hears and laughs at it- his smile lighting up his whole face. When they come in from Bloodrush and Fabian sits down on the bench in the locker room, a towel draped over the back of his neck while he unties his cleats. When he swings his arm over Gorgug’s shoulder on Bad Kids movie nights, all six of them piled together and still Fabian always ends up pressed against Gorgug’s side.
Gorgug was- is- good with just Fabian’s friendship. Never let himself think it could be anything more than that until recently- when Fabian’s gaze started lingering on Gorgug just a beat longer than anyone else. When he started catching Fabian smiling out of the corner of his eye at him, even though Gorgug didn’t say anything. Little things Gorgug noticed, recognized. Growing little seeds of hope in his chest.
And then- now. A date; hopefully.
Fabian’s standing in the doorway, the door still open beside him, staring in frozen shock at Gorgug. Which, maybe should be confusing if Gorgug doesn’t feel the same way, looking at Fabian. He’s underdressed, compared to Gorgug’s blazer, but he doesn’t mind. Fabian is wearing Gorgug’s varsity jacket. It’s baggy around the shoulders, and Fabian’s got his hands clenched in the too-long sleeves, and it’s got Gorgug’s name and number embroidered on the front breast. He knew, intellectually, that Fabian had his jacket- they were always accidentally trading them back and forth- but it was different to know it, and to see Fabian wearing it. Gorgug’s name hangs over his heart like a promise.
“Uh, hi.” Gorgug scrambles to his feet.
“Gorgug?”
“Yeah?”
“What is- what are you?”
Gorgug’s face burns under Fabian’s unwavering stare. “Uh, right, well, you asked- I thought- ice cream?”
Basrar appears in the dining area in a puff of cold air at the mention of ice cream. He looks between the two of them, beaming as he ushers Fabian further into the shop, letting the door finally jingle closed behind him. “Ah, wonderful, Fabian! What ice creams do you boys want tonight?” He winks at Gorgug.
Fabian is still unnervingly, uncharacteristically silent.
“Uh, yeah, could I get a chocolate banana milkshake?” Gorgug says, trying to decide whether he should let Fabian sit down in their booth first, or whether Fabian is waiting for him. He’s still staring at Gorgug, jaw slack, knuckles pale around the sleeves of his- Gorgug’s- jacket. “Fabian?” He prompts, gently.
Fabian blinks, hard, and then jerks his gaze off of Gorgug. He glances between Basrar, their candlelit table, the empty restaurant, and down at the varsity jacket he’s wearing before his gaze falls back onto Gorgug with the weight of a bloodrush tackle.
“Uh. Ice cream. Right, yes. Basrar, a banana split?”
“No strawberry ice cream?” Basrar asks, and Fabian smiles at him with something like relief.
“Yes, thank you.”
Basrar pats them both on the shoulder- the sensation more like a snowball splatting over your coat than a pat, but reassuring nonetheless- and whisks himself away with another wink in Gorgug’s direction.
“Uh, should we…?” Gorgug pats the top of the booth with his palm.
“What?”
“Uh.” Gorgug slides as gracefully as he can into the side of the booth he was sitting on, and then gestures towards the other side. “Did you want to…? Or,” his face heats up further, “I guess you could…” Gorgug slides to the far end of the seat and pats the space he made beside him. “If you wanted?”
Fabian stares at him. Blinks once, twice, like something out of a children's cartoon. Gorgug half expects to hear a kind of blink, blink foley sound like from Fantasy Looney Tunes.
Then, “Is this a date?” Fabian blurts, leaning over the table at Gorgug. There’s a desperation in his face, and Gorgug can’t tell whether it’s hope or horror.
“Yeah?” Gorgug murmurs, scanning Fabian’s face. His fingers itch with the urge to text Fig- either an SOS call or just for advice. “I mean, I thought it- I hoped it was?”
“Oh,” Fabian says, more an exhale than an actual word. He slumps a little bit, holding himself up by his palm flat on the table as his head hangs down for a beat. Then, a wheezing, choking sound as Fabian’s spine begins to shake. Gorgug jerks forward, hand outstretched- but he can’t tell whether Fabian is laughing or crying.
Honestly, he doesn’t know which option is worse.
“Fabian?”
“Sorry,” Fabian chokes out, finally lifting his head, “I just- I wasn’t expecting-”
“Are you okay?” Gorgug asks, because the whole last five minutes have been equal parts baffling and concerning; and Gorgug’s own feelings aside, what’s more important right now is whether Fabian is okay.
“Uh.” Finally, Fabian slides into the booth- on the opposite side from Gorgug, which is good, it’s fine, that’s what he expected- “yeah, yes. Yeah. I’m okay. I just-” he breaks off into that weird, hyperventilating choking sound again. This time, at least, Gorgug can see Fabian’s face. It’s laughter. A giddy, wild-eyed laugh that sparks a tiny hope anew in Gorgug’s stomach. “Ahhh! I wasn’t expecting this to be a date?”
“But didn’t you-”
“But that’s good,” Fabian says quickly, talking over Gorgug. “I was freaking out to Riz this afternoon about how I’m bisexual, and how I’m in love with you, and how I was resigned to just living in my heartbreak forever; but, yes, good, date. Good. I’m normal.”
“Uh.” Gorgug feels a ridiculous smile draw over his face. How I’m in love with you.
“What? Oh.” Fabian’s face falls as he remembers what he said. “Uh, I mean, what I meant was-”
“Fabian, Fabes, it’s cool,” Gorgug says quickly. He goes so far as to reach out and grab Fabian’s hand across the table. It’s weird, they’ve touched and even held hands more times than Gorgug can count over the course of their friendship- but this feels different. And, given how Fabian freezes and glances rapidly between Gorgug’s face and their clasped hands, Fabian feels it too. “Yeah, um, I’m in love with you too. So.”
“As, like, best friends?”
This is it. This is Gorgug’s last chance to dig himself out of this hole. He’s not the best at reading people, he knows that. The whole are-you-my-dad debacle of freshman year kind of proves it. But Gorgug knows Fabian. And he feels good about this. So he tightens his fingers around Fabian’s, swallows his nerve, and doubles down. “As, like, dating. Or whatever.”
“Oh. Cool.”
“Cool?”
Fabian wraps his other hand around Gorgug’s, so his hand is sandwiched between Fabian’s warm, calloused palms. “Very cool, dude. I kind of realized yesterday that I’ve been in love with you- in like, a gay way- for a while now. So.”
“Okay.” Gorgug’s face feels like it’s going to slough off from how hard he’s smiling. His world narrows down to Fabian’s face, grinning at him, and the point of warmth that was their combined hands. “It’s good we’re finally on the same page, then.”
“Yeah,” Fabian breathes, “uh, so, did you-”
Basrar appears in another swirl of icy magic, depositing their ice cream on the table before disappearing. Gorgug and Fabian both break apart, shooting twin awkward smiles at Basrar as the cloud of cold mist dissipates.
Gorgug grabs his milkshake, dragging it across the table towards him and takes a huge sip. Suddenly, the reality of this being a date slams him over the head, leaving him dizzy with the metaphorical concussion. What do people even do on dates? When he and Zelda were together, they mostly just hung out with their other friends or hung out in their rooms and listened to music. Thinking back, Gorgug can count the number of times they actually went out in almost two years of dating on one hand- which is probably a red flag he should have noticed sooner. Either way, it’s left him sorely unprepared for like, a real date with someone he likes. What is he supposed to say? Do they talk about the things they normally do? Is there a special script for first dates that Gorgug doesn’t know about? He slurps his milkshake quickly through the straw, grasping for something to say when-
“Ow, god, fuck-” Brain freeze.
“Gorgug?” Fabian asks, looking up from his sundae, “Are you-” he breaks off when he sees Gorgug cradling the front of his head. It’s ridiculous- Gorgug trying so hard to avoid saying the wrong thing that he gives himself a brain freeze- and it’s enough that it finally shatters the awkward uncertainty that was hanging over both of them. Fabian bursts into laughter, and Gorgug follows right behind him. It reminds Gorgug why he’s here- Fabian is one of his best friends. He’s seen Gorgug at his best and at his worst, and he’s here (on a date, they’re on a date) anyway. They already had the weird making sure they’re still on the same page conversation; there’s not much else Gorgug can do to make things go wrong.
“I’m good,” he answers through his laughter, reaching out to recapture Fabian’s hand. “I’m great.”