You know the drill - I take no credit for the characters, these are real people and I mean no disrespect, just borrowing them for some light-hearted fun, etc, etc.
Published on AO3 a while back, but this is this story's first appearance on Wattpad. Enjoy!
**
Adam is just sitting down for lunch when he spots the new guy. There have been whisperings all morning, mainly concerning the fact that he may or may not have a seriously country accent, and that he may or may not be eight foot tall.
That last part, Adam can see right now, was an exaggeration. Fucking hell, the guy is tall though. They’re only in senior year, but Adam stands at six foot, and this guy’s got to have a good few inches on him.
“Yo Carson.” Adam elbows the guy sitting next to him in the ribs, eyes still tracking the new guy around the room. “You heard anything about the new kid?”
Carson seems to know everything about everyone, a natural side effect of being the friendliest senior in the school. He shrugs. “Yeah, sure. Had a history class with the guy earlier. Why d’you care?” Adam shrugs, gaze falling back to his food.
Honestly, he’s not exactly sure why he cares. There’s something vaguely intriguing though, something he can’t necessarily pinpoint. And yes, Adam is purposefully ignoring the fact that, in all likelihood, this is probably further indication of the fact that he’s really starting to lean further towards gay than he is straight.
He ignores it further for the moment, falls back into the easy conversation that he was in the middle of before the new guy had made his entrance.
*
It’s not until a business class a couple of days later that Adam really thinks about the new guy again. He’s standing right next to the table Adam is tucked into, backpack slung over his shoulder and pointing at the empty chair next to him. He’s wearing the exact same thing he was wearing the first time Adam had caught sight of him, and why Adam’s noticed that isn’t a question he’s going to visit right now.
“That seat taken?”
Adam looks up into the bright blue eyes, pulls his pen from where it has strayed over to the other side of the desk. “Uh, no. Go ahead.” The guy settles in next to him, and fully aware that he still doesn’t even know what he’s called, Adam turns to introduce himself. “Uh, I’m Adam. You’re the new kid, right?”
The guy looks across, a strand of his curly hair falling out of place for a moment. “Yeah. Blake, Blake Shelton.” Adam forces away the smile at the guy’s accent. That part hadn’t been an exaggeration. The guy sounds like something straight out of Brokeback Mountain. And Adam nearly face palms right there, because could he have picked a worse movie to start drawing comparisons from? On the second encounter with this guy, Adam’s pretty much ready to admit that there’s a certain…physical attraction. While Adam is comfortable with his sexuality, it doesn’t mean he’s living under the assumption that any guy he sets his eyes on will automatically feel the same way. He puts his own thoughts aside when he realizes that new guy -- Blake -- is talking to him. “You must be the kid everyone idolizes, am I right?”
Adam frowns, ignoring the entrance that their teacher has just made. “What d’you mean?”
“I mean you got the whole rockstar thing going on. The stupid-ass skinny jeans, the dirt-smudged tee; you’re that guy; the one that every guy wants to be, and the one that every girl wants to go out with. We had one of you back at my old place.”
Adam’s pretty sure his mouth must be hanging open a little right now, because who the fuck says stuff like that? Who the fuck is seriously that rude? But the weird thing is, Blake is still wearing a small smile, like everything he just said is normal social etiquette; even worse than that is the dimples, because for whatever stupid-ass reason, it’s still kind of charming.
Adam has absolutely no idea what he’s thinking, none at all, when the next words tumble out of his mouth. Maybe it’s the sudden rush of anger, or the (completely rational) burst of fury, but it’s still nothing but insane.
“Who the hell do you think you are, you son of a bitch? You think you got me all figured out by applying some generic formula to exactly who you think I should be?” Blake says nothing, does nothing, and Adam’s just searching for something to even surprise the guy, now. “In case you hadn’t noticed, sunshine, we’re not in Kansas anymore, and it’s not just the girls who wanna date me.” Nothing. Adam is talking in shouted whispers, trying not to attract the attention of those around them. “I’m not some stereotype, alright, and not that it’s any of your business, but I’m bisexual. So let me know how that fits in with the nice little picture you’ve painted yourself.”
Adam doesn’t wait for a response. He gets out of his chair, moves a couple of rows back, and spends the rest of the class cursing himself for that entire conversation, and the guy that had provoked him into it.
And then he spends the next week, freaking out about the possibility that Blake Shelton may well have told half the school about his little revelation. He’s not sure why he cares; Carson knows. Christina knows. Quite a lot of people know, and he’s never hidden it. But there’s something that makes him uncomfortable about the possibility of this guy going around and talking to people about it. Adam’s not an idiot, he knows that it’s not exactly unusual for people from Shelton’s part of the country to take offence at same-sex relationships, and the fact that this guy might be going around mocking him behind his back, it riles him.
So he sits with Carson at lunch, makes an effort with painstaking extensivity to avoid sitting anywhere near Blake Shelton, not even risking looking into the guy’s eyes.
Adam’s just starting to accept the fact that maybe Shelton might have kept his mouth shut, might not have spread his negativity about the issue, when he ends up sitting next to the guy again. It’s another business class, and Adam makes a mental note to be more careful, because there’s something about this particular class, this particular room, apparently.
The giant doesn’t ask this time, he just helps himself to the seat that conveniently leaves Adam blocked in unless he’s up for asking Blake to scoot in a little. “Adam,” he says, and the emphasis on that first part of the name reminds him once again how easy on the ears this guy’s accent is proving to be. The fact that he’s also easy on the eyes is just plain annoying. “Listen, I just wanted to clear the air, y’know. Because I didn’t mean…” He hesitates, frowns, continues. “…What I meant, y’know?”
Adam shakes his head, really wishes that Carson had taken business this semester, because then he could have avoided this situation entirely. “No, I don’t fucking know Shelton. I have no idea what you’re talking about. Because I can’t understand a single word of your stupid-ass accent,” -- lie -- “because I’m finding it hard to look past your stupid-ass clothes,” -- lie -- “and because I’m waiting for the moment that you inevitably give away just how drunk you are.”
Blake smiles, looks down and closes his eyes for a moment longer than a blink. Then he’s grinning, pointing at Adam. “That’s funny. I see what you did there, applying a southern stereotype to me. Fair play, brother.”
Adam fights hard against the instinct to smile (that grin is so damn infectious), maintains his straight face for the few seconds that it takes for the teacher to call for their attention. Ignoring Shelton is slightly easier after that, with something else to focus on.
But apparently he was naïve in thinking he might be able to get out quick once the class had finished. Blake has made no effort to move, barely an effort at packing up his things. Adam clears his throat, looks across to find him staring right back at him.
“You gonna move out of the way, or what?”
Blake shakes his head, lips pursed, until Adam nods his head impatiently for the idiot to say whatever it is he’s so hell-bent on saying. “You’re not gonna make me say it, are you?”
Adam shrugs. “Say what? I’m not gonna make you say anything at all, so long as you move out of the way.”
Blake sighs, hunches over in his seat slightly. “I just don’t want this,” he says, gesturing between them. “I’m a nice guy really, I promise. Y’all just intimidated me a little bit on my first day, is all. I’m sorry for being a jackass.”
Adam just shrugs, and when it’s clear that he’s not going to say anything else on the matter, Blake moves out of the way, lets Adam out so that he can finally leave the room and the uncomfortable atmosphere behind him.
Except that he hasn’t quite escaped that atmosphere as completely as he’d hoped, because when he strolls into the lunch room a couple of hours later, he spots Carson in the line a little way ahead, talking to none other than the blue-eyed-tall-as-fuck-curly-haired-country-bumpkin. He’d usually jump the line and join Carson, but he doesn’t bother this time, just stays where he is and gets to chatting with Christina when she joins the line behind him.
And now he’s screwed, because he’s got his tray of lunch in his hand, along with Christina, and she’s now nodding over to Carson, who is apparently now best buddies with Blake-fucking-Shelton. The asshole is sitting in his spot, and Adam is so unimpressed.
“Adam,” Carson grins when they get near. He points down at Shelton. “This is Blake.” He looks back down at him. “You’ve met Christina already, right?”
Blake nods. “Sure have.”
Adam is somehow left with the option of sitting opposite Blake, or sitting at another table, so he reluctantly takes the only seat open, distracting himself for as long as possible with Carson before Blake finds the space to talk to him.
“So I asked Carson about you,” he says, and Adam’s head immediately snaps up at the possibility of him having discussed his sexuality with his pal. It makes him uncomfortable that it might be a topic of conversation, to be honest. He knows Carson is cool with it, and maybe it’s still his extended ill-feeling towards the country guy, but it still makes him a little mad. Blake shakes his head minutely, like he knows exactly what Adam is asking, or not asking. Like maybe Blake thinks Adam is closeted. “He mentioned you sing.”
Adam ignores him, eyes on his food until he has a mouthful, when he finally looks back into Blake’s expectant eyes. He widens them in question, and Adam shrugs. “What? You expecting an answer to a statement?”
Only Carson is paying any attention to their conversation, and trying very hard to look like he’s not.
Blake says nothing, and Adam gestures with the fork in his hand. “No. I don’t think you understand. Y’see, that one was a question, which means you’re supposed to answer.”
Blake sighs. “Look, I’m sorry, okay. I’m sorry that I pissed you off, I’m sorry that even after I apologized, you continue to have some irrational hatred for me, and I’m sorry that I’ve offended you, yet again, by expecting some kind of response and social nicety.” Adam knows that he’s the one making wild assumptions here, but he hadn’t exactly expected something so…together to come out of Blake.
Carson and Christina are both staring now. “So, uh, you guys have met before then?” Christina asks, and it breaks the tension a little bit, allows Adam to look away from this stone-cold staring match they’ve got going on.
He nods. Kind of reluctantly. “Sort of, yeah.”
“You know what,” Blake says, and he’s getting to his feet. “It’s cool, it’s fine. You three stay here, I’ll just go.” And then he’s gone.
And Adam feels like shit.
He knows what it’s like to be the new guy, also knows what it’s like to be the kid sat at a table alone. And in fairness to the guy, he did try to apologize. Except that Blake is alone at that table for a grand total of about ten seconds before someone joins him. Some guy that Blake immediately has in guffaws of laughter.
And Adam feels like shit.
Again.
In fact, he’s not sure what’s worse. Seeing some other guy getting on with Blake like a house on fire, or the guilt of having banished him to loneliness.
When he looks back to his own table, Carson and Christina are both staring at him. “I know, I know,” Adam starts. “I feel bad enough as it is, alright. Our first meeting was just kind of…awkward okay. Leave it at that. I’ll apologize, don’t worry.”
Blake really does seem to be surrounding himself with people though, because every time Adam catches sight of him, every time Adam is ready to go over there and say sorry, the guy has someone standing next to him. In fact, the opportunity for an apology doesn’t really come until the following week, during another one of those business classes. This time, Adam’s the one doing the cornering.
He takes advantage of the fact that the guy is in the very same seat Adam had taken last week, blocking him in against the wall as he pulls his stuff out.
“Hey,” Adam says.
Blake turns, says “Hi,” in his Southern drawl, and promptly turns back to the front of the class.
Adam sighs. If something doesn’t change, this relationship is just going to be a constancy of apologies.
“Shelton, I’m sorry.” Nothing. “About the other day.”
Blake turns, and there’s a moment of awkwardness, until he breaks into a grin. “So we’re finally good then?” Adam can’t help but be taken aback by the guy’s reaction, but he nods. “That mean I get to sit at the cool kids’ table at lunch today?”
Adam rolls his eyes, openly smiling at the guy for the first time.
Blake does sit with them at lunch, and he can see what that guy must have been in hysterics about last week. Shelton is pretty much hilarious. He’s offensive too, seems to talk a whole lot before he actually thinks about it, but mostly it just seems that every other word out of his mouth is designed to make people laugh.
It works, too.
And they continue as such for the next month or so. Blake sits with them religiously, Adam sits next to him in business, chatting before and after and sometimes in between, and by the end of the month he’s pretty much accepted into the little friendship circle they have.
He comes over to Adam’s place one evening after school, doesn’t seem surprised by the expensive Audi that he’s got in the parking lot. Then again, Adam hadn’t exactly been surprised when he’d caught sight of Blake driving in one morning behind the wheel of a pickup truck.
His mom had told him that nobody would be home until late and so the driveway is vehicle-free when they roll in. “You don’t seem surprised.” He’s referring to the house, because visitors to the house (and admittedly, there are few of them), never fail to comment on the size.
Blake shrugs, doesn’t say or do anything other than to smile ever so slightly. Adam gets out of the car, Blake following and looking up at the house as they draw closer. Sure enough, the building is silent, so they keep going through the house, all the way out, through the yard, and into the small, one-story building that’s separated from the rest of the house. Inside is a pool table, a sound system, a big TV, drum kit, bass guitar, two acoustic guitars, and three electric guitars.
Blake lets out a low whistle, and Adam shuts the door behind them both. He’s got his eyes on the guitars. “Wow. When you said you play, you meant you play.” Adam laughs.
“Yeah. You too then?”
He watches as Blake nods, walks over to the acoustics. “Yeah. I think our musical styles might just be a little different, but I play.”
Adam is smiling again. He doesn’t need to guess to know what kind of music this guy is into. “Go ahead.”
Blake looks back at him, cheeks dimpling as he grins and takes one of the guitars off the wall. He pulls the strap on, lines his fingers up on the frets, and begins to play.
It’s nothing fancy, just a few chords, a slow strum pattern, but he knows what he’s doing. Adam’s eyes track his fingers, and Blake doesn’t look back at him for a couple of minutes, right hand stilling and dropping back to his side.
“It’s nice,” Adam remarks. “Don’t know it though. You wrote it?”
Blake shrugs, doesn’t really give him an answer. “You honestly telling me that you’d know any country music past Shania Twain?”
Adam puts on his best offended face. “And there you go with the stereotypes again. Just because I don’t have the Southern accent, the cowboy boots, or the plaid shirt and jeans, doesn’t mean I don’t know country music!”
Blake sweeps a hand through the air in front of him as he pulls off the guitar and replaces it. “Go ahead. Hit me.”
“Okay,” Adam says, and he fists one hand and wraps it in the other. “So there’s Reba McEntire, there’s George Jones, Alan Jackson, Charlie Daniels, Tim McGraw, Allman Brothers, Clay Walker, Kenny Chesney…You want me to keep going?”
Blake’s grinning again, one hand in his pocket. He shakes his head. “Okay, so maybe you know your country a little better than I give you credit for. But I’ve shown you what I got, you gonna return the favor?”