Look out for some tooth rotting fluff ahead. Actually the majority of this book is tooth rotting fluff. You've been warned.
_____
Friday arrived in a whirlwind.
Oliver had gotten the courage to send one whole text to Baby: Hey, this is Oliver. It had taken him two full days to work up to it, and coaching from both Francesca and Emmett. And now he suddenly found himself getting ready to skip dinner with his family in order to go out to the Peacock Room and see Baby play for the second time.
He stood in front of the mirror, shirtless, sweating as his eyes darted about the room. He'd emptied out his whole closet onto every available surface, because he had no idea what to wear. He had both Fran and Emmett on Skype for advice. And for moral support, though they weren't providing much of it.
"You look awful," Francesca supplied from the computer, voice somewhat muffled as she crunched on Hot Cheetos. "Are you really going out with your hair like that?"
"Like what?" Oliver frantically brought his hands up to his head.
His hair looked normal. A little more frizzy than usual, maybe, but overall the tight black curls stuck close to his skull.
"Nevermind, maybe it's just your face," Francesca amended.
"Shut up," Oliver groaned. "I can't change my face Fran."
"You're freaking out man," Emmett butted in. "It's going to be dark in there anyway, and he won't even notice what you're wearing."
"He'll notice what my face looks like!" Oliver nearly wailed, not willing to look at the computer screen and see Francesca's expression. "Is there really something wrong with it?"
"Oh my god Oliver, there's nothing wrong with your face," Francesca said. "You're hot as hell, and you need to get laid. Pronto."
"I don't just want to get laid," Oliver mumbled. "I actually like him guys."
"Then maybe you should be worrying about your face."
"Fran!"
"Fine, fine. In all honesty Oliver you look great. There's a reason you always land good hookups."
"Yeah," Emmett added. "You should be more worried about your parents than your shirt at this point."
Oliver threw his head back and groaned. "They still don't know I'm missing dinner. My mom is going to get pissed."
"You're twenty one and not allowed to miss dinner?" Francesca scoffed. "That is absolutely ridiculous."
"You have no idea how important the concept of family is in this house," Oliver told her. "As long as I live here I gotta go to family dinner. Hell, even when I move out they're probably going to want me at family dinner. I'll be going to family dinner until one of us kicks the bucket."
Francesca laughed, but Emmett looked genuinely a little worried from his pixely corner of the screen. He had his arm wrapped loosely around Francesca, who was leaning into him slightly. They'd been dating for over a year now, and their relationship had simmered to something simpler, quieter, and more casual than it had been in the beginning. They balanced each other out well, Oliver thought. He wanted a love like they had.
They did get annoying though, when they both ganged up on him.
Oliver ignored them, finally having narrowed down his shirt choices to two. A dark gray t-shirt or a blue button up. He wondered if the t shirt was too casual, then remembered it was a bar, then still kept debating anyway. All he could think about was Baby's watery eyes and shock of hair... Oliver reached for the blue shirt. He quickly tugged on an undershirt and splashed some cologne on before starting on the buttons.
"Looking dapper," Francesca quipped dryly.
"Roll the sleeves up," Emmett told him.
He did, then turned slowly so his friends could see.
"Do you think this works?"
"Baby won't know what hit him."
"You're giving off some great I wanna bone you vibes. Love it."
"Shut up Fran," Oliver muttered, but only half heartedly. He was too busy fidgeting in front of the mirror. "Do I really look okay?"
"Yes, oh my god you high schooler."
"Obviously."
Oliver took a deep breath and nodded, finally turning to the computer. His friends stared back at him from the screen, and he gave them a nervous smile.
"Thanks guys. I needed a pep talk."
"Tell us how it goes!" Francesca demanded. "I want play by play updates."
"Don't send play by play updates," Emmett immediately said. "I don't want to know the details of your sex life."
"I do."
"Gross," Oliver made a face. "I'll text you guys later okay? I have to go face the parentals."
"Good luck!"
"Yeah good luck!"
Oliver hung up the call and started psyching himself up to face the music. He could already hear his mom's hurt voice saying "what do you mean you're missing dinner?", could already see his dad's disappointed expression. But Hope probably wouldn't even notice he was gone. At least, she usually didn't, and that was the only thing that mattered. He took a deep breath and left to go downstairs.
*
An hour later, Oliver was just pulling up to the curb outside the Peacock Room. Cars piled up around its entrance, double parking even without meters. They'd probably get towed later. Oliver snagged a lucky spot as someone else was pulling out, and he cut the engine with a slow exhale.
He'd just fought his mom and left in a storm of anger, Hope screaming in the background. He was thankful he'd taken Emmett's advice and rolled the sleeves of his shirt up because the previous yelling match combined with the nerves was really making him sweat. Oliver took a deep breath.
"You can do this," he whispered to himself. "Just go in there and be yourself. No, be cool. And... also yourself."
He met his own eyes in the rear view mirror and groaned.
"I'm an idiot."
An idiot going stupid crazy for probably the most beautiful, witty, talented boy in the world.
The door to the bar opened and Oliver could hear the loud voices and the music from inside his car. It wasn't Baby singing, but it still shocked him into gear. He had to get in there before it was too late and Baby was onstage. So he opened his door and got out of the car in one fluid motion of Scared Shitless.
After the bouncer checked his ID and he got inside, Oliver wandered over to the bar, a little lost. He kept whipping his gaze around in search of blue hair.
"Hey, you want anything?" the bartender nearly had to shout to get his attention.
Oliver reluctantly turned away from the crowd to focus behind the counter.
"Oh, uh, Manhattan. With Bourbon please."
"You sure I can't have a sip?" a familiar voice asked from behind him.
Oliver whirled around in his seat and was met with a set of grinning blue eyes.
"Baby!"
"That's what they call me," Baby said, sliding onto the stool next to him. "When did you get here?"
"Like two minutes ago," Oliver said. "You found me fast."
"I was coming out to look for you, actually. We're about to go on and I wanted to say hi before."
Oliver's heart jumped a little in his chest. Baby actually remembered? Actually looked for him?
"Oh, well thanks. I wanted to wish you good luck, not that you need it," Oliver managed to say without sounding too weird.
"Well then, wish me," Baby said.
"Huh?"
"Wish me luck dummy. Even if I don't need it it's good to have some extra lying around."
Baby looked like an ocean on fire, and his eyes danced with mirth. Oliver swallowed, cowed in the face of his beauty. He was supposed to be saying something, but suddenly all coherent thoughts flew from his mind. Baby was looking at him expectantly, but the only words that lept to Oliver's mouth were:
"Are you doing anything after this?"
Baby raised an eyebrow. "Our set isn't over till like, midnight."
"Taco Bell is open till two."
"You want to take me out to Taco Bell?" Baby had taken on that joking tone again.
"A Nacho Bellgrande at two in the morning is the best food you'll ever eat and you cannot convince me otherwise," Oliver said.
Baby laughed, tossing his head back, and looked radiant.
"Little cheap for a first date, but I'll take it," Baby said. "I'll see you after I play, yeah?"
Oliver might have spluttered out an answer, too absolutely floored to remember. Then Baby was gone, and he was left to gape in his own company. He'd heard that right, right? Did Baby say a date? Oliver bit his lip, feeling like he could float away at any minute. He immediately whipped out his phone.
me: guys. it's happening omg
It took a couple second before the group chat chimed back.
franny bitchface: ohmygod what??????
em&em: spill
me: i asked baby out. he called it a date. it's HAPPENING
franny bitchface: AAASLDJSJBVKJDSVJKDaksdvkjsjsxj OLIVER NO WAY
em&em: go get him tiger
Oliver smiled and tucked his phone into his back pocket, ignoring the way it kept buzzing over and over. He downed his Manhattan in two big gulps, slapped some cash on the counter underneath his glass, and got down from the stool.
The area in front of the stage was already pretty crowded. The band playing was halfway decent, Oliver thought, but nowhere near as good as The Bitch Blankets. Or Worm Snore. Or The Snogging Eskimos. Or whoever they were tonight. He made his way up to the stage, shouldering people out of the way when he needed to.
"Alright!" the lead singer shouted into the microphone. "Thank you for having us Jersey City!"
Oliver's heart started pounding as the opening band started carting their gear off stage. A girl Oliver vaguely recognized from the week before, he thought she was the drummer in Baby's band, came out and started messing with cords. She hooked up a couple more amps then got behind the drum kit. Oliver's heart was really hammering now. It was almost time. Baby was going to be onstage any minute, and Oliver would get to hear his voice.
The lights in the bar dimmed, then, and the second member of Baby's band came out. He wore a scowling expression, but his fingers clutched at his bass in a way that spoke to his expertise. Oliver watched the spot where the two people had come out, knowing there was only one person left.
Then there he was. Baby roared onto the stage, blue hair glowing and stance ready. Something was different about him than it had been when Oliver saw him play the last time. He seemed more powerful. There was something different. No less electrifying, just a different, more dangerous type of electricity. The crowd buzzed excitedly. They could taste whatever aura Baby was projecting, and it made for an atmosphere that screamed 'rock concert'.
Baby stepped up to the mic. He wasn't wearing his nice expression; it was expression of passion that Oliver had never seen before. It was captivating. In an instant, Oliver knew he was going to say something loud.
"Hello Jersey fucking City!" Baby yelled into the microphone, and the crowd surged in response. "We're Liquefied Lettuce, and you're about to get your fucking socks rocked off!"
The drummer started to tick out a loud beat, and Baby jumped in on guitar. His playing was even better than Oliver remembered; his fingers jumped along the neck so fast they seemed to blur. The people listening were getting into it too. There was a guy next to Oliver that was already headbanging.
Then Baby leaned forward, pressing his lips into the mesh of the microphone, and ripped Oliver to shreds.
"I was fourteen and you fucked me like a middle aged republican," Baby practically screamed. "But I still got fucked like a kid!"
He was angry, his voice was like a thunderstorm, and Oliver was falling head over heels. The music rumbled down to his core, and he found himself starting to bang his head too. By the middle of the song, there was a mini mosh pit going, drunk people running into each other and spilling beer onto the already sticky floor.
"This is a love song to the feeling," Baby sang above it all. "Of pulling out scabs and watching them crack like worms out on sidewalks in summer."
Oliver had never been to a better concert in his life.
*
"You were on fire up there Baby."
Baby beamed back at Oliver. They were walking out of the bar, almost shoulder to shoulder. Baby's hairline glistened with sweat and his cheeks were flushed. He carried his guitar in one hand and Oliver carried his amp for him.
"You really mean it?"
"I really mean it. You didn't sound like that last week," Oliver told him honestly.
"I didn't feel like that last week," Baby said. "I don't know, I just felt like I rocked tonight."
"Well maybe that's because you did."
Baby suddenly erupted in coughs as they reached Oliver's car. It sounded pretty serious, and Oliver halted in concern as Baby stopped walking.
"Hey, are you alright?"
Baby waved him off, continuing to hack for a couple seconds more. Then he took a couple deep breaths, wincing as he did so.
"I'm fine," he assured Oliver. "I guess I did rock. Maybe a little too hard."
Baby grinned back at him as he pulled a water bottle out of his coat pocket. After a couple more "I'm fine Oliver's", they made it to the car.
"Is this yours?"
"Yeah."
"Nice."
"Don't make fun, I have to pay for it myself."
"Oh that's not me making fun, that's a genuine compliment."
"I can never tell when you're being sarcastic or not."
Baby just winked as he swung himself into the passenger side.
"I don't have a car," Baby said matter-of-factly as they started driving away from The Peacock Room. "So honestly anything is impressive."
Oliver whistled. "So you have to take the bus everywhere?"
"Public transport doesn't kill you," Baby rolled his eyes and shoved at Oliver's shoulder from across the gear shift. "But it is a little inconvenient to take my amp and guitar everywhere. I'm always worried someone will barf on it."
"Barf?"
"It's happened before," Baby said gravely.
Oliver laughed. "Well good thing you're in my car then."
"As long as you don't kidnap me."
"We're here, Baby," Oliver deadpanned.
He'd just pulled into a parking spot outside of Taco Bell. The lights from the streetlamps reached their fingers through the windshield and painting the inside of the car white.
"Oh," Baby shrugged. "Guess you're not a serial killer."
"Or I could be fattening you up for said serial killing."
"Why would I need to be fat? Are you going to eat me like the witch from Hansel and Gretel?" Baby asked.
"Technically, if you didn't know I was a serial killer how would you know if I was a cannibal?" Oliver raised an eyebrow.
"I feel like I'd be able to smell the cannibal on you."
"Smell the cannibal?"
"Yeah, like, cannibals probably smell like..."
"I'm waiting."
"Oh shut up. You know you're incredibly annoying," Baby said, grinning broadly the whole time.
"So I've been told," Oliver grinned right back.
"Okay, let's go get these tacos."
And so they did. Two tacos (and a fight about who was paying) later, they sat across from each other in the back of the greasy fast food restaurant.
"So Oliver," Baby addressed him between bites of his taco. "What are you here for?"
Oliver blinked. "Well that's a loaded question."
"I meant your major, existential dork."
"Oh, well that's a little easier to answer," Oliver said. "I'm an English major. Probably the most generic English major you'll ever meet."
Baby eyed Oliver carefully. Oliver swallowed, suddenly feeling very judged.
"I don't think you're the most generic English major I'll ever meet," Baby finally declared. "You'd need longer hair, for one, and khaki pants for another. Besides, you haven't tried quoting Dickens to me even once."
"Love, though said to be afflicted with blindness, is a vigilant watchman," Oliver immediately intoned.
Baby looked at him incredulously. "I cannot believe you."
Oliver felt his chest all warm. They were the only ones sitting in the Taco Bell, now that the last few straggling high schoolers had left. It smelled bad, the lights were awful, and the tacos were slightly soggy. But Oliver couldn't remember the last time he'd actually had fun hanging out with someone that wasn't Francesca or Emmett.
"So what are you here for?" Oliver asked Baby, shooting back his same question from earlier.
"Music Theory and Composition," Baby said.
"I don't know why I expected anything else," Oliver said. "What do you want to do with it? Are you going to stick with the band?"
Baby shrugged. "I'm not sure. We haven't really been discovered yet, which is fine. We don't really want to hit it big you know? Bar gigs and house shows are all we really need. And we are all doing our own thing anyway. Red is majoring in marijuana, and Grace is like, super passionate about PolySci. We're all kind of just playing it by ear."
"Playing it by ear sounds like a good idea for Liquefied Lettuce."
"Shut up," Baby coughed out, rolling his eyes and taking a sip of his Coke. "So are you taking me home after this?"
"Well unless you're planning on staying at Taco Bell all night, yes."
"I wouldn't mind. I'm sure the kid's playpen has some great cushy spots."
"You'd definitely fit in there, Baby."
"Never heard that one before."
"Fine, fine. Where do you live?" Oliver asked.
"In an apartment on the south side of town," Baby said, taking another drink.
Oliver frowned. "An apartment? By yourself?"
Baby nodded. Oliver didn't want to pry, but felt himself getting curious. Baby was only nineteen. He was, well, a kid. How come he lived all alone in an apartment?
"Hey guys," a zitty teenager stood uncomfortably next to their table, shifting from foot to foot. "I'm sorry but we're closing? I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
"Oh it's no problem!" Baby chirped. "We were just heading out anyway."
The kid looked relieved, probably used to dealing with a lot shittier customers.
Oliver watched the curve of Baby's face as they walked out to the parking lot and back to the car. He was glowing in the lamplight. An uneasiness churned in Oliver's gut, one of apprehension. Was this what he thought it was? Was Baby being serious when he called it a date, or just joking like usual? Oliver wanted it to be something so desperately. The possibility of Baby being interested in him too made his heart clench. He really, really liked this boy.
"Baby," Oliver nervously stopped him before he got in the car. "Can I ask you something?"
Baby's brow furrowed. "Of course. Shoot."
"Was this... well..." Oliver cleared his throat. "Was this really a date?"
Baby blinked up at him. He suddenly looked unsure, and it was the first time Oliver had ever seen that expression cross Baby's face.
"Do you want it to be?" he asked.
A lump caught in Oliver's throat. "Yeah, yeah. I would really like that."
Baby's face split into a smile like sunshine. He cracked open the car door. Right before getting inside, he paused to look Oliver straight in the eyes.
"I would really like that too," he said.
Oliver bit his bottom lip, closing his eyes to savor the moment.
I would really like that too.