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I. Allegro Con Brio
The first time they see him, Crutchie is leaning his side against the wrong side of the counter in the bookstore, and Jack is leaning on his elbows next to him, the one chair sitting abandoned between them even though Jack’s shift still has two hours left, because Jack insists on leaving Crutchie the chair and Crutchie insists Jack’s being ridiculous and it ends with neither of them sitting in the chair and just leaning on the counter. Out of all of their jobs, hours spent all over campus and outside it working to pay for this stab at education and something better, Crutchie likes the bookstore best; he likes to sell people the big textbooks that will fold into their minds, likes to sell them the shirts plastered with the school emblem, reminding himself of why he’s there, a simple source of pride. Crutchie’s good at the sales jobs – not as good as Jack, who could sell water to a fish in the middle of the ocean – but good enough, and he knows Jack keeps this job partly because of that, because Crutchie likes to hang around during Jack’s shifts as well as his own. Jack’s favorite jobs are the ones in the summer, the odd paint and gardening jobs he can scrounge up that keep him outside under the sun and trees, but he never seems to mind huddling over the laminate counters as long as Crutchie is huddled next to him, the soft radio and hum of the store buzzing around them.
The day he walks in, the store is quiet, late September dictating the end of the rush for textbooks, the departure of parental swarms, the more comfortable if less interesting rhythm of the job, of the school, taking over. But he walks in like a windstorm and stands just beyond the doorway, looking around frantically without moving his head, just his eyes darting around and the nervous squeeze of his fingers against each other, the picture of a new student even though he looks too old to be a freshman, biting awkwardly at his lip before moving quickly into the depths of the store, away from the counter. Crutchie watches him until he disappears behind the shelves, and then glances quickly over at Jack, shifting his weight onto his crutch to turn towards him. To Crutchie’s immense relief, Jack is also staring in the direction of the newcomer, an odd look on his face, somewhere between concern and interest and amusement.
Sighing, Jack pushes himself away from the counter to follow the potential customer into the stacks, running his hand lightly along Crutchie’s back as he circles past him, as though Crutchie isn’t about to follow him back into the store. Still, Crutchie appreciates it, the tiny moments of intimacy that Jack slips into their every interaction, quiet acknowledgement of the thing they’re still not sure they want to present to the world, still incubating between them. Crutchie has known Jack for most of his life, the two of them growing up together, being for each other what the world wouldn’t be for them, following each other through jobs and scraping through high school and here, to as many college courses as they can afford with the work they can pick up, companions and brothers and then suddenly, all at once and latently sitting under their entire relationship, something more than. Crutchie had sat with Jack illicitly on a rooftop, thin blanket beneath them, blood coursing through him more hotly than usual, and poured out admissions of love he hadn’t known he was holding onto; Jack had smiled, and kissed him, saying nothing, hiding behind a laugh and a quip and silence and still telling him, as the night darkened around them, that he felt the same, of course he did, always had, always would, always. And yet, something still felt off – not between them, but there underneath; like they were a perfect solution in a glass that never felt full, an emptiness that Crutchie couldn’t articulate or even comprehend, like an afterthought, despite being fairly sure that Jack felt similarly, although he never would never say anything either. They had agreed mutually to keep their new relationship quiet, not secret, just quiet, waiting maybe, for something to push them past the edge of the glass, filling the space that ought not to be there.
Crutchie follows Jack into the back of the store, and they find the probably-new-student standing staring at the textbooks lining a wall of bookshelves, looking no less lost than he had in the doorway, considering the rows of spines before him before reaching out suddenly to grab a particularly thick one and pulling it out of the bookshelf, looking no less certain now that he has a book in hand. He’s got a hugely packed messenger bag looped over his shoulder, and his clothing is nicer than most of the things Crutchie owns, although he looks like he’s run out of bed without combing his hair. Crutchie watches Jack hesitate for a moment before stepping forward towards the boy, and takes his free hand to squeeze Jack’s quickly in encouragement as he steps forward instead, because hesitation is odd for Jack Kelly, almost unheard of, which means something important is possibly happening.
“Find what you’re looking for?” Crutchie asks, even though it’s not his shift, giving Jack a moment to figure himself out.
The other boy startles, as though he hadn’t heard them approach, which Crutchie thinks is entirely unlikely since his footsteps are hardly silent and the music currently playing from the overhead speakers is some light vocal jazz that is barely loud enough for them to make out the words; he holds the book up to show them while simultaneously clutching it to his chest and smiling awkwardly. It’s a huge textbook for some psychology class that Crutchie and Jack could never waste their tuition on because of its impracticality in the real world.
Jack sweeps forward and grabs the book from the boy’s hand, paging through it as though skimming and ignoring the boy’s stuttered protestations before picking up a much thinner book and throwing it at the boy, who reaches out automatically to catch it and fumbles it toward the ground while managing to not drop it.
“Try that one,” Jack says, moving to put the larger book back on the shelf. “It’s a lot cheaper, and half the chapters in the big one you’ll never even use.”
Crutchie isn’t sure how Jack knows this, although he is good at picking up information from the students who come through, but Jack sounds so sure of himself that Crutchie is certain the boy won’t argue. He does though.
“T-this isn’t the book on the sheet, although I don’t know if I’m even – even taking the class, but I should get the book on the sheet and – who are you again? Why should I listen to you?”
“That’s Jack, I’m Crutchie.” Crutchie gestures to his crutch, as though it was a necessary addition, and raises his eyebrow at the boy, certain that Jack is making a similar face. “We work here?” Crutchie continues when the boy doesn’t reply, “Are you a freshman?”
The boy shakes his head and a blush starts creeping up his cheeks from his neck, which Crutchie can’t help but find incredibly endearing – he isn’t sure he’s ever seen anyone blush this much with virtually no reason.
“No, a-a transfer,” the boy says, sounding a little ashamed of it. He seems to remember his manners and extends an awkwardly balanced hand out as if shaking hands is a completely normal thing that college students do with each other, “I’m David.”
Jack gamely shakes his hand, and Crutchie feels a tiny surge in his stomach that isn’t exactly jealousy and isn’t exactly excitement and isn’t exactly not any of those things either.
“Well, Davey,” Jack says, and David frowns at the nickname as they let their hands drop, “the bigger book is just a waste of money and you won’t have to read a lot of it for the class anyway, so.”
“What if I want to read the extra parts?” David mutters, but he lets Jack put the bigger book back on the shelf and starts forward with Jack towards the front counter with the smaller book still clutched in his hand.
Crutchie falls a step behind them, not wanting to crowd the counter when he’s technically not supposed to be here anyway, and finds himself marveling at this weird boy who stutters and blushes and shakes hands and who transfers at the end of September and wants to read the extra chapters in the textbook and makes his stomach jump and is currently standing opposite Jack looking at him like he either can’t stand him or wants to stare at him forever.
Jack rings David up and Crutchie slides behind the counter next to him while the receipt is printing, meeting David’s eyes accidentally and earning a surprising smile from him that lights his still uncertainly frantic eyes. He glances sideways at Jack and Jack is smiling at both of them, and on impulse Crutchie grabs the receipt before Jack can do it and scribbles the number for Jack’s cell phone (which has more minutes left, he thinks, than his does) on the back.
“In case you want someone to show you around campus, or something,” Crutchie says in explanation as he hands David the receipt, watching that unfortunately adorable blush start spreading again with increased vigor. “Jack and I know all the best places.”
David seems like he’s not going to take the receipt for a moment, but then he grabs it and mumbles something that sounds like assent as he hurries out of the store, glancing back at them as he reaches the door, just in time to catch Jack swing his arm around Crutchie and ask what the hell was he thinking but at the same time that was a great idea. Crutchie grins and leans into Jack’s half-embrace and it isn’t until later that he notices that the hole that has always lived in the space taken by him and Jack seems a little bit smaller, the half-filled glass of emotional fulfillment closer to full.
--
II. Minuet and Trio
Katherine has been watching the three boys for a few weeks, not intentionally, just finding her eyes drawn across the library to the strange little trio that seemed to be irritating each other more than anything else, or noticing two of them walking across the grass with light conversation falling from their lips, or ending up in a café where one of them worked, his eyes flashing puckishly as he handed her a cup of coffee. Katherine isn’t sure what drew her to them, although it was something about their interactions, which are unclear, her inability to figure out their relationships to each other, and her surprisingly strong desire to figure it out.
It had started in the café, a lesser one on the campus, that she had wandered into because after all her grand plans for her article, the one that was going to get her an actual writing position on her ridiculously nepotistic university newspaper, instead of the token position her last name had gotten her, which involved covering events that nobody went to see; after all her grand plans, she had no idea where to actually start. She was going to write an article about why people chose the community college, instead of going out for scholarships or loans in order to study at a more prestigious, stuffy place like her own university. It was a good idea, she knew, it covered human interest and economics and the whole problem with today’s university system and discrimination; it was a good idea, but she had forgotten, apparently, that she didn’t know anyone at the local community college, and that there weren’t any dorms or the like for her to hang out in, and that she wasn’t really prepared to just walk up to someone in the ridiculously expensive clothing that her father bought for her no matter what she wanted, and ask them about their choice to attend here.
That first day, she had wandered in, distracted, fingering the tiny notebook in her pocket (she preferred real paper, real reporters used real paper and pen), and ordered coffee that she nearly dropped in her distraction, the (very attractive) guy behind the counter catching it for her and passing it back with a smirk, saying ‘you don’t go to this school do you?’
She had been startled by the question (and the smirk) and she had shaken her head, and instead of telling him what university she did attend, she had replied, “I’m a reporter.”
He frowned, but it wasn’t a real frown, the smirk stayed underneath it. “You’re real young to be a reporter.”
Katherine wasn’t sure why, but it needled her, brought up a spark of irritation she wasn’t expecting and made her tighten her grip on the cup of coffee in a way that was probably asking for disaster.
“Well, I am one,” she had replied, looking straight at him and hoping she sounded less haughty and more righteously annoyed (and if it came across as alluring somehow, she wouldn’t mind that either). “And in fact, do you go here, can I ask you some questions it won’t take long here hold on let me just – “
She was struggling to free the tiny notebook from her pocket and he had watched her struggle for a moment with clear amusement across his face before holding up both hands and moving away from her, saying “Sorry, can’t, working,” and winking in a way that made her both hate him and want to know who he was.
The next few weeks, Katherine finds herself ending up at the café much more often than she’d planned, and catching sight of the three of them outside, or in the library, as she steels herself enough to talk to a few people and get some actual interviews for her article which is not going to be the great success she knows it could be unless she actually gets some real interviews and starts writing something down. It shouldn’t be surprising to her that some people have rejected her interview attempts, turned off by her evident wealth as she needles them for information about their lives and financial decisions in the middle of one tiny student lounge or another.
She slumps into the café with only three interviews in her tiny notebook, orders her coffee and watches the attractive, if irritating, employee stand to the side of the counter, talking animatedly with the other two boys, before one of them squeezes his shoulder and leaves, and the third settles down at a table near the back with a giant mug. It only takes Katherine a moment to decide to sweep up her coffee cup and slide into the seat across the table from the third boy, who looks up at her from the book laid neatly in front of his cup on the table with slight alarm.
“Hi,” Katherine says, taking a sip of her coffee even though it’s too hot and giving the boy her most encouraging smile.
He frowns a tiny bit, his book still held open, seeming to size her up before replying with a cautious ‘hello.’ He’s got sharp eyes that seem to dart around and a face that betrays his changing thoughts while still giving the impression of being guarded, and his fingers are tapping nervously on the page of his book. He looks like he wants to be left alone; he looks like he wants to talk to her.
“You go to the college here?” she asks, because he hasn’t told her to leave and she might as well try to get in an interview; her intention was really to find out more about the one who works in the café, but she finds, now that she’s sitting opposite these sharp eyes and the fingers flicking thin paper, that she wants to know more about this boy, too.
He nods, a little too quickly, and she sees him glance away to look at the other boy behind the counter, back at work, a smile ghosting his lips unexpectedly.
“I’m writing an article,” Katherine continues, “about why people choose community college?”
He sizes her up again, as if he’s unsure if she’s insulting him or not, and she tries to keep her face as neutral as possible, hoping he’s going to answer the question, continue the conversation; she wants to see his face open up, she wants to hear the things he has to say. He closes the book on the table around his finger to hold the place, and he’s reading a book Katherine hasn’t even heard of, which is unusual for her, and it makes something in her stomach jump.
“I-I didn’t chose, exactly, although it’s good, it’s fine, I’m glad,” he speaks quickly, and nervously, and then pauses to collect himself. “I was a-at Columbia, but my-my dad got laid off, and my mom couldn’t find a job, so it was just too much, I had to leave, transfer somewhere we could afford a little better, get a job of my own. But the classes here aren’t that different, really, and the people –“ he breaks off to glance up at the counter again, and when he looks back at her, he’s blushing a tiny bit, “the people here are-are great.”
Katherine tries to bite back a smile, because his story is sad, and grinning would be rude, and she’s not entirely sure why he’s even talking to her, but she doesn’t want him to stop, doesn’t want to scare him off or anything. And she has to admit she understands his fluster when it comes to that irritating boy, although this one is attractive enough in his own right, if in a more bookish way. She turns around in her seat to look at the counter, and then indicates the other boy when she turns back.
“It sounds like you’ve had a tough time,” she says carefully, “but finding good people to be around is a big part of being successful in college, right? And he’s cute...is he your boyfriend?”
Katherine isn’t sure why she asked, although the truth it is has no bearing on her article, she’s just curious. Her questions is rewarded with a startled expression and a deeper reddening of his cheeks as he stutters out a quick denial that starts sounding less certain as it goes. He seems to be getting increasingly flustered and agitated and Katherine feels a surge of guilt that she blames for the fact that she reaches out impulsively and covers his twitching fingers with her own hand.
“Don’t worry about it,” she reassures, lightening her tone, “besides, I’m a reporter, it’s my job to ask the tough questions.” She waits until he stops looking so concerned and smiles at her cautiously. “By the way, I’m Katherine.”
The smile widens slightly, and Katherine feels relief mixed with possibly something else swimming from her stomach up to her throat where it knots.
“David,” he replies, after a moment. Katherine is aware of his sharp eyes on her, and not the other boy, and his hand stilling under hers, which she hasn’t removed because it hasn’t occurred to her, although that’s a lie because she can feel his pulse or her pulse thrumming through her fingers and it’s kind of nice, not indomitable passion but not friendliness alone either, something nicely in between.
At that moment, the other boy stomps over and slides a tiny plate of what looks like crumbled scones in between them on the table, putting a hand on David’s shoulder as he does so, as if to hold his balance. David snatches his hand away from Katherine, looking at her almost apologetically. Katherine fixes her eyes on the other boy, and she can’t tell if she’s annoyed that he’s interrupting their conversation or glad that she managed to get his attention, even if that intent had been all but forgotten over the past few minutes.
“Thanks?” Katherine injects all the sass she can muster into her voice, trying to be both inviting and incredulous at the same time, nervous for no reason, filled with anticipation for no reason.
He shrugs, hand still on David’s shoulder, “They’re too broken to sell, and I thought you guys might want some.” He cocks his head to the side as if challenging her to say anything negative about his good deeds, “I take care of my own, ya know?”
Katherine wants to laugh, because it’s ridiculous and over the top, and he’s so self-righteous somehow and it’s annoying and alluring and completely and entirely not fair.
“Well thanks for the crumbs,” she says, laughter swallowed, “but we’re kind of in the middle of something here...”
He frowns and squeezes David’s shoulder, “Is she bothering you with all that ridiculous reporter stuff, because I’m not against kicking someone out of here if they’re bothering my customers.”
“I’ll have you know that there is nothing ridiculous about this and I am a reporter and this was a good interview until you came over.” Katherine can’t help defending herself, she’s been defending herself for years, or so it seems, defending her abilities and her passion and her work.
He smirks and starts to reply when David cuts him off, his expression caught somewhere between annoyed and amused. “She’s not bothering me. And Katherine, this is Jack. Jack, Katherine.” He motions between the two of them as he makes introductions, and Katherine can’t help but notice the way both of their names roll out of his mouth, like there’s something pleasant and normal and right about it.
“Well, then, reporter Katherine, Davey, I guess I’ll let you get back to it then,” Jack replies, and there’s something about the way he says their names that makes it sound indecent and she can tell from Davey’s face that he’s thinking the same thing as Jack lifts his hand from David’s shoulder and heads back up towards the counter.
Katherine sighs, and David lets out a breath that it looks like he hadn’t been aware of holding.
“He’s kind of a lot,” David says, ostensibly as an apology, even though both of them are clearly not upset about it, “and he’s-he’s maybe already seeing someone so...”
Katherine narrows her eyes, because there is clearly more to it than that, and she might have only just met the two of them but she’s been watching their threesome for weeks now, and there is no way the third boy is any more involved with Jack than David is, at least not emotionally, and then there’s the way they both looked at her, in these past few minutes, and Katherine is certain her pulse is going way too fast and that despite the fact that she came here to work, the article isn’t going to be the reason she keeps coming back, after today.
“How do you stand it?” she asks him, and even though it’s unclear as to whether she’s talking about Jack himself, or the lingering doubt and want reflecting back at her from David’s eyes, or the supposed involvement with the third boy, or the fact that David seems to have been pulled in Jack’s orbit as swiftly and with as little prelude as she was; even though she doesn’t specify, she can tell from David’s face that he’s on the exact same page as she is.
“I’ll...let you know when I figure it out,” he sighs eventually, and picks at a piece of scone half-heartedly before offering her the plate. Katherine pauses, thoughts swirling around her head, and the only thing she is certain of is that this will not be the last time she sees Jack, or David, and that she and David are both into this something far too deep. She takes a piece of scone and sips her coffee.
--
III. Vivace
Davey’s reaching his hand up to knock on the peeling white paint of the door when an unevenly-knit, pink and purple mitten grabs his hand and pulls him sideways into an awkward hug. Davey lets himself get pulled, wrapping his arm around Crutchie’s shoulders and trying to keep his balance; there’s enough ice on the ground that falling would be uncomfortable. Davey isn’t sure how he got here, standing on the threshold of the house that Jack and Crutchie share with what seems like an endless stream of other boys their age, having escaped his job and his parent’s house for the day and made his way across the icy sidewalks carefully, the grey sky above threatening to drop snow on them at any moment. More than that, though, he isn’t sure how he came to this point, where Jack is texting him first thing in the morning to come over that evening and Crutchie is sweeping him into awkward, fluffy hugs and he’s nervous and warm and completely at ease with everything except for the ember that burns steadily in his stomach, filling his mind with why’s and what if’s and anticipating the other shoe dropping and making him blush under his scarf.
Davey has always been smart, and he’s always been unable to hide it the way some kids are, so he sticks out like a weed among flowers and he’s gotten used to spending time on his own; but here he is, unwinding himself from Crutchie enough for Crutchie to open the door and feeling a tiny thrill as Crutchie reaches behind him to pull Davey through the door, as though Davey hadn’t been there a few times before and didn’t know how to reach the main room where the TV and whatever movie Jack had picked out was waiting. Crutchie drops his coat and poorly knitted (although Davey thinks it’s kind of cute that he knits) accouterments on a bench just past the door and Davey throws his own coat and scarf on top of them, adjusting his probably-too-formal-for-movie-night button-up shirt and hoping that it didn’t get too wrinkled on the way over, which is a ridiculous thought because Crutchie is wearing a t-shirt and he’s sure Jack is, too, and he knows he doesn’t need to dress up for them, but still...
They walk into the main room and the TV is already on, waiting patiently on the menu screen of some western movie that Davey hasn’t seen because Davey doesn’t really watch movies when he’s by himself, and because only Jack really seems to like the westerns, but the one time he complained it became an hour-long discussion of other possible movie genres which mostly killed Davey’s inclination to complain about whatever Jack already picked. Jack is sprawled across their threadbare green couch, and Davey is only slightly surprised to see Katherine sitting beside him, swatting at his shoulder for something that Jack said before they entered and whose grin implies the swat is probably well-deserved. They look comfortable, and both of their eyes are shining as they turn to greet Crutchie and Davey in the doorway, and Crutchie moves right over to the couch and slips down next to Jack’s other side, dropping his crutch on the floor and snuggling into Jack’s shoulder as he sits up straighter to make room on the couch. Davey is aware that he should be feeling weird about all of it; weird, or angry, possibly, or embarrassed, but he doesn’t. He is hopelessly in love with Jack, he knows that, and when Crutchie smiles at him he feels heat rise to every part of his skin and he has been spending so much time with Katherine lately, falling into comfortable debates and holding her hand from time to time without meaning to, and all of it is wrong, or it ought to be, because Davey has never really had friends and now he has three best friends and all of them make his pulse race and his skin hot and he wants them to be happy and successful more than he wants anything for himself. And the only problem is the guilt that rises up when he sees them sitting on the couch waiting for him, with Crutchie nestling into Jack’s shoulder and Jack’s arm thrown listlessly over the back of the couch playing with Katherine’s hair in a way meant to irritate her; guilt because he fell in with Jack and Crutchie knowing that they loved each other in a way they would never talk about but which was stronger than just friends, and because he knows from Katherine’s impulsive words and expressions that something is happening with her and Jack, and it’s all so confused and tangled and Davey is afraid because when it explodes, he’ll be on his own again.
Davey swallows, and forces himself forward into the spot on the couch left between Katherine and Jack, trying to slow his pulse through power of mind alone, because he doesn’t want to stutter and blush and reveal the fact that he can’t stop thinking about them, any of them, all of them, in ways he probably shouldn’t be, and it’s ridiculous and unusual and Davey is all about facts and knowledge and this is an area where he is decidedly low on both. There is a pizza box on the table in front of the couch and Jack flips it open, making some comment about how it might be cold but that’s just Davey and Crutchie’s fault for being late, isn’t it? Davey laughs as Crutchie starts to protest, and their hands all reach for slices of pizza and Davey tries not to look at Katherine because he knows she’ll be looking uncomfortable at how small the pizza is, because she hates taking food from any of them when she could afford to buy snacks every time and not worry about it. It’s evening, and the sky outside the windows is growing dark, and the room is dark except for a few strings of Christmas lights that someone put up and Davey realizes that since it’s the winter break, a lot of the boys must be out picking up extra shifts or something, because it’s very quiet in the house, like maybe they’re the only four people there.
They start the movie, talking through it, and Davey is content to mostly sit in the middle of the couch like a stone in a river, letting their conversation wash over and around him, interjecting every so often but mostly listening, feeling like a part of something and like a very privileged observer at the same time. The room is lit dimly and Davey can see Crutchie still leaning against Jack out of the corner of his eye, and he can feel the pressure of Jack’s arm that is still flung over his shoulders and onto Katherine’s neck, he assumes, and at some point Katherine grabbed Davey’s hand in emphasis and hasn’t let go; all of this registers slowly, and all at once, and Davey’s intellect once again argues that this is wrong, probably, this is complicated and messy and not what’s supposed to happen, but he can’t help but smile and feel content and if only he actually knew where he stood in all of it, it might be perfect. Instead of feeling like he was just going along with another crazy idea that maybe he had helped initiate but never thought would go anywhere, swept up in the storm that Crutchie and Jack and Katherine make around him, part of the storm himself.
Halfway through the movie, pizza demolished long ago, Crutchie starts babbling half-seriously about still being hungry and Katherine reveals two bags of microwave popcorn that she’d been hiding in her purse with a sigh like it was such a trial for her to do even though Davey gets the feeling that she, like him, would do anything to keep Crutchie smiling.
The movie is paused and Crutchie and Katherine stand, causing the couch to bow a little in the middle from the redistribution of weight, so that Davey slides closer to Jack, even though he didn’t intend to. He’s glad for the semi-darkness that makes it impossible to see that he’s blushing a little bit, that his hands are shaking slightly; he can hear Crutchie and Katherine laughing from the kitchen, like they’ve known each other forever even though Davey is fairly certain that Katherine has spent more time with him or Jack than with Crutchie, it helps that both of them are amazingly good at cooking, turning simple things into real meals and bouncing ideas off each other that Davey can’t even really comprehend.
Left alone while Crutchie and Katherine are probably trying to somehow elevate microwave popcorn to a gourmet dish, Jack wraps his arm more closely around Davey’s shoulder, and Davey feels his breath hitch; not that Jack isn’t always tactile, but usually they aren’t alone, and it isn’t dark, and Davey hasn’t spent the last hour or so conflicted about thoughts flying around his head like a swarm.
“How d’you like the movie?” Jack asks conspiratorially, and Davey just shrugs because he doesn’t entirely trust himself to speak. He glances out the window instead of looking at Jack; it’s starting to snow.
Jack moves his hand from Davey’s shoulder to his cheek, pushing at Davey’s face to force Davey to look at him. “What’s wrong?”
Davey laughs, slightly, a breathy and nervous sound that he’s entirely certain hasn’t ever come out of his mouth before, and he’s not sure if he wants to just break down and spill all of his thoughts out unfiltered, because if anyone can clear up his confusion, it’s probably Jack, and then Jack is looking at him carefully and possibly moving infinitesimally closer to him and Davey is struck with a panicked thought that Jack is possibly going to kiss him and it’s like the light bulb in Davey’s head cracks and explodes and he’s left without any thoughts or ideas or rationalizations or anything. Davey isn’t the most experienced; there had been that one boy, when he was a freshman, who had been appealing, and had explained to Davey certain intricacies in awkward, darkened rooms but who never made his pulse race or his stomach knot or his blood heat. And then Jack’s lips are touching his, very carefully, very gently, but not dispassionately, not mistakenly, and Davey’s nerves are screaming and his heading is throbbing and his eyes are closed in spite of himself and he can hear Crutchie and Katherine laughing from the kitchen and his heart is pounding fast enough that he’s sure he must be having a heart attack or something and his breath is caught in his throat and they’re laughing in the kitchen and Jack is kissing him and in a rush Davey is leaping up off and couch and running; running out of the room, out of the house, onto the sidewalk where he stops, shivering, and stands, uncertain of what to do or where to go or what to think, breathing heavily and staring at the snow falling lightly around him because it’s calming, a bit.
Davey isn’t sure how long he stands there, long enough to consciously realize he’s cold and that he doesn’t want to go back in for his coat yet, and for a dusting of snow to cover his shoulders, and probably his hair; long enough that he’s startled when he feels a hand on his shoulder and reluctantly turns around to find Katherine looking at him with her face caught between bemusement and concern. Katherine is always looking at him like that, and the normalcy moves him another step towards calm. Davey lets her pull him into a quick, reassuring hug, glad that he isn’t the type to break down and cry when he gets overwhelmed (just to run out of houses into the snow, apparently).
“Are you okay?” she asks when she lets him go, holding onto one of his hands in hers, which are clothed in Crutchie’s bright mittens.
Davey nods and then shakes his head and then shrugs, because he really honestly isn’t sure. He narrows his eyes, considering the merits and issues with telling Katherine why he’s outside in the cold, and concluding that not telling her will just make him seem crazy.
“Jack kind of-of k-kissed me,” he mumbles, decided, and looks up at her expecting her to be angry, or jealous, or something.
He’s not expecting her to sigh and smile and say, “Yeah, he’s not the smartest, is he?”
Davey frowns, because this is just more confusing, and even though he wants to agree, he doesn’t entirely think that Jack kissing him is stupid, or unwise, or (and here’s the kicker) unwanted. He wants Katherine to be angry, because Jack and Crutchie are together, right? And because Katherine has certainly kissed Jack before, he would bet on it, and because he and Katherine have gotten close to kissing accidentally when she’s aiming for his cheek in greeting, and because it would make much more sense than her standing there wearing Crutchie’s mittens and looking like she wants to beam at him.
Davey wrenches his hand free from hers. “L-look I don’t know what kind of arrangement you’ve got, but I know that Jack and Crutchie are...and you and Jack and I’m just...I’m not...”
He had started with fire and lost steam and his voice trails off and Katherine looks sad and happy at the same time and Davey wonders again how he got to this place and shivers and watches the snowflakes collecting in Katherine’s hair.
“Yes, you are,” Katherine breathes, taking a step closer to him, looking mildly frustrated. “And it’s not Crutchie and Jack, or me and Jack, or me and you; can’t you see that?” and then, when he’s uncertain of how to reply, “Come on, David, you’re so smart why can’t you see that this isn’t some arrangement, and it’s not coincidence and maybe it’s not the way they told you in fairy tales with one guy and one girl but what actually is like that and it’s just – just...”
“Just perfect how it is.”
Davey looks up and sees Jack loitering in the doorway to the house, with Crutchie at his side, and both of them are watching Davey like he’s a bomb that’s going to explode and either shower them with shards of glass or with confetti and they’re not sure which one yet. Davey isn’t used to having so many eyes on him, and he isn’t used to being the focal point, and he’s cold and there’s snow catching on his eyelashes and all at once every moment of his relationship with these three people flashes before his eyes, like a movie, and it’s so clear, suddenly, how seamless they all integrated into each other’s lives, how the moments hang together with threads stretching between them, how removing one of them would unbalance the whole situation, un-sync the movie, destroy the equilibrium. Davey feels solid, suddenly, feels still and weighted and even, and his hands stop shaking, even though he’s not unafraid, and the guilt that had been boiling inside of him for months now, the guilt and the fear and the anxiety all evaporate in one painful jolt that leaves him breathless and terrified and excited and he looks at all of them through a curtain of snow and feels the words trembling at his lips and knows that this is it.
--
IV. Andante Espressivo
Jack doesn’t like to talk about his feelings; he doesn’t like to leave himself open and emotionally vulnerable, and he doesn’t understand why the actions speak louder than words approach isn’t used always, by everyone. So when Davey bolts from the couch, Jack is a little bit confused, and a little bit not confused, and mostly just feels like he’s probably handled everything wrong without meaning to. Crutchie and Katherine come rushing into the room as soon as the front door bangs shut, and Jack is still sitting on the couch trying to figure out how to move forward without completely fucking everything up more. Katherine is frowning and Crutchie is looking at him incredulously, although there is still a smile in his eyes, which is reassuring slightly.
“What did you do??” Katherine asks, and Jack is glad that Katherine and Davey have gotten so close in the past few months, because he knows she’ll go running after him and calm him down better than Jack can (Jack, despite his best efforts, seems to be better at protecting people and riling them up than calming them down). She doesn’t wait for him to answer, but rushes out of the room after Davey.
Crutchie stands over Jack, waiting for the reply to Katherine’s question, irritatingly in sync with her, as is becoming the norm.
Jack groans, “I kissed him, okay?”
Crutchie replies with a sigh and reaches out his free hand to pull Jack up from the couch, and Jack is glad for the gesture even though it’s easier for him to just boost himself off the couch than try to put all of his weight on Crutchie’s one-handed pull; it means that Crutchie’s not angry with him. Not that he ought to be, since they’d already talked about this, talked about Katherine and Davey and how the two of them seemed to be filling a hole that Jack hadn’t known was there and Crutchie maybe felt but wasn’t overly concerned with. It was an easy conversation between the two of them, because Crutchie felt the same fire for the two of them as Jack did, the same fire they felt for each other, the same need and crushing weight and the same fear that if something didn’t happen soon, they could lose these two presences that had become unrelentingly integral to their lives. Jack had broached the issue with Katherine, too, when she had surprised him with a kiss and then, after a moment’s thought, a second kiss, this one with instructions to be delivered to Crutchie for her. So really, Katherine had broached the issue, and it had been surprisingly not an issue.
“Why would you do that?” Crutchie asks, when Jack is standing next to him beside the couch.
Jack balks, “We talked about this, and we decided...and it seemed like the right time.”
Crutchie raises an eyebrow and all but scoffs at him and Jack is on the verge of reminding Crutchie of a time when they were not that much younger and Crutchie was pretty certain Jack’s ideas were always good, when Crutchie continues:
“You can’t just spring something like that on Davey, you should’ve talked to him about it first, or at least asked him if it was okay.”
Jack protests the apparent slight to his kissing abilities and follows Crutchie towards the hallway and the door to the outside. They stand in the doorway together, Crutchie standing to Jack’s side so that he can wrap his free hand around Jack’s elbow, familiar without being too much. Jack realizes it’s snowing, and they watch Katherine and Davey talk for a moment without noticing them; Jack can’t help but notice that Davey is shivering, which he desperately wants to help with, and that the snow is falling on their hair, their shoulders, coating Katherine and Davey with a sparkling dust of ice that makes them both look like ethereal beings. He smiles inwardly; “ethereal” is a word he learned either from Davey or Katherine, and he’s glad to put it to use describing them.
Jack hears Katherine stumbling over her explanation and feels Crutchie tighten his grip around Jack’s elbow and Jack speaks up, calling across the small expanse of snow and pavement.
“Just perfect how it is,” he calls, and it sounds cliché to his ears, but it’s also true, and he figures he can handle a cliché for a moment if it’s going to bring Davey and Katherine back inside, bring Davey back to them.
Davey looks up at him after a moment, resolutely, as though just realizing they’re standing there, or just realizing something else, maybe. Jack can feel himself grinning, because Davey stops shaking, and he doesn’t look angry, and Katherine looks hopeful and Crutchie is basically crushing his elbow but he knows it’s pressure built from excitement; that the four of them are standing at a precipice and they have to move one way or the other, but it seems suddenly like they’re going to move in the right direction, the direction that has them all falling together, and it makes his heart leap.
“I think,” Davey says, suddenly, and Jack smiles at him encouragingly, smiles at him the way he always smiles at him but suddenly it’s different, a little bit, and Jack realizes with a pang that Davey sometimes looks guilty when Jack smiles at him, and that he would never have realized it except that now the guilt is completely gone, erased from his face. “I think,” Davey says, “that I love you, a-all of you, actually.”
No shit, Jack wants to reply, but he holds his tongue for a moment, and his encouraging smile has become a grin, and he knows Crutchie is mentally jumping up and down and Katherine reaches out with Crutchie’s ridiculous mittens to grab Davey’s hand and start pulling him towards the door again.
“I think,” Katherine says cautiously, as they walk, “that it’s pretty mutual.”
And that’s pretty much enough invitation for Jack to leap out of the doorway with Crutchie still hanging on to him and meet them halfway, so that they’re all standing in a tiny cluster on the sidewalk with the snow falling around them. Crutchie puts his hand over Katherine and Davey’s clutched hands and Jack follows because it seems like the right thing to do, even though they end up with their hands in a pile like they’re going to do a team cheer or something.
Jack looks at the three faces around him, smiling and glowing cautiously, and he thinks, not for the first time, about how lucky he is. About how he grew up unlucky, and spent his time feeling sorry for himself, and longing for another place, another life, the impossible; and here he is, still the same person, the same terrible childhood, the same lack of money that keeps him in a house with a hundred other people working a ridiculous number of jobs to get through community college, but suddenly it is all different. Suddenly it’s falling into place, and it is perfect, never mind the cliché.
“Go team?” Crutchie whispers, catching onto the same imagery that Jack had with their hands, and all of them giggle, and it’s like music, the way their voices blend in the quiet night.
“Go team,” Davey murmurs in agreement, and his face still looks amazed, like he’s stumbled onto lost treasure.
All that Jack wants is to kiss Davey again, and have it not end in disaster (well that and to get inside where it’s warm before they all catch Christmas flus) and Crutchie seems to read his mind and leans forward and kisses Davey lightly. Katherine follows, and Davey blushes even though he doesn’t protest, and looks content in that amazed way; and when Jack leans over to kiss him last, Davey mumbles an apology that Jack cuts off, and it’s exactly what he expected, and better than he could have. Kissing Davey, as it turns out, is like the snow swirling around them, the way that kissing Katherine is like the sparks of a fire, and kissing Crutchie is like the touch of a warm blanket; the way kissing all of them is like coming home for Jack, who has suffered from wanderlust all of his life.
“We should talk about this,” Davey says breathlessly when Jack pulls away, and all of them nod agreement, but now isn’t the time. Now is the time for going back inside the house, and watching the snow fall outside, and letting movies flash across the screen in front of them while they entwine themselves on the couch in ways they were too afraid of before, and resolutely don’t watch the movie. Now is what they’ve been heading towards, the end, the resolution; now is the beginning.
“Let’s finish the movie first,” Jack suggests, leading the way back inside awkwardly, since they all refuse to drop their hands away. No one argues and they walk silently through the blanket of snow into the twinkling lights of the house.
--
V. Lento Maestoso (Finale)
Sometimes people ask how it works, how they don’t tear each other apart or get sick of each other, or jealous, how they fit into one bed together (Davey blushes) or how they introduce each other, especially to adults; sometimes people furrow their brows and scrunch up their mouths and ask how it works.
Crutchie laughs and Katherine has a biting remark about how people shouldn’t go judging their healthy relationship when so many so-called normal ones are in disarray and Jack is ready to fight or laugh it off or confidently answer honestly based on how he reads the situation and Davey blushes and stumbles and spits out logic. And Crutchie is thinking about how sometimes the bed /is/ too small, but he’d take small over cold any day; and Katherine is thinking about their arguments, and how four people can actually tear each other apart more efficiently than just two but the arguments have enough viewpoints that they end up dissolving into logic much more quickly; and Jack is thinking about how sometimes they do get jealous, how they all love each other and sometimes it’s expressed in different ways, how overwhelming it is to see those differences, to know that two of them might share a moment the other two weren’t in on, but that those tiny green pangs are nothing compared to the way losing one of them would tear the others into pieces; and Davey is thinking about how he still doesn’t know how to introduce them, how he still hasn’t really even told his parents, although they know he moved out to be with someone, but how it doesn’t matter, and they’ll figure it out, and it’s still new even when it isn’t, and somehow it just works.
And it isn’t perfect, it isn’t cogs in a machine or orderly lines or water in a dam; it’s water in a river, flowing unevenly and bumping against rocks, and it’s lines that waver and crash against each other and still end up at the right place together and it’s a mechanism that stutters and groans and sings. It’s a tangle of limbs that makes it hard to sleep, or concentrate on studying, or for one of them to extricate themselves from when they’re the only one with an early morning class, but it’s warmth and comfort and safety and knowing that someone is always there. It’s more mess, and more books and more papers and more coffee cups but it’s someone to help clean, someone to study with and to make coffee and to smile at across the room.
It isn’t perfect, but it’s theirs, and they fall into a rhythm around it and they sprinkle it with kisses and tiny touches and words that no one else will ever hear outside of the four of them, and it thrives and it grows and it becomes a tangle inside of them, a spider web of heartstrings and emotions and need that never lessens.
And Crutchie tells them he loves them with words, all the time, daily maybe; and Katherine whispers it in presents and home-cooked meals and by staying at the house even though her dorm is miles away; and Davey says it in blushes, in fierce glances and tiny smiles and in the way he reads them notable passages from whatever book he’s immersed in; and Jack says it in kisses, in hands brushing collarbones and fingers intertwined and in the way he protects them from the outside world, like insolation. And it rings in their rooms, in the house and the café and the bookstore and the library where Davey works; it echoes in the winds that breeze through flowering branches and in the snow that reminds them of the first time.
And after a while Katherine calls them ‘my boys’, and Crutchie says ‘my people’ and Davey calls them his ‘significant others’, and Jack just says ‘us’ and ‘we’ and makes it clear with his tone.
And where there was a half-filled glass is now one that is full; and where there was a trio and an outsider, there is now a quartet, singing in union; and where there were blushes and guilt and misunderstanding, there is complete confidence and truth; and where there was anticipation, there is knowing. And they are four voices blending together into one song, a symphony of glances and words, complete. And it isn’t perfect, but it’s theirs, and it sings.