Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"two, three, four.. two, three, four.. two, three..."

A hand rises in the air, brandishing a baton. It lingers for a beat then flies downward. An orchestra responds, letting out a flurry of chords that fill the room. With strums, with a flick of the wrist, with a breath, they all follow two hands guiding them to the perfect symphony. One moves down, left, right, up, while the other raises a pinky. A pair of eyes coax notes to be played, new harmonies are born with a sniff, and hearts swell along with the melody as a fist is held and a flat palm is slowly raised, then swiftly loops and clenches, ending the piece. The audience wastes no time to jump out of their seats and cheer. They beg for an encore, throw roses, and chant the conductor's name:

"Quin-cy! Quin-cy! Quin-cy!"

He turns around and throws his arm on either side before taking a bow.

BANG!

His head meets his desk as he dozes off while daydreaming in class.

"Johansson," his math teacher begins, "let's try paying attention to the material that'll be on the test that's half your grade."

Johansson groans while lifting his head and every pair of eyes meets him, with all lips up-curled. This is the closest he'll get to captivating an audience, he thinks.

"You definitely shouldn't be sleeping in Math," jeers a voice behind him, "you'll need to calculate quickly as a cashier." Stifled giggles are heard throughout the classroom. Johansson moves his long, curly blonde hair from his face and snaps around to see Harold, the owner of that voice, grinning and looking back at him with a sinister glean in his eye. Harold was the hugest bully of Johansson's, and a friend of William Emerson III, who sits beside him chuckling while scribbling in his math notebook.

William is his mortal enemy. He prevails wherever Johansson falls short. In every one of his strengths, William outshines him. In art, dance, theater, academics, and worst of all, music, he succeeds and leaves Johansson in his shadow. Sometimes he feels William's only purpose in life is to make sure he doesn't win.

Johansson quickly averts his gaze and turns to face forward again, rubbing his forehead where it bumped the cold, wooden desk. Since William's the most popular guy in school, and his friends constantly tease him, Johansson doesn't bother making any more of a scene telling Harold off and tries to focus on math. He opens his textbook and flicks through the pages until he stops on the class's current lesson. Skimming through paragraphs, he reaches a hand-drawn doodle of himself with his eyes crossed and tongue stuck out. Someone must've snuck it into his book when he was distracted. Under the doodle is a note that reads:

"Johansson Quincy SUCKS EGGS!!!"

Johansson hisses and rests his chin on his palm. That sentence is scribbled on every blank space in each textbook, desk, bathroom stall, and chalkboard in the school. It doesn't phase him anymore, not even the raw eggs that get snuck into his lunch bag. The teacher hands an assignment to everyone, giving Johansson a stern look as he receives his. He picks up his chewed-up #2 pencil and copies as many notes as possible from the chalkboard before it's erased.

"divide the 5, then add, 1, 2, 3, 4...1, 2, 3, and....1 and 2 and 3 and 4 and...2 and 3-"

The 12 o'clock bell rings, startling him awake from yet another daydream. William is the first to gather his things and walk out the door. the rest of the class follows him, pairing up with friends to gossip and sit together in the cafeteria. Johansson grabs his clarinet case from under his chair before heading to lunch alone.

Lunchtime was one of the worst times of day for Johansson. Every friend group and clique has their self-assigned tables, and he's been rejected from each one of them. The only table left is the rickety, outdated bench that conveniently rests in front of the school's trash cans. He sits facing the other students, watching them laugh and goof around with each other. He opens the bag lunch his mom had packed for him that morning. Inside is a Tupperware container filled with Swedish meatballs and a sandwich bag with three of her homemade oatmeal raisin cookies along with a bottle of lukewarm water. Attached is a note that says "For Joey. With love, Mama." He smiles a bit before opening the container and forking a meatball into his mouth. He closes his eyes to savor one of his favorite foods.
When he opens them up, he's surprised to see that the bag of his mother's cookies has vanished from the table. He looks up and finds his cookies in the hands of none other than William Emerson III, who takes a seat in the chair beside him and throws his feet onto the table.

"Hello, Joey." he mocks his mother's note in a nasal voice.
"William." Johansson greets back, without turning his direction.
"This won't take long, I wouldn't want to keep you from your entourage." he motions over to the trash cans. "Just wanted to let you know in case you haven't heard from Grime. I've been chosen to be first chair at our next recital. Again."
"Congratulations."
"A---nd you're second chair! Again!"
"Yep. Can I have my food back now?"

William puts his feet back on the floor and leans forward while running his fingers through his slicked-back hair. "Mmm, I don't know. Maybe, if you admit I'm your superior."
"Not a chance in Hell."
"Fine. Then I hope the old woman's a good cook."
He pulls out a cookie and takes a bite. Johannson continues eating. He's never cared for oatmeal raisin, anyway.

Harold and another one of William's lackeys approach the table a few moments later. "Hey Quincy, I think you dropped something from your lunch over here." she says, and Harold reaches out a closed hand to Johansson. Confusedly, he holds out his hands to retrieve it. Harold lifts his arm and forcibly throws a raw egg into Johansson's palms, cracking it and causing yolk to splatter all over his lap and face. The two students burst out cackling, and soon so is the entire room. Johansson's only able to gasp and look down in shock at his soiled clothes.

"What the hell?!" William darts his eyes to his friends, and then to Johansson, who shoves him aside to run out of the cafeteria. He picks up his clarinet case and runs after him.

Johansson's vision blurs as his eyes well up with tears. He dashes into a nearby restroom and locks himself in a handicap stall. Catching his breath, he looks around and notices "Johansson Quincy sucks eggs" is plastered on every surface of the stall like propaganda. He leans against the wall and throws his head up. 'Why me?', he thinks. 'Why must every 11 minutes of my life be filled with misery?' He pulls his Discman out of his pocket and presses play before putting on his headphones. Solitude in E minor plays on a loop.

William rushes into the restroom not soon after. "Johansson?" he calls, "Are you in here?"

"Go away," Johansson mumbles, "you've already done enough."
"I had nothing to do with this!"
"Yeah, right."
"Really! I was only relaying what our band teacher had told me. It's not like I would choose to sit with you any other way."
Johansson scoffs, "Right."
"Just come out or I'll come in there."
"I can't. I'm on the John."
"I know you aren't. You suck at lying."

He doesn't respond, hoping William will walk away on his own after getting tired of teasing him. Instead, he hears footsteps coming in his direction then a head appears above the stall door.

"What the hell, man?!" Johansson takes a step back. "What if I were actually using it?"

"This toilet's been out of order for almost a year now. Everyone uses this stall to hide from teachers and do the nasty."

"Gross."

William hoists himself up from the toilet and swings over the stall divider. "Oh God, look at you!" He almost forms a smile seeing Johansson covered in egg, but quickly throws a hand over his mouth.

"No need to rub it in." Johansson sits in the corner of the stall and turns the volume up on his Discman. William cringes at the thought of sitting on a bathroom floor and grabs a loose roll of tissues, then reluctantly crouches down in front of him. He reaches out and Johansson flinches and moves his head. "What're you doing?"
"Just trying to wipe this egg off of your face."
"I didn't ask for your help. I can do it myself."
"Just let me do this, bro"
"I'm not your 'bro', bro. Haven't you heard of boundaries?"
"Listen, I feel bad for what they did, so let me help you out."
"Why do you even care? You're the one who started the whole 'egg' thing. Don't try to redeem yourself now."
William starts wiping the yolk off of Johansson's chin.
"You think I care if I have your forgiveness? I was simply raised with manners."
"Bullshit. Where are your manners when you spread stupid rumors about me?"
"Okay, fine. Maybe I went too far with the egg thing, but I'd never encourage anything physically harmful to you. I'm not that kind of guy." He moves up to his cheek. "We were just teasing you a little, what was the harm in that? Now shut up and let me get your nose."

Johansson doesn't waste his breath telling William how it is. He's a talented, popular, rich boy from an elite family. He probably genuinely doesn't understand the concept of bullying. "Ugh, stop that tickles."
"Geez, there's some in your hair, too."

William gets closer to Johansson and gets rid of away muck from his forehead. From this close, Johansson could count every freckle on William's skin. He observes every detail of his rival's award-winning features. The sharp and defined edges of his jawline, the gentle curves of his lips, and the prominent bridge of his nose. He can't help but notice the signature Emerson family unibrow upon his forehead. His hair is naturally Spanish gray, flowing down and stopping before his shoulders. Every strand is perfectly in place, without a single kink or curl. Johansson has always admired his rival's well-sculpted physique.
He gazes into William's eyes and notices his flushed cheeks. Suddenly, he looks away and pulls his hand back.

No one says anything for a few seconds. William stands and dusts off his pants then holds out his hand to Johansson. "Lunch is halfway over, we should get back so no one gets suspicious."
"I'm not going back." Johannson curls up and puts his head onto his knees.
"Oh, come on. I said I was sorry."
"No, you didn't. Besides, my clothes are still covered in eggs. I'm not moving."

Williams sighs and reaches for his burgundy blazer. With a swift motion, he takes it off and throws it on the floor next to Johansson, along with the tissues. "It's obviously too big for you," he says, "but it'll cover up the stains until you can change. Don't worry about giving it back."

Afterward, William opens the stall door and picks up the black case that Johansson had left behind. "Here's your clarinet," he says, holding it out to him. "You left it when you ran off." He places it inside the stall then turns to leave but pauses. "Don't tell anyone about this. Wouldn't want anyone thinking I tolerate you."
"What if someone asks how I got your clothes?"
"No one will. They don't spare their attention on you any other time, so just stay invisible." He grins then closes the door and departs, leaving Johansson alone to collect himself.

After a few minutes have passed, Johansson has finished cleaning himself up and has tied William's blazer around his waist to cover up the dried egg on his jeans. "It smells like him." He thinks, scrunching his nose, but he can't pinpoint the scent. He steps out of the stall and stands in front of the restroom mirror, making sure that no stains are visible. He turns on the faucet and washes his hands. His thoughts are in shambles. How could his rival act so caring for his well-being? Especially when he's been part of this whole Johansson hate train?
He picks up his clarinet case and takes a deep breath before heading out of the restroom and to band class.

The band room is dimly lit and empty. He's the first student to arrive at his class since lunch is still ongoing. It was preferable to be early because now he could practice his music without judgment. He takes his clarinet out of its velvet-lined case and assembles all of the components.  He imagines he is standing on an enormous stage, before a sold-out theater, every seat in the house shaking from the anticipation of hearing him play the first note.

He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, feeling the music within him. He begins with slow, complimenting chords to warm up. Once he finds a melody he likes, he begins picking up the pace and changing the tempo at random. The piece goes from staccato bursts to long, drawn-out notes at unexpected and unexplainable times. The clarinet makes noises that anyone else would call stabbing, but Johansson finds comfort in his mess of trills. When he's finished, he thanks his fictional audience for their standing ovation and takes a bow before sitting in one of his class's folding chairs.

There's still a little time before lunch is over and class starts back, so he turns on his Discman and stares at the ceiling. Over the next few minutes, students fill the classroom and practice their instruments. Soon, the teacher joins in, and William arrives fashionably late, as usual. Johansson turns up his Discman's volume and daydreams as classmates and teachers alike swoon over William's perfectly textbook playing of the piece they're currently learning, Arietta, arranged for a clarinet quartet.

William's eyes flutter and occasionally scan his sheet music. Everyone's still as he plays the piece, with a few people dramatically holding their mouths open with amazement. Johansson feels his cheeks burn, and his teeth grind. "Big whoop," Johansson thinks, "as if he's some master. With his stupid clarinet, and his ugly playing, and his dumb jacket, and his big nose...."
He bounces his leg and thinks up more insults to himself.

"Quincy," Mr.Grime, their band teacher, calls, "How about demonstrating what you've learned so far with William?"

Johansson gulps. He knows this piece by heart, but knowing William, they could play in perfect harmony with impeccable timing and he will still come out on top. He hesitantly removes his headphones and grabs his clarinet then stands next to William, who's wearing a fresh new burgundy blazer. His sheet music rests on his own personalized wooden stand, unlike Johansson's who didn't bring his music at all.

William murmurs, "Hey, was that you playing in here before class began?"
"Y-yeah, why?"
"It sounded like you smeared dog shit on your sheet music. Try reading the notes next time and don't embarrass me at the recital." He laughs expensively.
"How hilarious. You should add 'stand-up' to your resume, next to 'professional pain-in-the-ass"
"I've heard better comebacks from a-"
Mr. Grimes clears his throat and signals the boys to begin.

They press their lips to their clarinets and begin playing Arietta. To them, it was a relatively simple piece of music, devoid of any glissandos or difficult chords. William plays the lead while Johansson harmonizes and follows William's pace. As expected, William adds in a few trills to show off, once again upstaging him. Johansson rolls his eyes and his clarinet squeaks from his momentary lack of focus, earning a disapproving head shake from his teacher. He makes a fist, to say stop playing.

"Quincy, you have been at this for years and you're still making these amateur mistakes."
Johansson lowers his clarinet. "I'm sorry, it won't happen again, I promise."
"No, this has gone on too long. Emerson, I need you to be Quincy's tutor after school, and get him in ship-shape before the recital."
William holds his mouth open in shock. "Why me?" he interjects in disbelief.
"What? Why him?" Johansson chimes in, mouth also agape.
"Honestly, Emerson's the only one I think can help you at this point. If you're lucky, some of his talent may rub off on you." Mr. Grimes dismisses the two and works with his other students.

William looks at Johansson and groans. "You just had to screw up, didn't you? Now I'm stuck with your incompetence until the recital."
"Nothing that you shouldn't be able to handle, Mr. First Chair." Johansson sits back down and puts his headphones back on. William scoffs then pulls a fancy maroon fountain pen and a small cream notepad from his pocket and scribbles a note. "This is my address. I teach dance at 3:00 and have a gig at a cafe at 5:00 so you'll have to be there around 7:00." He tears away the paper, dismissively hands it to Johansson, and walks off to be with his friends.

Johansson evaluates his note. The paper is unlined and has an elegant curly 'E' surrounded by a circular vine in the corner. William's address is written in black with immaculate cursive. The ink is still wet, so Johansson fans it around before shoving it in his pocket and continues listening to his music until class is over. He has a hard time practicing while in class, though he is more talented than his classmates. He thinks at least. His playing is always met with comments about him 'trying too hard' or not being as good as William. He may still make rookie mistakes, but he tells himself everyone is just jealous of his aptitude.

An hour passes, then another, and the last bell finally rings as Johansson is daydreaming in Science. Grabbing his clarinet case, he hurriedly stands from his desk and leaves class. He can feel his heart racing as he thinks about going to William's house after school. Is it nerves? Maybe because he's never visited a classmate's home before. Or maybe it's the fact that his rival has upstaged him yet again, being his tutor of all things. "How dare they?" he thinks, "So what if I made a small mistake? It doesn't make William any better than me! Once I get there I'll show him-"

Johansson stops in his tracks when he realizes William's home is all the way across town, and he has no way to get there. He has his bike, but no way he could go that far without getting exhausted. He doesn't have any friends to ask for a ride with or money for the bus, so he only has one option.

Chapter Text

"No way."
William leans against his locker with his arms crossed as he looks down at Johansson, who's standing across from him fidgeting.

"Oh come on! You have a car. You can just pick me up when you're finished with your gig or whatever."
"Can't you just get there on your old bike? It's bad enough you'll have to come over."
"Okay, then just come over to mine."

William shudders, "I'll give you the ride, only because I'd never want to be seen in your hovel of a home."
Johansson drops his shoulders. "Thank you."
"Yeah, whatever. Where do you want me to get you?"
"Well— I have work until 6:00, but I stay after hours to do homework, so I can wait for you there."
"Ugh, whatever. See you then, I guess." William walks away in the direction of an exit. Johansson opens his locker and grabs his book bag and uniform before going to the bike racks.

Johansson's bike is bright red with dark brown wheels.  It was passed down to him from his father when he needed a way to get to and from his job. It wasn't the best, but it got him where he needed to go. He stuffs his clarinet case into the pannier and hops on. As he pushes up his kickstand, William drives by in his maroon luxury sedan, catching a glimpse of Johansson and sticking a finger in his mouth pretending to gag. Johansson rolls his eyes, turns on his Walkman, and pedals off to work.

When he arrives at the old wooden establishment, Johansson ties up his hair and then puts on his uniform, which is just a white baseball cap with the picture of a blue anchor on the crown and navy blue rim. He pushes down the kickstand and grabs his clarinet before pushing open the big glass doors. His nose was assaulted with the strong smell of grease that lingers around the building. The old green floors creak with every step as he walks to his boat-shaped station, and throws his stuff inside.

"Yo! JJ, my man!" yells a voice in the kitchen behind him.
"Hey, Jim." Johansson huffs as he sits inside the boat. "You'll never guess what happened today. I have to go over to William Emerson's tonight. For clarinet lessons."
"The William Emerson? Your rival in band class? Your greatest adversary?" Jim mocks.
"I'm serious, man. This is sooo humiliating. Grime may as well have stabbed me in the chest."

Jim peers out of the window looking into Johansson's station. His coily brown hair is protected by a hairnet and his white apron is covered in grease stains. "That's, like, uber-dramatic. It's just a little lesson. Maybe you'll actually learn something, dude."
"Oh puh-lease. Like that mop with legs could teach me. If anything, I should be teaching him."
"For sure, J-man. For sure."

A crowd rushes into the doors clamoring to be first in line to order. Jim ducks back down into the kitchen. Johansson takes a breath and his eyebrows furrow as he dreads the next few hours.
"Welcome to the Krusty Krab..."

Three hours slowly pass. Johansson wipes down his last table and waves goodbye to Jim as he flips the 'Open' sign to 'Closed'. He grabs his book bag and sits at a table that's dried, then pulls out his math notebook. He takes out his assignment, which he's already doodled all over. The equations all seem like gibberish to him, and he wishes he had paid attention in class earlier.

Instead of trying to solve the problems, he continues where he left off with his doodles in the corners, drawing stars and tiny portraits of people he knows. First Jim, then his mom, then Eugene, his boss. He thinks about how William is a talented artist as well, which irks him. He scribbles a guide and begins drawing William.

As he shaded his hair, Johansson thought about how much he despised William for being so perfect. How much he hated his handsome face, his impressive physique, and his tear-jerking buttery voice. Johansson doodles until he dozes off. He dreams he's playing his clarinet for masters, who listen with contempt when the spotlight turns to William, who simply holds his clarinet to his mouth, and gets a rousing applause without taking a breath.

"Earth to Quincy~. Hellooo."
Johansson's head shoots up as he's startled awake from fingers being snapped in his ear. His assignment sticks to his cheek.

"Half of the time I see you, you're asleep." William laughs and leans down to Johansson's level. "You're lucky it was me who walked in and not a burglar." Johansson rubs his eyes and looks at the clock on the wall. "You're over an hour early. Did you get booed off stage?"
William pulls the paper from Johansson's cheek. "Of course not, just a scheduling error." He notices the doodles all over the sheet. "Is this supposed to be me?"
Johansson snatches his assignment from William's hand and stuffs it in his bag. "I-it's nothing. Shouldn't we be going?"
"Yeah right. That was definitely me. The unibrow gives you away."
"Just shut up. I'm annoyed enough by you being here, don't insult my art as well."
William's brow furrows. "I wasn't gonna insult you. I actually think it's pretty decent. For a doodle anyway."
"Huh? Really?"
"I mean, yeah... I've never cared to know your level of skill in anything but music, but your artistic ability just might be a bit better than your clarinet skills! Though, that's not saying much."
"Is that your version of a compliment?"
"I guess so."
"Hmph." Johansson puts his things back into his book bag. "You're not too bad, either."
"I'm 'not too bad'? Tell that to my award-winning sculptures in the state museum!"
"Yeah, yeah." Johansson rises from his seat. "Should I put my bike in the trunk?"
"Were you raised in a barn? I have a mount on the back."

William stands up and walks outside to the bike parking. Johansson turns off the restaurant's lights and locks the door behind him before heading to William's car. He initially intended to help William with getting his bike on his rack, but notices he already has it put up and decides to just get in.

Johansson plops down onto the leathery seat of William's luxurious car. The radio is nearly silent, but he faintly hears a piano playing in the background. That's when he realizes it's the accompaniment to his favorite piece, Solitude in E Minor. He had no idea William listened to the same music he did. Though, why would he, he thought. The interior was dark grey with red accents. The seatbelts were red as well, and the windows were completely blacked out from the outside, but Johansson could see right through them inside. The car seat headrests in the back had cursive red E's embroidered in the center. He'd never been in a car so fancy. He puts on his seatbelt and taps his finger to the little music he can hear.

The driver's side door opens and William steps inside. "You wiped off your feet before getting in here right?"
"W-why would I?"
William makes a disgusted face then closes his door. He presses a button and the car is in reverse, which stumps Johansson. "Where's your stick thingy?"
"What? Do your parents still ride a horse and buggy?"
"My dad's car has a doohickey in the middle that controls everything."
"You mean a gear stick. Yeah, I had one in my first car, like, years ago."
"Your first car?!"
"Yeah. How else would I get around?"
William puts the car in drive with the press of a button, and the two make their way to the Emerson estate.

Ten minutes pass without a word spoken from either boy. The radio still faintly plays piano and clarinet pieces, but it's barely decipherable against the sound of the highway beneath them. Johansson sits with his chin in his palm, staring out of the window at the empty road. The sky is dark shades of purple, and he wonders how late he'll be getting home tonight. He fidgets with his hands as he realizes he's never been out so late.

"So..." he looks around nervously as he tries to break the awkward silence, "Are we getting close to your home yet?"
"Almost there. huuu. Speed limit's 70. It sucks, huh?"
"I mean, they keep people safe or whatever. So they aren't so bad."
"Yeah, but the road's empty now, isn't it? Are you scared of a little speed?"
"Uh, huh?"
"I'll take that as a no!"
William chuckles and starts to speed up. Johansson's eyes dart to the speedometer, which reads 80, 85, 90, and climbing.
"Woah! You're joking right?" He reaches for the grab handle above the car door and turns to look at William, who's grinning from ear to ear. "This is so extremely dangerous. It's too dark out!"
"You think this is bad?" William says, then turns off the headlights.
"ARE YOU CRAZY?" Johansson tugs on his seatbelt and stares out at the road in front of him flashing by. William goes around curves without slowing down and zooms past red lights. Johansson's heart races. "Is he trying to kill me?" he thinks.
"What if I close my eyes next?!" William yells. Johansson covers his head with his hands and screams, "NO WAY!"
William throws his head back and cackles. "Aah, I'm just teasing you." He turns the headlights on and slowly presses the brakes, then turns on his signals. "We're here now, and four minutes early!"

Johansson catches his breath then lifts his head and peers out the windshield. All he could see was acres of grassy land in front of them, and a mansion in the distance. William drives up to a huge black gate, that automatically opens after a few seconds.
"Are you insane? What if the police caught a glimpse of your little joyride?"
"Hm? I've never had trouble with the police before. I guess I'd have my dad handle it." William smiles. "I'm just having a little fun!"

Johansson groans and rests his head on the car seat. He wasn't expecting William to be so impulsive, but it wasn't a big surprise considering he can rely on his family to bribe him out of trouble.
William pulls up to a garage door and turns off the car. He sighs and laughs to himself. "You should a' seen your face! And when I said I'd close my eyes? I could see your soul leaving your body!"
"Ah, give me a break already. Anyone would be scared in my position."
"But wasn't it just a little exciting?" William laughs and curls over until his head hits his dark red steering wheel. Johansson sucks his teeth, but seeing William so amused makes him smile a little. He turns his head so he doesn't see.

William slicks back his hair with his hand and takes a deep breath before opening his door and stepping out. "You coming? It's already so late."

click-click.

The boys stand outside the mansion as William locks his car, then searches for his house keys. Johansson looks up at the house before him. It seems to be never-ending, covering the evening sky. He could only see a corner of the full moon at the top. "If it's this big on the outside," he thinks, "it must be as big as a football stadium once you walk in."  He grips the handle of his clarinet case. William opens the door and walks inside. "My parents aren't home, just the butler, so we won't be bothered."

Johansson steps into the Emerson home's foyer. He's met with warm, inviting lights from giant chandeliers hanging on their very high ceilings. Paintings cover each wall, and sculptures are displayed after every few. He recognizes some of the priceless works of art, and some, like paintings of William's family, were new to him, but still impressive nonetheless. He looks down at the grey marble floors, admiring the patterns in each tile. "Oh! Should I have taken off my shoes or something?"
"Nah, I don't care. It's not my floor. But when we get to my room, then yes. I have carpet."
"Oh, okay." He crouches down and takes his shoes off there, anyway. William walks into a room across from them. "Gonna get a few snacks, wait here." He says, so Johansson assumes it's the kitchen. He hears William and another voice, who he presumes belongs to his butler, mumbling inside.

Just seeing the foyer of William's home, Johansson couldn't help but tremble with envy. For a second, he hoped William wouldn't notice how green he would have looked if the expression were literal. The air smelled of flowers and furniture polish, not exactly what William always smelled like. He stands after putting his shoes beside the front door, then untied the suit around his waist and put it up to his nose, comparing the scents. It was sweeter. "Maybe tonka bean or amber?" he thought as he sniffed the jacket and analyzed each note.
"Miss me already?" William comes from around the corner with an armful of snacks in baggies and cans. Johansson nearly jumps out of his skin and snatches the jacket from his face. "N-no I was just—"
"I mean, I know I'm irresistible, but come on."
"Ah, shut up. Can we get on with your little lesson so I can go home?"
"Of course, wouldn't want to overstay your welcome. My room's on the third floor."
"Third?!"

William walks up a flight of stairs and motions to follow him with his head. Once he reaches the second floor, Johansson is taken aback by how spacious the house is. Even more paintings and tapestries cover the hall, and there are even a few plants scattered about. The walls are painted a similar maroon to William's car and suits. There are tons of doors, all dark brown and wooden, and closed. The boys make their way up the third flight of stairs after a long walk across the second floor. The third floor is nearly identical to the first and second, with the exception of a red runner on the ground and the number of doors. Johansson counts four rooms.
"Your family really loves red, huh?"
"I guess so."
"Do you like it?"
William pauses. "It's alright. How about you, with your bright red bike?"
Johansson shrugs. "Nah. It wasn't really my choice. It was my dad's, he likes red, I guess."
"Yeah."

Eventually, they arrive at William's room. A door with his first initial in gold at the top. William kicks off his shoes and walks inside. Johansson couldn't imagine how the William Emerson's room would look, but he thought it'd be grand and fancy and clean, maybe with a 100-inch TV on the wall, if those existed.
Instead, he was met with what he could only describe as chaos. There were instruments from keyboards to guitars piled in one corner, and a deconstructed easel surrounded with canvases and paint tubes in the other. The floors were wooden with chips and scrapes throughout, but a big fluffy black carpet covered the majority of it. The furniture, a dresser and desk with a record player, and piles of books were also wooden and antique. An unmade king-sized bed takes up a wall of its own, covered with several silk pillows and a soft-looking duvet. On the same side as the door was a wall-sized mirror that looked like it hadn't been cleaned in a while. The wall across from them had a huge window with a velvet couch sitting in front of it and a stunning view of the sky. Crumpled papers, guitar picks, and other little items covered every surface of the room. The bed sheets, couch, record player, and even most of the instruments were maroon or a close-matching red. The room smelled strongly sweet like William always did.

William grabs his clarinet from his dresser and hopped onto his bed, throwing his snacks beside him. "You can sit on my bed or the couch. I don't really care." He says indifferently.
"Your room is...really messy." Johansson struggles to step over all of the junk on the floor and sits on the couch. He hears paper crunch under the cushion.
"Yeah, well. I didn't exactly have the time to clean this week. That's my butler's job, anyway."
"This is all just from this week? It's Wednesday!"
"Your room is probably way worse!"
"As if!" Johansson opens his case and builds his clarinet. "Let's just get on with this."
"Okay! So, I would ask you what your weaknesses are, but we'd waste time going through them all, so we'll only cover the squeaking today."
Johansson grumbles and puts his clarinet to his mouth.

"How about just playing Arietta? Then I'll tell you what you're doing wrong. Start here." William inhales and plays a C Major then an F note, signaling him to begin in the middle. Johansson plays the harmony. William stops playing and watches Johansson intensely. He plays for three seconds before his clarinet squeaks and William looks as if a lightbulb turned on above his head. He snaps his fingers. "It's definitely your positioning!"
"Huh? How can you tell?" Johansson brushes his hair from his face and cocks his head.
"I mean, your air control is pretty much perfect, and your fingers have the right amount of pressure, but I can tell you're not comfortable with the way you're holding your mouth and arms. You tend to slouch, you know, even if you think you're standing straight. If you feel tension while you're playing then bam. Squeak City."

Johansson doesn't want to admit it, but he thinks William might be right. "I don't think so. Maybe it's just a faulty clarinet."
"No way, just sit up straight and play again."
"I am sitting straight."
"That's what you call sitting straight?" William puts a hand on Johansson's back and pushes it forward, forcing him to sit upright. "You always look like the letter C, dude. Try playing it now."
Johansson sharply inhales as a chill shoots up his spine. He can't tell if it's from the sensation of sitting straight, or William touching him so suddenly. He puts his clarinet to his mouth and plays Arietta once again, this time getting through the entire first section without squeaking once.

William plops back down on his bed and smiles. "Told ya! If you work on your posture and diaphragmatic breathing, you might have a shot at being second best to me!" His hand searches around his snack supply. "That was easier than I thought!"
Johansson stares ahead of him ignoring William's snarky comments. He couldn't believe a simple change like that made him sound so much better, and more than that, William was the one who taught him. "Whatever. I could've figured that out myself."
William rips open a bag of gummy bears. "Well, you didn't. A 'thank you' would be nice."
"In your dreams."
"Come onnn. My services aren't free."
Johansson gets quiet. He thinks about how different William is outside of school. Everyone knows him as well-groomed. He's always been someone to laugh at jokes people make about him, besides today. The only times they really talked were when they were insulting each other during band class and recitals. Other than that, William seemed like the perfect guy who would never have a messy room or compliment Johansson ever.
He turned his head away from William's direction. "Thank you, or whatever." He mutters. William beams and leans back on his elbows.

"Huuu. That only took a minute, we could have done this at school, don't ya think?" William said through a mouthful of candy. "Anyways, I have math homework to do now. Can I copy from yours?"
"Oh, I didn't even get started on mine." Johansson gets his assignment from his book bag. It's almost illegible due to the doodles, and him stuffing it carelessly into his bag. William grabs his bag and browses through it hastily with his hand.

"Shoot! I don't think I got one before I left class. Uhhh, you don't mind me looking at yours with you right? I can just submit it on notebook paper. You should too, since you kinda ruined yours."
"He forgot his homework?" Johansson thinks, "This, plus the god-awful room.." He smiles at the thought that William isn't as perfect as everyone thinks he is. It makes him feel a little better about himself.
"What's so funny?" William cocks his head to the side.
"You can sit beside me and put it between us!" He pats a space on his bed.

"Oh. Um. Okay." Johansson awkwardly gets up and walks to William's bed. He feels extremely embarrassed being that close to him. Sure, they sit beside each other during recitals and in some classes, but this was way more personal. He carefully sits on the opposite end of the bed and lays his assignment in the middle. William hands him a college-ruled paper from his binder on a clipboard and a (maroon) mechanical pencil. He'd already begun copying down the questions before Johansson's written his name.
"I forgot to ask earlier," William says looking down at his paper, "but what are you always listening to on your Discman? I see you pressing play, like, all the time, but not replacing the CD."

Johansson is kind of shocked William pays attention to him so closely. "It's Solitude. in E minor."
William turns his body to face Johansson with a gasp. "No way! You like that piece too? Ah, It's one of my favorites!"
Johansson turns to William. "Really? You know, I did notice it playing in your car when you picked me up, but I didn't think much of it."
"Oh wow! Isn't it addicting? Other people might find it sleep-inducing, but I just love the progressions, and the version with the piano just ties it all together, don't you think?" William puts his paper on top of Johansson's assignment. "What other songs do you like? Do you listen to Kenny G?"
"Are you kidding? I own, like, four of his albums. He's truly a revolutionary."
"Shut up! I only have Silhouette! But I'm definitely asking my dad for the other three you have. Okay, who's your favorite artist of all time?"

Johansson finds it cute how enthusiastic William is about music. "Not cute like that." He thinks.
"Maybe....The Cure? I only have two of their albums but they're pretty good."
"I've never heard of them." William says confused.
"Oh, how about Siouxsie and the Banshees? The Smiths?"
William just shakes his head.
"Do you only listen to classical and jazz? It's the 80's! How have you never heard some proper rock?" Johansson grabs his bag and pulls out his Discman and a few CDs of different bands. William scoots closer to him and reads each case. "What's Three Imaginary Boys?"
"Ahh, it's my favorite right now. Especially Boys Don't Cry." He puts the CD into the Discman after removing Solitude and picks up the headphones. He pauses when he realizes they can listen to the music together with one pair of headphones.

"One sec!" William gets up and runs to his dresser, grabbing a pair of earbuds and hurrying back to his bed, sitting closer to Johansson to plug them into his Discman. He puts one side into his right ear and hands Johansson the other. "Don't worry about earwax and stuff, I don't even have a Discman to use them with."
Johansson grabs the earbud and puts it in his left ear, then hits the play button. Fox Lady begins playing.
"Oooh this is a good one."
"It just sounds like noise."
"Just wait for it to build up!" Johansson holds Williams's pencil to his face and dramatically mouths the lyrics.
"How do you even know what they're saying?" William laughs and bops his head along to the song.
"You should listen to music with lyrics, sometime. Have you ever heard of Blue Monday? I bet you'll love it."
"Do you have it with you? Let's listen to it after this album!"

"You wanna listen to this whole thing? It's probably over half an hour."
"I don't mind. This song's pretty good, so I should listen to the rest, right? Next, let's put in this...Si-oh-eksie one!"
Johansson laughs. "It's pronounced 'Suzy', but okay."
"You know, you're not as boring as I thought you were."
"Is that another one of your compliments?"
"I guess so!"
Johansson stifles his smile. "Neither are you."

William and Johansson spend the next few hours listening to CDs and talking about art while eating candy. They forget about their math homework and enjoy each other's company for the first time.

Chapter Text

Johansson's eyes flutter open. As he regains consciousness he stretches, overjoyed with how well he slept the night before. He rubs his eyes and feels around him searching for the nightstand beside his bed. Instead, his hand lands on another pillow beside him. He's confused since his bed is twin-sized and he only has one pillow. He blinks a few times to adjust his vision and is stumped at the sight of a silk maroon pillow similar to the one his head is resting on. That's when he realizes he'd never gone home last night and is still in William's room. He must have accidentally fallen asleep as he usually does.

He pulls the covers back to reveal that he's wearing red and black striped pajamas— the kind you'd see in old cartoons. He barely remembers what happened before he fell asleep, but he doesn't worry about it now. He needs to find a phone to call his mom. "She must be worried sick." He thinks, pushing himself out of the bed and stumbling to the door. It flies open before he can grab the doorknob. William is standing there with a water bottle. His hair is tied in the back and he's wearing a black hoodie and shorts.

"Finally decided to wake up?" He says smirking.

It shocks Johansson that William seems to have been working out at such an early hour. He could tell he was out of breath and his cheeks were flushed.
"Um, what time is it?" Johansson mumbles groggily.
"Like, 8:30."
"That early?!"
"Early?"
Johansson rubs his eyes. "Oh yeah, when did I put these on? They're definitely not mine." He says while pulling on the waistband of the oversized pajama pants.
"They're mine, well, they were mine last year for my family's Christmas cards." William rolls his eyes. "You started nodding off while we were listening to Ween, so I gave them to you before you passed out. You don't remember? You even called your mom and told her you were staying over at my place."

Johansson sighed in relief. Still, he couldn't believe that his first ever sleepover was spent with him of all people. It wasn't a big deal for William, he's probably had hundreds of sleepovers, Johansson thinks. He steps back from the door to give him space to walk inside. William stands in front of his mirror and checks himself out.

"I kinda hate to admit it, but I did have a good time yesterday. Your taste in music is...something. But it's not half bad!"
"Yeah...last night was okay," Johansson muttered. There's a part of him that didn't want to admit it, but he thinks William is a cool guy now that he's spent a few hours with him. He just wishes he'd be this way at school as well

"I finished our homework, by the way. There's a printer in my dad's office, so I made a copy of my assignment for you since yours was all scribbled up. It's in your book bag."
"Really? You didn't have to...I had all weekend to do it."
"It was nothing, or maybe a 'thank you', I guess."
"Thank you for what?"
"For my first sleepover!"
"Your-! Um, you're welcome..." Johansson scratches his head in confusion. How could someone as popular as him not have friends over for a night? It didn't make any sense.

"I'm gonna shower now, just came in to see if you were awake yet. You should too. There's a guest bathroom on the second floor, with a four-panel door instead of six like the rest of them. It already has all the amenities you'll need." William wipes his forehead and trudges to his shower. Johansson didn't even realize there was a full bathroom in his bedroom until now.

Johansson makes his way down to the second floor, counting the panels on the doors as he made his way down the spacious hallway. Once he located the four-panel door he twists the handle then steps inside, and that familiar sweet aroma faintly wafts from the room.
He didn't know where to look first. The maroon and black checkered tile floor, the damask wallpaper with floral patterns intricately woven, the spacious free-standing bathtub, or the ethereal crystal chandelier blanketing everything in a soft inviting light. He's always dreamt of being in such a place— not the bathroom itself, but the house as a whole—it's a truly grandiloquent home and every little detail is remarkable in his eyes.

Johansson's loved good interior design ever since his favorite TV series House Fancy began airing on pubic access channels. The host, Nicholas Withers, goes around their city and showcases extravagant homes he deems "fancy". By the end of each season, one of the homeowners is given the title of House Fancy Prince/Princess and is featured in a commercial-free hour-long special. He hopes one day he'll own a home fancy enough to become prince and have the spotlight.

There are plush maroon towels on the black marble counter, along with Johansson's clothes from the day before, washed and folded. A velvet drawstring pouch is beside it all with a card with gold detail lying on top. Johansson picks it up and flips it over.

"I had the butler take care of your dirty clothes, & there's a toothbrush and stuff in the pouch. No need to thank me."  There's a smiley face with its tongue stuck out. "Also, I asked him to use my 'Sweet Clover' laundry detergent, since you seemed so fond of it yesterday. ~William."

"So that's what that scent is!" Johansson says to himself and snaps his fingers.

After a few minutes of trying to figure out the foreign faucets, he turns the shower on, the pressure of the water startling him. He grabs a luffa from the velvet bag. It's a real one, like the plant, and not the plastic sponges, which he feels is overkill.

He catches a glimpse of himself in the vanity mirror in front of him. It was nearly big enough for him to see his entire body. The pajamas were baggy on his slim frame, and his long hair was thrown around every which way, but there was a smile on his face he couldn't shake. He wonders if he'd been smiling all along.

After he'd finished washing and dressing himself in his now clean clothes, which he thinks have never looked better until today, Johansson puts his hair in a low braid then throws the towels he used and the pajamas in a hamper behind the door. The luffa is shoved back into the velvet bag and he walks out of the guest bathroom feeling like he'd just been to a 5-star resort.

He swings the bag back and forth as he makes his way to the stairs to the 3rd floor when he hears a whistle calling him from behind. He spins around. It's William, who's holding Johansson's book bag, and Discman. He's now dressed in what he's usually wearing at school— his maroon suit with his family's emblem on the pocket of the blazer.

"Did you enjoy your shower? I could've sworn I heard you singing in there." William sneers.
"Hardy har har. If I were singing, you would have pressed your ear up to the door to hear more of my beautiful voice." Johansson rolls his eyes as he grabs his things from William.
"In your dreams!"
"In your dreams!"
"You're right. I forgot whales don't dream." Johansson chuckles.
"Are you really going to talk about my physique, chicken legs?" William retorts, looking down at Johansson's legs and cheesing.
"At least chickens can fly!"
"...What? Do you think chicken can fly?"
Johansson tilts his head, smiling confusedly. "They're birds aren't they?"

William's cheeks puff in an attempt to not laugh at Johansson's lack of knowledge. Johansson's eyebrows furrow with genuine curiosity, which pushes him over the edge. He breaks out into laughter, squeezing his eyes shut and crossing his arms around his stomach.
Johansson pouts, but starts to laugh as well, albeit still oblivious to what he said about chickens that was funny.

The boys both sigh and straighten their backs. "Ahh, okay. Let's go." William huffs. He pulls his keys from his pocket and twirls the keychain around his fingers then turns to the staircase to the first floor. Johansson throws his book bag around his arm and trails behind.

As they shuffle down the long stairway, the smell of bacon stops Johansson in his tracks.

"What is it?" William says, turning his head around to Johansson, who's now racing down the stairs to the kitchen, where the smell is coming from. He cranes his neck around the wall separating the living area and the kitchen and finds a tall man at the stove flipping a pancake onto a stack atop the counter. He then picks up the platter of pancakes and places it on an island alongside many other breakfast foods like bacon, sausage, eggs, and oatmeal. The smell of the food almost puts Johansson in a trance, his eyes seemingly unable to move away from the feast before him.

"Excuse me, Mr.Quincy." A voice beckons from above him. His eyes dart up to meet the man's gaze.
"Has William finished his morning jog? Will you let him know I've prepared his breakfast?" The man requests.
Johansson stutters a jumbled response before William makes it to his side. "I'm here, Francis." He tells the man, "We're just about to get going." He pats Johansson on the back so he snaps out of his breakfast-induced hypnosis. "This is Francis, our butler."
"Guilty as charged!" Francis grins, but it's hard for Johansson to tell under his bushy mustache.
"William— Er, Sir  William— care to stay a few minutes more to have breakfast? Your parents will be home momentarily."
William looks upward then down, like he is lost in thought. "Then I regret not leaving earlier. Come on Jo-"

William looks back up and sees Johansson at the island staring at the food, nearly drooling. He looks at his clock and then rolls his eyes. "Do...you want Francis to make you a to-go plate?"
Johansson just nods without breaking eye contact with the buffet. Francis chuckles and walks to a cabinet to grab a styrofoam plate.

๑๑๑

The sky is the perfect color of blue. Johansson struggles to connect his fork with his mouth as William drives over the bumps in the road.
He finally enjoys his forkful of pancake when William slows down at a red light. His eyes follow the cars flying from the right and stops to look at William, who hasn't said anything in the past 5 minutes. He closes his plate and tries to make conversation.
"Y'know, this meal? De--lectable." Johansson mumbles through a mouthful of bacon. William continues to stare ahead. Johansson chews and waits for a response before turning straight forward when he doesn't get one. The light turns green and William drives across the intersection towards Johansson's home.

Johansson looks out of the passenger window and sighs. He reminded himself that he and William aren't really "friends", just classmates who helped each other out with assignments, so there isn't really a reason they need to speak outside of that. Plus, he's kinda supposed to hate him anyway, since he's deemed William a rival.
"Hey," William starts, "Is this your street?"
Johansson's head pops up from his palm and he scans his surroundings. "Almost. It's like, three minutes from here."
"Ah, alright. Then you can bike your way there, right?"
"Uh..yeah. I guess."

William lifts the bike from the mount and sits it in front of Johansson, who stands across from him. He watches him put his things in the pannier before getting back into his car. Johansson pushes up the kickstand then walks over to the driver-side window, crouching down to get on William's level.

"So...thanks and whatever..." Johansson scratches his head. "Did you uh..want this loofah and toothbrush back?"
William takes a deep breath and refrains from smiling.
"No, it's fine. You can keep it. I'll..see you at school. I guess." He awkwardly raises his hand to wave goodbye, and Johansson follows suit.

He drives back the way he came.

Chapter Text

Johansson hears the car's engine roaring down the road until it's too far away. As he pushes off his old bike and pedals to his neighborhood, he wonders why William's demeanor seemed to change when he spoke with his butler, Francis. He seemed more reserved and cold, like he usually is at school. 

Dark grey clouds roll in and the quiet rumble of thunder becomes audible nearby. Johansson decides not to dwell on William's attitude, since he very well could always be like this. They've never been as close as they were yesterday, so he has no basis to judge his mannerisms. He picks up his pace and races home before he gets caught in a storm. His wheels skid in a puddle on the driveway as he uses his foot to stop his bike in his front yard. The rain had already begun to pour, so he grabs his things from his pannier and  runs into the already open front door.

The screen door slams behind him. Water drips from his blonde hair, now becoming frizzy from the moisture. The lights of the living room dim and flicker as an old Western movie plays on the small box TV in the corner. The creak of his mother's rocking chair is louder than anything else in the small room. She stands from embroidering a pillow and her eyes light up when she notices her son standing at the door.

"Oh, Joey!" She approaches her son with her arms extended. Johansson does the same in response. They share a warm embrace that ends quickly when rain-soaked clothes stick to his skin, dampening her patchwork dress. "How was your first ever sleepover, honey? Were you scared? How long did you stay up? Did you eat? I'll make you breakfast!" Her hands grip and shake Johansson's arms out of excitement. 

"Ma, ma!" He laughs, "Don't worry, I already ate a lot," he gestures to the plate in his hand, "and scared? Why would I be scared? It was just a sleepover." His eyes shoot up as he thinks about how he could've died in a high-speed chase last night.

His mom cups his chin and sighs. "Well, as long as you had fun. Ooh, my baby's growing up! I can't believe it!"

"Ma, please..." 

Mrs. Quincy is a sweet, gentle woman. She had Johansson at a young age, but always cared for him the best she could. Even when she was a student working two jobs, she did everything she could to make time for him and show him the love that her mother didn't. Johansson didn't really mind how his mother loved on him, it can get embarrassing in public, though. His mom comes to every one of his band recitals and cheers them on. She even brings homemade refreshments. With her not being the greatest cook, it leads to some heavy picking from his classmates. 

"Well, I'll get back to my work then. It's a big project. I can't wait for you to see it!" Mrs. Quincy beams as she returns to her rocking chair. Johansson kicks off his shoes and leaves them on the welcome mat. He shares a quick "Love you!" with his mother before stepping out of the living room into the hallway. 

The Quincy residence is a small one-story home with two bedrooms. Parts of the old-timely wallpaper is peeling, and the carpet's old and coming up from its rubber padding underneath. All in all, it takes ten steps to walk through the entire house, in Johansson's eyes at least. His room was at the end of his 10-step walk, at the other end of the house parallel to the kitchen. He carefully pushes the door open with his foot and lumbers inside. Upon entering, he hurls his book bag, clarinet case, and plate onto the floor and peels off his wet polo shirt. He falls down onto his twin bed and sighs. 

"You will not believe the night I've had." Johansson turns his head to look at his teddy bear, TB ( short for "Teddy Bear". Not a very creative name, but he named it as a toddler). 

"I just got back from my first sleepover. With William. Yeah, I know what you're thinking."

TB sits unmoved on his pillow.

"Don't get me wrong, I didn't have a bad time. I had a good time, actually. And guess what? It was William's first sleepover too! Like, what? No way, he had to be joshing. Like, he has so many friends I'm sure would love to sleep over at that extravagant place. They certainly have the room for it. Wait, where did he sleep last night? I mean, I slept in his bed, so — I know how that sounds, but I honestly just dozed off, and there's no way he... well, the bed is big enough, but no way."

TB flops over.

"What're you trying to say? I still despise him. His home was just nice, is all. And he did give me decent advice, as much as I hate to admit it. Annddd, it was nice listening to music with him, and watching his unibrow furrow and raise when he liked a song... Something was off this morning, though." He sits up and faces TB, thinking back to when William drove him to his side of town. "He felt kind of... distant? Not like I would know how he is, but it was like a switch flipped when we talked to his butler. Ah, whatever. I have other things to worry about." 

As expected, TB says nothing in response. 

Johansson rises from his mattress and grabs his clarinet. He can't help but look around his room and compare it to William's. It's significantly smaller and emptier, with nothing but a bed and an old coffee table and swivel stool from the sidewalk as his desk area. On his white walls are a few posters he's collected from CDs and a few of his paintings. Most of them are self portraits, not very great ones in his opinion, and a few of them still life. They're all made on 5x7 pallets with acrylic paint from the dollar store. It's all his mother can afford to occasionally get him, but Johansson wishes he could express himself on a bigger canvas one day. Unlike William's, Johansson's room was clean and orderly, partially because he doesn't have many things to become cluttered.

He decided he should take the time to practice Arietta this weekend before he's examined on Monday. William's gonna flip when he hears how much better than him I got in just two days, he thinks.

๑๑๑

On Monday morning, Johansson walks into his English class with a pep in his step. After his two days of perfecting Arietta, he realizes maybe his problem is his confidence when playing. He usually learns a piece and feels he doesn't need to do anymore, but after his study session with William, he admitted to himself that he could be better. 

Johansson sits in his desk near the back of the class and watches as his classmates slowly start to fill the rest of the desks. He mentally prepares himself for the hours of boring lectures he'll have to endure until his band class this afternoon. He shakes his leg to the rhythm of Solitude and let his eyes cross until a beckoning hand appears before him. His teacher stands there impatiently waiting for his homework from the week before. He reaches in his book bag for his assignment, silently thanking William for completing it.

As if he had heard his gratitude, William walks into the classroom and claims his seat two desks behind Johansson. He takes out his Trapper Keeper and pulls his homework from a folder. Johansson grabs his, crumpled at the bottom of his bag. His teacher seems pleasantly surprised that he had any work to turn in at all this week. She continues down the aisle, collecting everyone's homework. 

Howard is seated in his usual desk between the two boys. After his homework is collected, he turns around in his chair to face William. "Psst. Hey. What's up with you? You haven't answered any of my calls since Friday." His whispered tone wasn't quiet enough to keep Johansson from hearing.

William looks at his nails to seem careless. "I went on a golfing trip."

"At this time of year? It's damn-near freezing outside!"

"...Yeah. Makes it way more challenging."

Harold squints his eyes at William and turns back around in his chair.

Johansson didn't mind that William didn't tell the truth about their sleepover on Friday. He understands he has a reputation to uphold, and "I spent the night with the egg kid." wasn't really the best option here. He feels a tap on his shoulder. Annoyed, he turns around and looks at Harold through his eyebrows, knowing he's just getting his attention to harass him. He has a knee in his seat to reach Johansson across his desk. 

"Hey, Sissy Quincy." He sneers, "I know my joke was a little overboard last week."

"Your 'joke'?" Johansson questions.

"Well, I just know that you probably can't imagine how you must've looked, being so humiliated."

".....Okay."

"That's why I took this!" Harold pulls out a  small glossy photo of Johansson covered in eggs running out of the cafeteria and hands it to him. "It's a little souvenir, but don't worry, you definitely won't forget it anytime soon." He chuckles. Johansson looks at the image of him crying after being harassed simply for existing. He imagines William's posse has already taped these up wherever they could. 

"Gee, thanks." Johansson rolls his eyes and turns around in his chair. 

A hand snatches the photo out of his, causing him to whip around and see William standing over him, now examining the image. His eyes made its way to Johansson's with a gleam of worry, then to Harold, who looked up at him with a wide grin.

"Pretty good, huh? I sprung for the glossy paper so it's nice and professional." He teasingly twirls a finger in Johansson's hair, making him shudder and face forward once again.

William's eyes darkens as his grip on the picture grew stronger. "Swap desks with me." He demands.

"What? Why?" he asks, but he still slowly rises from his seat.

"Just move." He says it loud enough for a few students to turn their heads.

Harold silently grabs his bag and walks around to William's desk. William sits in Harold's.

Johansson can hear William take a deep, shaky breath behind him, and so does he. Did that really just happen? He thinks. Did William just...stick up for me? He can feel his heart beating a bit stronger than before. He grabs at his shirt as if to keep his heart from bursting out. This is crazy, there's no way...

A few minute pass with no dialogue said between anyone in the classroom. Johansson replays the moment over and over in his head as the teacher begins with their lesson.

tap, tap.

William slides a folded piece of paper from his custom little notepad on his desk for Johansson to turn and retrieve. Johansson looks at William's face, which is as red as it was that day in the bathroom stall. He unfolds the note, anxious about what it might say. 

"Needed a better view of the chalkboard. -W"

...are you kidding me? Johansson mouths to himself.

๑๑๑

Johansson taps his foot to keep himself awake an hour into their math's class. He's noticed a completely different atmosphere after William switched seats with Harold. There's no gum in his hair or 'KICK ME" papers taped to his back. It felt lighter, and safer with William behind him.

Fortunately, the lunch bell rings and jolts everyone awake. The class grabs their book bags and binders and spill out of the room. 

"Oh, Quincy aaand Emerson. Please, a minute of your time." Their teacher motions for them to approach her.

William makes a confused hum. Johansson isn't unfamiliar with the teacher keeping him after class to press him about his missing assignments, but he submitted his work today, so he also wonders why he's being held back as they both walk up to the teacher's desk.

"Something wrong?" William asks, not really expecting a problem.

"Well, not with you, of course. Quincy, on the other hand, you're assignment is exemplary."

Johansson gives a half smile and a shrug, "Thanks?"

"In fact, it's the best I've ever seen you do in my class. Hell, it's the only thing I've seen you do in my class. Which leads me to believe you made the decision to cheat from Emerson here."

William's eyes widen. Johansson raises his eyebrows as if in disbelief. "Cheating? Me?"

"All the evidence points to it."

"Or maybe I just decided to apply myself and realized algebra really isn't that hard!"

She tilted her head as if to say she didn't believe him. 

"Okay, fine. But I didn't cheat! Ask him!" Johansson looks over at William, who says nothing.

"I hope you know cheating could get you expelled, it's nothing to play with. I'm afraid I'm going to have to put you in detention after lunch." She whips out a green sheet of paper and begins filling it out.

"W-what? No way! I have to be in band class after lunch!" He looks at William, desperate for him to vouch for him, but he stares ahead silently. "At least make it this afternoon? Please?"

"Your extracurricular isn't more important than the real education you'll get in your core classes. My mind is made up."

Johansson drops his shoulders in defeat and watches his teacher tear the one part of his day he kinda looked forward to away from him. William can't stand to stay silent any longer seeing Johansson's troubled expression. 

"It was me." He proclaimed. "I...shared my answers with Johansson. I didn't know it'd be a problem." He looks down at his feet. 

"Emerson? This is unlike you." Their teacher is obviously taken aback. She seems to ponder something, then takes the green paper and balls it up before throwing it in the trash can under her desk. "I want you both here after school to clean the classroom." 

Johansson perks up once again, letting out a sigh of relief. He quickly turns and speed walks out of the door before his teacher could change her mind.

William trails behind him in the hallway, picking up his pace to catch up.

"I can't believe that just happened." William groans.

"I know, right? I rarely get off so easily!" Johansson gleams, swinging his clarinet case back and forth.

William looks down at him, finding his positive attitude backwards. "We just got a punishment, how are you so happy right now?"

"What, you've never wiped down a few tables?" Johansson says sarcastically, slowly realizing that might have been true. William looks off to the wall. He sees a sheet of paper on the wall and quickly tears it off while Johansson isn't looking. 

Johansson stares ahead, feeling the awkwardness of the two walking side-by-side having a conversation like normal people. The hallway had cleared in the time they spent with the teacher after class, and they're voices echoed off of the narrow brick walls. Their arms lightly brush against each other, triggering them to tense up and put space between them until they got to lunch. Once the two enter the cafeteria doors, William trails off to his friend group, and Johansson walks along the perimeter of the room to his table in the back. The trash cans haven't been filled yet, yet another pleasant surprise for today. He plops down on the hard plastic seat and pulls out his bag lunch. Today it was an egg sandwich with Tampico— SunnyD for the poor. gross, he thinks, but he'll drink it regardless. 

A few times over the 45 minute lunch period, Johansson found his eyes trailing to William as he scanned the room. He examined his hair and how it barely went out of place as he shook his head, how his mouth moved when he spoke, how he rarely smiled with his friends. He recalls William smiling and laughing several times when they've spoken, but not when he's hanging out with his own clique. He sat there almost motionless unless someone spoke to him directly, then he'd shake or nod his head. Sometimes his friends would make stupid faces at Johansson, and he'd roll his eyes and chuckle dryly. He silently look around the room, like Johansson does, like he's alone. He rests his chin on his palm and looks to the back of the room, locking eyes with Johansson, and quickly looking away to another corner. Johansson averts his gaze as well, down at his Tampico as he sips the last drop. He felt his heart skip a beat when their eyes met, probably from embarrassment. Not long after, Johansson rises from his bench and makes his way out of the cafeteria and to the band room before crowds could flood the corridors once the bell rings。

Johansson clutches his case as he strides to class. Finally, he'd outshine William and get the praise he deserves. As he enters the double doors of the empty room, he pulls out the earbuds to his Discman and plays Boys Don't Cry. He sits in a chair and stares off into space until the bell rings and the teacher enters, flipping on the bright lights of the band room. The chairs fill up one by one and music fills the room, everyone practicing a different piece on their own. Mr. Grime raps his desktop to call everyone's attention. 

"Good morning, students." He starts, smoothing back strands of hair deviating from his comb-over, "As you all know, the winter recital is in a month, on the last day of school. When that day comes, everyone should be giving their best performance.' He looks directly at Johansson when he says everyone. "Emerson, I take it Quincy's made some improvement over the weekend?" He beckons them to stand front and center with his hand.

Johansson hops up excitedly, his clarinet already out and ready to play. He stands in front of the sheet music for Arietta in the middle of the room. William slides up next to him. 

"Don't embarrass me, Quincy." William says, staring ahead.

"You just try to keep up, Emerson.” Johansson fires back.

Chapter Text

"Your parents must be proud of you." 

William's head perked up at Johansson's sudden assumption as they laid on his bed and stared at the ceiling while listening to his CDs. He sits up and rests on his elbow before taking out his earbud. 

"Why do you say that?" 

Johansson continues to stare at the ceiling silently, biting his tongue for letting his thoughts slip from his mind. He pretended not to hear William's inquiry and focused on the soft grainy noise in his earbud.  

William reached over and pulled the earbud from Johansson's ear. "The music isn't that loud. Come on."  

Johansson sighed and sat up on his elbows as well. "I just meant...you're pretty talented, and you always have the best test scores. I dunno, they must be the happiest parents ever." He chuckled. 

William didn't respond, fidgeting with the comforter between his fingers. "I mean, so must your parents. You're talented, too. You just don't know it." 

"Yeah, right. My parents think I'm wasting my time with art. My dad, at least. I'm no good." 

"That's not true." 

"It is so. I wish I had your parents. Then maybe I'd be talented, too." Johansson turned away to look at the door. Oh my God, why am I saying all of this? He thought. I look like a big loser. 

William seemed to take offense, his head jerking back as if he were personally insulted or confused but held his tongue from making that known. He took a deep breath. "You are good." William said after a beat. "Just as good as me." Johansson froze. He could feel his cheeks sting from blushing, the sensation traveling up to his ears. Am I being punked right now? William seemed to be a completely different person. A kinder, gentler one who would never hate someone like Johansson. He wanted to wonder why this was so, but he'd rather enjoy it while he could. 

"Uh….That's what other people would say. Not me. I still think you suck, but someone with worse ears would think differently. N-Not to say that your parents are deaf. What am I talking about again? Just get your clarinet. Let's practice together right now! Hey...look at me. Are you feeling sick?" 

๑๑๑

Mr. Grime signaled for the boys to end their rendition of Arietta. His eyebrows were raised, and his eyes which were usually dead were slightly more open, like in surprise. He turned around and walked to the chalkboard, scribbling indistinct phrases related to class. "Good job, Emerson. I'll hear the violin quartet next." 

Johansson regained feeling of his feet, no longer anxious for what his instructor would say about his performance. He reintroduced the curve to his spine as he slumped over, relaxing after giving what he thought was a good show. Unfortunately, to his dismay, Mr. Grime seemed to not hear any improvement. He shifted his eyes over to William and flinched when he found his mouth was agape, and so were most of his classmates' as he looked around. He shrugged, silently saying, "What?" 

William was soon surrounded by his entourage as usual, and normalcy reentered the room. Johansson walked across the room back to his chair and fiddled with his reed. After a minute, a classmate nudged him with her elbow.  

"Nice one, Egg." she said with a smirk. Her friends took notice and joined in. 

"Yeah, that was rad!" 

"I haven't heard you play this well since, well, ever!" 

"Givin' Willy a run for his money, huh?" 

Johansson felt all his blood rush to his head and his mouth run dry. "Y-yeah. Thanks, it was-- I mean my-- I did my best." Even though he noticed the air of teasing in their remarks, he'd never even gotten that much of a positive reaction from his class.  

After the commotion had died down and the students resumed practicing their pieces, William took the opportunity of the attention being off of him to slink into the empty chair beside Johansson. He spoke in a hushed tone. “Dude, you killed it!” He punched him on the arm. Johansson awkwardly chuckled and rubbed where William hit him. “I guess your tutoring paid off, huh?” He’d never seen William smile so big until now. His braced teeth were white and nearly perfectly aligned. “No way, that was all you. What’d you do over the weekend?” 

“Just…practiced until I got it right.” 

Johansson told only half of what happened. In reality, he had spent the past two days practicing while imagining himself upstaging William that day, and William being so humiliated that he ran out of the band room crying as he fell of his pedestal. Mr. Grime would give Johansson first chair, and everyone would be envious. He'd tried to envision his fantasy of William's peril as he played for Mr. Grime, but instead, all he could see was William lying beside him and telling him "You are good. Just as good as me." over and over again. It was William that helped him last weekend, and William who got him through this practice round, and now it was William who was giving him praise for his performance. And he seemed to be genuinely proud of his improvement as he went on about how he almost made a mistake in the second half of the arrangement when he heard Johansson play it so well. He looked to the floor and focused on slowing his heartbeat as William showered him with compliments. 

“…like wow! Look at you!” He heard William say as he zoned back in. “Seriously, Jonie, you did great.” 

‘Jonie’? Was that a new nickname? William looked away and cringed as the name left his mouth. Johansson turned completely around to stare at the wall behind him. He knew his face was the same color as William’s blazer by now. 

William took a shaky breath before continuing to speak to the back of Johansson’s head. “Maybe, um, just if you need any more help, I could tutor you again. I mean, only if you want to, like, just if you want more pointers.” 

YES YES YES PLEASE YES, Johansson thought against his best wishes to not want to.  

"Not like I care or anything," William needlessly continued, "I mean, I could care less. Couldn't. I meant couldn--" 

"Emerson!" Mr. Grime's voice echoed through the classroom. "Fantastic job. Quincy was exceptional, I'd like you to tutor him again when you have the time." 
William stiffened his body so no one would notice him perk up once he heard his teacher's instructions. "Alright! Uh…yes, sir." 

Johansson dropped his head in defeat, but he wasn't all disappointed. 'Exceptional' was the highest praise he'd ever gotten from Mr. Grime, even though most of the credit seemed to be given to William. 

William looked back to Johansson with an unconvincing poker face. "So…" He fiddled with the keys of his clarinet, "Do you wanna warm-up together while everyone's being evaluated? I didn't hear you warming up earlier." 

Johansson sighed heavily to regulate his heartbeat (to no avail) and nodded. He lifted his clarinet to his lips and waited for Willam’s cue to begin their practice pieces. As they played it felt as if they were more in sync than before. Johansson had never felt so connected with another person more than when he played with William during their school performances, even if he sounded terrible alongside him. He secretly hoped William felt the same way. It was hard to tell since they weren’t friends, and they were basically rivals, at least in Johansson’s eyes. Sometimes he wondered if William ever took Johansson as a serious threat, or if Johansson’s constant competitiveness was entertainment to him, since he knew he’d always come out on top. And now on top of it all, he found himself being flustered by him. 

After they finished their runs, William sighed dramatically and dropped his hands to his laps. “I’m bored. Do you wanna play something else?” 

“Um, I was just thinking I left early today.” Johansson shakily shrugged. 

“What? You can do that?” 

“J-Just as sure as I can stand up and walk out, yes.” 

William shook his head. “No way. That’s against the rules. No wonder you’re in detention so much. We can't just walk out.” 

“Puh-lease.” Johansson stood up and adjusted his jeans. “Well go be a square with your friends. I wasn't inviting you anyway.” He put his clarinet in its case and walked off to the band room’s double doors. 

Johansson didn't have any set plan of what to do when he left class but to wander around the empty halls. The real reason he had left class was to get away from William, because all the praise he gave him was still playing over and over and making his head spin. He could practically feel his heartbeat as he played with him and felt William's eyes glance at him every so often. Stop that! Gross! Johansson struck his temple with his palm wanting the thoughts to go away; any thought that was positive about William, some of them almost too positive.   

Johansson has never been in a romantic relationship. His mom tells him, or rather herself, that it's not a big deal and he'll find the girl for her in time. It's not something he was particularly upset about, he'd never seriously desired a relationship with any of the girls in his grade. Sometimes Jim or his boss would offer to set him up on a date with their little sisters and nieces, but he always declined. He'd never felt that "spark" for a girl that he'd hear people talking about, nor the butterflies, sweaty palms, or the lightheadedness and everything else he'd read in his mom's magazines. But now, his worst fear was being recognized as he rubbed his palms dry on his jeans and stumbled down the hall with a knot in his stomach.  

It was the quietest time of the day, when everyone was exhausted from gym or digesting their lunch. There was another 40 minutes until he had to go to science, so he decided he’ll sit and catch his breath in one of the empty rooms until the class returned from their lunch break. As he gripped the doorknob he looked up at his reflection in the door's window in front of him , his eyes landing on another reflection approaching him in the process. He turns and is met by William, who's eyes were darting left and right as if someone were hunting him. Johansson lets out a small gasp. 

"Aren't we gonna go in?" William urges. Johansson shakes his head to recalibrate and opens the classroom door.

Chapter Text

It's now hit Johansson, how close William likes to sit to him. He pulled up a stray chair and sat it down facing the left of the desk Johansson had chosen, which had a chair connected by a metal bar. They’ve had several conversations to make the time pass by, debating the best art styles, discussing their favorite clarinet arrangements then arguing over who would get the most applause at the winter recital, anything to avoid the dreary sound of the clock ticking above them.  Johansson couldn’t help himself from getting excited when they spoke. He’s never felt so normal and seen until William made it clear that he saw him. His theory that he had gotten him all wrong was becoming stronger each time he looked into his eyes and saw nothing but genuine interest and curiosity.

When ideas of topics eventually ran dry, they leaned back in their seats and watched the branches outside scrape against the window and the leaves rustle and wilt.

 "Soooo....what do we do now?" He looked at Johansson, lost.

Johansson squinted and scanned the room, thanking goodness that the lights were off and the windows behind him, so William wouldn’t be able to see the red tint refusing to leave his cheeks. "I don’t know, I wasn't really expecting company at first.." He still felt a bit annoyed that William had been acting like this kind and clingy friend when the last time they saw each other he was suddenly cold and distant.

William drummed his fingers on his slacks as he thought. "How about 20 questions? I'll go first." He left no time for Johansson to refuse and scooted his chair up closer. "Hmmm...okay I got it!"

Johansson sighed and looked up at the ceiling thinking of questions. "Place?"

William shook his head.

"Thing?"
He nods.

Johansson purses his lips. “Instrument?”

William looks to the side.

“Clarinet?”

William groans. “How’d you get it so fast?”

Johansson laughs hysterically. “No way, you made it so easy!”

“Well try to do better, then!”

Johansson catches his breath then taps his chin in thought. “Okay, okay, im ready.”

“Place?” William asks.

Johansson nods.

“Yes! I got one!”

“Keep going!” He giggles.

“Okay uhhhhh…” He stares blankly at a cup of pencils behind Johansson. “Have you been to this place?”

"Yep."

"Your house?"

"Nope."

"Have I been there?"

"Yes!"

"...My house?"

Johansson laughs. "No!"

"The diner?" He says exasperatedly. Johansson shakes his head.

"Umm....When's the last time you were there?"

"I thought you could only ask 'yes' or 'no' questions!"

"Oh yeah, yeah...Are you there right now?"

Johansson nods and beckons an answer with his hand.
"Oh! The classroom!"

"No!" Johansson folds forward laughing. "The school!"

"You weren't supposed to tell me!"

"You were taking too long!"

 The boy's laugh and cover their mouths so the neighboring class wouldn't hear their merriment. William brushes his hair back out of his face and takes a breath. Johansson's bushy hair engulfing his face after he sits up catches his attention. "Seriously, how can you manage all of that?"

Johansson tries to brush it all back with his fingers but struggles. William chuckles. "Here, let me help."

He scoots his chair even closer and uses both hands to push hair to either side of his head, being met by a wide-eyed Johansson becoming redder by the second. It almost felt impossible to breath, having to be so close once again, their legs now weaving one another's. The bell rings, signaling the boys the go to class, but neither of them acknowledge it. William's hand lingered on Johansson's cheek, then was quickly snatched away, along with his legs as he hastily scooted away. The chair squeals on the wood flooring below it. His cheeks had also become two shades redder than they were before. Johansson looks down at his hands. The rickety A/C is the only sound in the room for a while.

"A-are you going to the dance?" William blurts out almost hesitantly.

"Um, duh. I have to be there for the recital."

"N-no. I mean, are you going to, y'know, stay? For the dance. Spend the night with someone.."

Johansson felt a lump in his throat. He coughed and stuttered out an answer. "No- I mean- I d-don't have any plans, no. I-I don’t know."

William sighed in relief. "Oh, good, do you think you would wanna go with-"

RIIIING! The late bell startles the two. William shoots up.

"Oh man, we're late! Come on, I'll ask you later!" He grabs Johansson's arm and bags then guides him up and out of the classroom in a hurry.

Johansson’s mind rushes, ignoring the flurry of colors before him as William drags him up the stairs to science.

Chapter Text

Chemistry was the last thing on Johansson’s mind during class. At least not the kind being taught. William’s been so different this past week, not even including their impromptu sleepover. What is he being so nice for? Why does he want to be around him all of a sudden? Why is he sitting at the desk beside him in class right now? Why didn't Johansson seem to mind it so much? And most importantly, why was he about to ask him to the dance?! He could only hope he was mistaken. 

There were a few times during the lecture that William would make a comment to Johansson, and one of those times Harold chimed in from behind, questioning his conversation with him , and he was shot an icy glare as a response. But Johansson wasn’t paying attention. All he could think about was the proposal that got cut short just a little while ago. Before long, the school bells barely snap him from his mental spiral, and he collects his things before rushing for the door while William whispers with Harold and the rest of his friends.

As he expected, William caught up with him in the hall before long. He sprinted in front of him, out of breath.   

“Well, you’re in a hurry!” He bent forward and caught his breath. Johansson tries to walk around him, but William steps in his path. It’s unreal to Johansson how quickly William went from not wanting to be seen with him to now not letting him stay away after spending one day together.  

“Wait!” William pleads, “Come with me. T-To the studio down the street, I mean. I have to pick some things up, then I'll take you home.”  

Johansson’s brows knit together. “Why?”  

“Come on. Would you rather bike all the way home if you didn't need to?”  

“What about cleaning the classroom?”  

“I asked my friends to handle it.” He nodded over to his troupe in the distance, begrudgingly going into the classroom to begin cleaning. He started towards the exit door and looked back to silently signal to Johansson to come with him.   

Johansson sank into the leather car seat and nearly dozed off as William hooked his bike to the back of his car. The seats warmed up, and it felt  amazing . He lets his head press against the window, icy from the cold weather outside. He wondered what kind of tutor William was. He's part of the Interpretive Dance Academy; only the best, or richest, dancers go there. He imagined William in a leotard, spinning around like a ballerina, his instructor and classmates  Oohing  and  Ahhing .  

Then he went back to just a bit earlier when William asked his unfinished question. It disgusted him. The thought of it disgusted him. There's no way he would ever say yes to anything as insane as that, even if he just wanted to go as "friends" and not what Johansson had been assuming. He thought about how he'd tell William NO so loud and harshly that he'd walk away teary-eyed out of embarrassment.  Rightfully so, for asking something so idiotic , Johansson thought. He squeezed his eyes shut and prayed that he was reading this entire thing wrong. 

When his eyes opened, William had been backing into a parking space in front of  Pinky’s Dance Studio.  He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up straight.   

William parked the car and adjusted his winter coat before taking a breath and exiting, unlocking Johansson’s door for him to do the same. After they'd both gotten out of the car, William outstretched his arms towards the sign and exclaimed jokingly, “Welcome! Isn’t it beautiful?”   

Pinky’s sign sat atop the building and featured a giant pair of detached legs with fishnet pantyhose and red heels swaying back and forth by a motor. It squeaked loudly, cutting into the serene atmosphere surrounding it. Crumpled food wrappers and cigarette butts drag along the empty parking lot with the wind.  

“What happened to the IDA?”  

“They moved across town, but construction's still underway, so…!”   

Johansson scoffs as he looks at the building's tacky decor. "And this  isn't  a strip club you're working at for extra cash?"  

"Asshole. Do I look like I need extra cash?"  

They make their way to the glass doors that lead into a huge lobby. William stopped at a restroom and pointed Johansson to  Studio 3.  It seemed to be the smallest of the rooms in the building.   

Inside the studio was a shiny wooden floor and a mirror that covered the entire wall. The wall next to it was made of glass, a huge window looking out to the woods outside the building. Memorabilia and posters of famous dancers who frequented the studio decorated the other two normal walls , though Johansson doubted they were from after the relocation of the academy.   

Finishing what seemed to be a jazz routine in the corner, next to a speaker playing upbeat disco music Johansson couldn't identify, was a girl in a light pink leotard. She had bouncy dark brown hair with a pageboy haircut. When she saw Johansson, she stopped in her tracks and smiled, adjusting her sheer white tights before lightly leaping over to him. She was nearly the same height as him, maybe two inches shorter. As she got closer, he could see her features: large brown almond eyes, heart-shaped lips a shade darker than her tan, and freckled skin. Her hair was thick and clearly silk-pressed,  curly roots peeking atop her head. When she smiled, she flashed her big square teeth. One on each side of the front two was higher than the rest, which reminded him of a bunny. She was a beautiful girl, and she was smiling at him. That’s never happened before.  

“Oh my God! You must be William’s friend!” The girl grabbed Johansson’s hand and shook it. Her palms were warm and soft compared to his, which were freezing from the December air. “I’m Madeline Flores.” She said confidently.   

“Johansson…Quincy,” he responded, taken aback by the friendly gesture. Now that she was up close, he could recognize her. She was a new student at school, but already as popular as William is, thanks to her mom being some big-time CEO or something. She had an unmistakable Valley Girl accent and a light vocal fry. 

“Shut up! Quincy! Like quince, the flower. My last name means flowers, too! I like your hair! It's groovy! I wish my hair were that long!” She beamed as she rambled.   

“Oh…groovy. I mean, thanks! And that’s cool!” Johansson shimmied off his thick coat and draped it over his arm. He was not aware of his last name being related to a plant, but he nodded knowingly. He took a step back and cleared his throat. He was not expecting to have a conversation with anyone else today. He hated conversations with most people. He hated most people. “So, um, how long have you been dancing?” He asked, scrambling for a conversation topic to prevent awkward silence from taking over.   

“Like, all my life.” She shrugged. “How about you?”  

“Oh, me? I don't take lessons."  

"Aw, come on! Do you know how to waltz?"  

"Umm, I think so? I learned from a tape my mom got from some bogus instructor."  

Madeline giggled. "Let me be the judge!"  

Johansson looked around and pointed downward. "Right now?"  

"Like, yeah, right now!" She scurried over to the cassette player and replaced the original tape, then stood in the middle of the room and held out her hand. Johansson gulped and skittishly walked over to her, then put his hand onto hers. His legs trembled from his nerves trying to cloud his thoughts.  

The waltzing music began, and the pair placed a hand on the other's shoulder and waist. Johansson's hands almost hovered in the air as he felt weird about dancing with a girl who wasn't his mom. They start to move, slowly and unsure at first. He counted in his head and avoided looking Madeline in the eyes, opting for the floor behind her. When he did catch a glimpse of her face, she was looking straight up into his eyes with a wide smile. On the other hand, Johansson felt nothing but embarrassment as the two silently waltzed, the quiet being occasionally broken by yelps and giggles after Johansson accidentally stepped on Madeline's feet.  

There was an air to Madeline that reminded him of everything he disliked about William ; the way she spoke and moved without a care in the world, her richness and popularity — it was almost nauseating how effortlessly they both seemed to exist in this world Johansson felt shut out from.  

"You're, like, actually pretty decent, you know!" Madeline exclaims.   

"Thanks. I'm  literally  trying my very best." Johansson complains.  

"You'll totally get better over time...Hey, you're, like, in band with William, right?"  

"Yeah. I play clarinet."  

"Ah, sick! He’s told me loads of good things about you.”  

“R-Really? He talks about me?”  

“Uh, yeah! He says you’re, like, second chair or whatever, so, you’re, like, totally awesome!”  

Johansson raised a brow. William talks about him like that?  

“You know,” Madeline continues, “I've never seen you around at school with William, or, like, at all. Who do you usually hang out with? The band geeks? The artsy bunch? The jocks?"  

"Oh, uhm..."  

To Johansson's relief, William opens the door before he had to admit he is a friendless nobody. 

“Oh! Hello, Madeline." William said in a surprised tone. Not a pleasant surprise, but a surprise nonetheless. “I see you’re getting to know each other, so there’s no need for an introduction.”   

Johansson broke away from Madeline in embarrassment. “Oh.. y-yeah..”  

“Jonie, can I talk to you privately for a sec?"  

Johansson hesitantly walked across the room to the doorway William stood between and looked up at William , who had an indiscernible look on his face. Madeline turned off the waltz music and stayed behind. 

"Getting along well?" William spoke in a hushed tone.  

"Uh, yeah, she's cool. Are you guys friends?" 

"Kinda?" William's face told a different story. His nose scrunched, as if the thought of being friends with Madeline was repulsive. Our parents know each other, so we've crossed paths a lot growing up. More frequently now that she's moved here. I tutor her at the IDA. Well, here right now." He shrugs and shifts his weight on one leg as if he's uncomfortable.

"But anyway, about earlier, before class? I was going to ask you."  

Uh-oh , Johansson thought,  here it comes.  How was he going to respond? He should say no, right? But he felt his teeth grit at the thought. 

"..would you want to go to the dance with—" 

A pause. He looked down at his shoes and drummed his fingers on his sides. 

"—with Madeline." 

Johansson froze. "Madeline?" 

"Yeah..." William let out an attempt at a chuckle, "She asked me, but I'm not all into her, so I told her I'll set her up with someone I know..." Johansson didn't speak. William rubbed the back of his neck and continued. "I-I mean, you don't have to, I can probably find someone else, but.." He trails off, not bothering to finish his sentence. 

Johansson relaxed his jaw. He felt something was weird, but he didn't know what. That wasn't what he had braced for. Not what he'd assumed he'd be asking earlier. In fact, it was exactly what he'd been hoping for all day. "Is that...what you wanted to ask me?"  he said, his voice now softer than before. 

"W-what do you mean?" 

"I...I don't know. Nothing, I guess." 

Chapter Text

The car ride to Mr. Quincy’s house was silent aside from the soft murmurs of talk radio. The heated seats were now uncomfortably warm, but Johansson decided against asking to turn them off. The wilting trees and dying grass blazed past along either side of the road. He observed them closely so as to not think too hard about his emotions. He didn't really say yes to William's request, but he didn’t say no either. He just gave him a lifeless nod and a shrug. "I'm glad I can count on you!" William had said with an artificial sweetness in his tone. He was now driving and being as quiet as possible, other than the muffled drum of his fingertips tapping the steering wheel. 

William slowed to a stop right before Johansson's neighborhood, like the last time. Johansson got out of the car and fidgeted with the mount in the back before retrieving his bike. He walked it over to the passenger's side and looked at William, who just looked back at him. They held each other's gaze for a moment too long, something unnamable between them—not quite guilt, not quite disappointment.

Whatever it was, Johansson looked away, William did the same, and they both started down their opposite paths. 

The next few days, the two didn't speak when they crossed paths at school. William nearly sat at the desk next to Johansson in class, but hesitated and sat in his old spot two rows behind. Johansson had the crazy thought of striking up a conversation, but seeing William hang out with his friends at lunch, he didn't bother trying. 

By Thursday, Johansson began to feel angry at himself for even feeling any kind of emotion other than hate for William. He was a pampered little rich boy who made his life miserable. He looked down at his table and saw the age-old saying carved into the cafeteria table: JOHANSSON QUINCY SUCKS EGGS! (With doodles of a stick-man Johansson holding an egg carton and the Cool S, for decoration.)

He hated William for spreading such a dumb saying. Of course, William wasn't the one who started the bullying that Johansson always received, but he sure made it worse. He gave people like Harold a shield when it came to reporting the harassment. It's your word against William's, they'd say. Everyone knew William had a Get-Out-Of-Jail-Free card in life, since his parents funded most of the school's events and programs. Even so, Johansson found himself feeling a way he could only describe as missing William's presence, even if he hadn't shown that he enjoyed it so much.

The volume of the cafeteria died down as Johansson picked at the crusts of his PB&J. The sun had slowly but surely become less visible through thick, low clouds. He told himself he was staying behind longer to avoid weaving through the heavy traffic of students. Still, he found himself glancing towards William every few seconds. He watched as he gave his friends an empty smile whenever they cracked a joke. It was the same polite smile he gave Madeline, his teachers, his butler, strangers. Johansson wondered if anyone else had noticed how hollow it was. He wondered if it looked like his own.

By late afternoon, the boys had made their separate ways to band class, where Johansson sat in his usual seat away from everyone. William stood near the center of the room as everyone surrounded him, all trying to speak to him at once. Mr. Grime walked in and told everyone to settle down into their seats. Johansson didn’t pay much attention to his speech at the beginning of class until he heard his name loud enough to rip through the cushion of Solitude in his—or rather William's—earbuds. He yanked them out of his ears and sat up in attention.   

"Did you get that, Quincy?" He blared from across the room. Johansson timidly shook his head yes, not knowing a single word said to him.

It was the end of class, and the school day for the awaited 3-day weekend. Students cheered and rushed through the doors of their classrooms. Johansson decided to linger a little longer once more, this time unintentionally. He became engulfed in his music, thanks to the huge boost in quality the earbuds gave his music. He almost felt like he was at a concert, front row, listening to his favorite artists play for only him. He closed his eyes and reveled in his newfound serenity.

His fantasy was interrupted by a sweet smell wafting across his nose. It was a familiar aroma that shocked him out of his trance. The 'Sweet Clover' laundry detergent used by William, who stood behind him, back turned to the cubbies that rested on the wall near Johansson's chair. He sat up, pulled the earbuds from his Walkman, and observed William taking his clarinet case from his assigned cubby. 

"...What are you doing?" Johansson asked, watching his case be snatched up by William, who had his own hastily tucked under his arm. 

"I thought you were listening to Mr. Grime earlier. I still have to tutor you, remember?" William replied, still staring ahead at the cubbies.

Johansson cringed. He had forgotten they were destined to be study buddies. He rose from his chair awkwardly. "Oh...right. See, I can't tonight. I have to babysit for my boss. Maybe another time?"

"Oh!' William started, then slowly said, as if he were still processing the thought, "Then I can help babysit?" 

He saw it coming. A glimpse of the clingy guy William was turning out to be once again reared its ugly, charming head. He should have said no, should've rolled his eyes, but his shoulders loosened, and William noticed. He accepted almost too quickly, and the ghost of a genuine smile went across William's face. 

๑๑๑

The drive to Johansson's boss's house felt shorter than it should have. William didn't drum his fingers on the steering wheel like before. Instead, he gripped it tightly, letting go once to change the radio station. The two shared a few glimpses at each other, disguised as sightseeing the town through each other's windows. Johansson felt more at ease than he had for the past 3 days. He didn't know why, though. He observed William's expressions and characteristics—the way his jaw tensed when he got stuck in traffic and the faint vertical tan line made by the crease in the center of his forehead. He watched in awe of the car phone that William used to call his butler and let him know he'd be coming home later that night. 

The car idles in the driveway of the two-story home. He puts on the parking brake, then looks over at Johansson, who looks back at him. Johansson asks, "Well, are you gonna sit there all night?" to which he half expects a sarcastic yes. The edges of William's lips finally curl up into a small smirk. "After you, Quincy."

The porch lights flickered lazily, buzzing loudly enough to be noticed. Moths had already begun to gather around it. As they made their way up the wooden steps, William slowly settled onto each step, as if he were trying to will the creaky wood into silence. Johansson had already been knocking on the door before William completed the last step. 

The door flies open, and Johansson's boss, Eugene, steps outside, holding a baby girl and car keys. 

"Look who's finally on time!" He blared with his grizzly voice. The baby giggled and played with his scruffy beard. Eugene notices William completing his perilous journey to the porch. Johansson clears his throat. 

"Uhm, Mr. Red, I hope you don't mind me bringing a guest. This is-"

"William Emerson III? Son of the William Emerson, owner of the Emerson Enterprises?!" Eugene gawks.

"Um...yeah."

"Well, shiver me timbers!" He flashes William a huge, toothy grin that exposes a few of his golden replacement teeth. Johansson could practically see the dollar signs in his eyes as he outstretched his hand. "Eugene H. Red, owner of the one and only Krusty Krab!"

William gives his usual polite smile, with a tinge of disgust that only Johansson seemed to notice, and grabs the burly man's hand for a handshake. Eugene towered over them both, wearing a sleeveless button-up exposing his hairy and heavily tattooed arms, and purple dress pants. His hair was coily, black, turning dark grey, and brushed into a low ponytail.

He rocked the baby, dressed in a pink, skirted onesie, and brought her down to William's eye level to present her to him. "This is me sweet daughter, Pearl." He said with a proud smile. William locked eyes with the baby and awkwardly chuckled. "She's...adorable." He took a step back and tugged on his scarf. Eugene collected himself and turned to give baby Pearl to Johannson gently, then adjusted the belt holding up his pants. "Welp, it be time to count me money." He spun his keys around his finger and made his way down the steps, his heavy footing causing the porch to rumble. "No touching me safe! See you boys in a few hours!" In a matter of seconds, he'd hopped in his brown pickup truck and sped off. 

Pearl cooed in Johansson's arms, grabbing his finger, two times the size of her hand. He stepped backward into the house and waited for William, who lingered on the porch. "What are you, a vampire? Do I need to invite you in?" He jabbed, and William slowly stepped into the home. Soft orange lights bathed the living room from lamps on either side of the navy blue corduroy sofa. The wooden flooring had been anything but level, and the wood plank walls were covered top to bottom with photographs in ornate bronze frames.

Johansson wriggled out of his thin winter coat one arm at a time and let it fall onto the ground. He gently sat at the end of the sofa and lovingly mocked Pearl's babbles back to her, making her giggle. He turned over to William, who had thrown his own maroon scarf and puffer coat on top of Johansson's, yet stayed standing just a few inches away from the couch as he took in the new setting. He scrunched his nose as if it stung from an unpleasant smell that Johansson didn't seem to notice. After a few moments, he awkwardly made his way around and sat at the opposite end, not letting himself sink into the old sofa. He crossed his leg as if to create even more space between them.

The TV only displayed static snow, but for a few minutes, the boys sat and watched it. Johansson tried to keep his attention on Pearl's playful grip, but it kept being pulled toward William whenever he'd uncomfortably shuffle in his spot. Now that he thought about it, his mind had been on William this entire time, nothing else. Even the small movements of his temple interested him in some odd way. He didn't know why he felt so intrigued by William, only that he did. And now, he noticed how uncomfortable he was, and decided to call it out.

"Is this your first time being in a place like...this?" He asked, not sure how to word his question. He wondered if William had been anywhere that wasn't classy and felt like wealth. But William seemed to understand, replying with even more shuffling and groaning.

"I'll take that as a no." He said, booping the nose of the giggling baby.

"It's.... warm ." William finally said, as if it were the nicest thing he could muster. "It's warm and it smells like old people and salt. And I can feel the springs in this couch! And the TV…is tiny. And...Every. Thing. Is. Wooden." He groaned, still squirming on the sofa cushion.

Johansson scoffed. "It's not all that bad; some of us can't afford such luxuries. Though I'm sure Mr. Red could, he's just a cheapskate."

William looked down at the floor thoughtfully. The room fell quiet once again, the silence so heavy, you could cut it with a knife. There was still the unspoken tension between the two that kept William from making contact all week.  Johansson wondered why he'd decided to be around him today, in a place that clearly made his skin crawl.

Before he could ask, Pearl let out a tiny squeal of frustration. Cute, at first, until it became horrifying shrieks that Johansson couldn't placate. He bounced her on his leg and shushed frantically. William had begun to scoot closer to Johansson, curious about the baby's cries. He watched tears flow down Pearl's little face with empathy, and after some time, held out his arms. Johansson almost didn't register that he was offering to hold her and shot him a concerned look, asking him, "You sure?", to which William responded with a nod, already scooping up baby Pearl. Johansson felt his heart pang when William lightly brushed his arms against his own, and his heartbeat only got faster when he caught sight of William's gentle attentiveness to Pearl. He didn't know how to properly hold her, so Johansson hesitatingly put his hand under William's and guided it under Pearl's head. William's hand was soft and slightly warmer than Johansson expected. They were bigger than his, so noticeably so that it made the both of them look at each other and laugh nervously. William gently rocked baby Pearl, whispering things too quiet for Johansson to hear. Pearl's crying quickly faltered, replaced with sniffly coos as she grabbed for William's nose.

 "Hey, check it out. I'm a natural!" William exclaimed in a quiet, triumphant voice.

Johansson was inclined to believe it. Pearl had even started to look a little sleepy. He gently put his hand down, suddenly aware it was still under William's, and jumped up. "I'll make her a bottle of formula. She's probably hungry and tired."

 "Maybe I could be a dad one day, huh?" William continued as if Johansson hadn't said a word, "What do you think? Ooh! Let's play house!"

Johansson stiffened. "No way, and did you hear anything I-"

 "I'll be the dad, of course."

 "What? What makes you the dad?"

 "Is that even a question? I'm the perfect candidate."

 "Perfect is a strong-"

 "Long, tan, handsome."

 "Oka-"

 "Definitely stronger than you."

 "Well-"

 "You're clearly the mom."

 "How would-"

 "Pretty, long hair, always nagging."

 "I'm what?"

 "Pearl is the baby, obviously." He said in a sweet baby voice to Pearl, who giggled and grabbed a stray lock of his hair.

Johansson opened his mouth to argue, but nothing came out. He walked over to the fridge and grabbed a bottle out of it, mentally thanking his boss for having already prepared a few bottles of milk. William's attention stayed on Pearl, who was trying to teethe on his fingers. "She likes me better than you already!" He bragged. Johansson shut the refrigerator door and walked back over to the sofa, plopping down. He noticed that William had started to become more comfortable on the sofa, no longer anxiously bouncing his leg and now resting back as Pearl sat on his lap. The change in William's mood almost made Johansson skip over the fact that William just called him pretty, in what sounded like a genuine observation. He tried his best not to show it, but he liked the compliment more than he should have.

 "Okay, Pearl, who do you like more? Big, scary William? Or sweet, caring Uncle Jojo?" He raised the bottle just high enough for her to see and grab at. "See? She's reaching for me!"

William scoffed. "You're cheating! That’s not fair, Mrs. Quincy."

 "Mrs. Quincy?"

 "You're the wife, remember?" William held Pearl upright and babbled to make her smile. "I'm the charming husband. Look at that happy face! Look at my gentle and fatherly touch! And who could resist this handsome face?"

 "What handsome face?" Johansson muttered under his breath.

William turned and leaned in close. "Now, that's no way for a wife to speak to his husband."

Johansson froze, cheeks burning. "You're wife would've left you by now."

 "And miss all this?" William gestured to himself dramatically, puffing out his chest slightly.

 "Yeah," Johansson raised the bottle to Pearl's mouth, brushing past William's hand more than necessary, "I think she'd survive."

 "Well, you haven't left yet."

 "Who says I'm your wife? You haven't even proposed." Johansson playfully exclaimed.

 William smirked at the sound of a challenge. "Oh, should I get on one knee and make it official?"

 "No, thanks. I don't think you're man enough."

 "Not man enough?"

 "I mean, you weren't on Monday, at least." Johansson heard himself saying before he thought about it. Now he wished he could shove the words back in his mouth. He didn’t even know why he had said that.

William formed his mouth to say "What?", but the sound of Pearl's bottle hitting the floor, followed by her fussing, redirected the boys' attention. They both reach down to grab the bottle, bumping heads before either of them could grab it. They straightened, Johansson rubbing his temple.

William bounced his leg to no avail before Johansson took her away and rocked her the way she liked.

Silence crept into the room once again, the pair seeming closer on the sofa than they were before.

 "…Where are the paper towels? There's milk all over the floor." William lifted himself off the couch and began searching for a roll. Johansson pressed his lips together tightly as if more words might unintentionally slip out.

Over the next half hour, the boys quietly worked together to take care of Pearl. Johansson soothed Pearl, then left her to play with William as he cleaned the spill, brought her more formula, and then prepared more to keep in the fridge. He eventually moved into her nursery so he could change her diaper. William followed behind awkwardly and stood in the doorway, finally deciding to break the silence.

 "You're so good with her."

Johansson shrugged nonchalantly, "I've had a little practice. My mom used to babysit the neighborhood kids."

 "What does she do? Like, as a job." William scratched his head, thinking of ways to continue the conversation.

 "She doesn't have one. She's kind of just home all the time now, which is nice, y'know?"

 "Oh..cool."

 "What does your mom do?" Johansson asked. He almost apologized for asking a silly question, but realized he didn't know what William's parents did every day.

 "Um…to be honest? I don't really know. They're gone all day, sometimes several days at a time, doing God knows what. I mean, they certainly aren't out building the yachts themselves. But I rarely see them anymore. Only for the talk show interviews and photoshoots, so we seem like a happy family." He continued mindlessly, rambling about his parents' absence, how they misled the public to think they were present and attentive, how they left him with a nanny growing up as they traveled for work for so long that he would call her mom.

 "Breaking: William and Natalie Emerson with Their Prodigy Son!" He mocked the headlines, "They love him so much, they leave him behind with the help for days at a time and only remember him for publicity! And it's not like it's all peaches and cream when they actually are around either! They only really talk to me to uphold their impossible standards. I swear they are some of the-" Pearl's cooing snaps William back to reality. Johansson hadn't turned to look at him, hiding his shocked but concerned expression.

 "Uh, sorry about that…" William rubs the back of his neck and hangs his head down. "It's just…I feel so…isolated."

Johansson blinked, caught off guard, unsure of what to say. "N-No, it's okay," he reassured. He tried to process it all, the lonely boy under all the polish. For once, he wasn’t looking at William-the-prodigy or William-the-jerk, but someone who was like…him. "I guess we're more alike than I thought."

William's eyes softened. "Guess so."

They didn't say anything else.

Johansson felt his breathing steady. He hadn’t realized how much he had needed this; someone who felt as unseen, as out of step with the world they lived in, as he did. And in that silent understanding, he felt a small, steady pull toward something they were both missing: a friend.