Archive of Our Own ^beta

Greg Jenko's last memory of Morton Schmidt was of him busting his toe on the side of a garbage bin after Jenko metaphorically spat on his new look for senior year. It was so pathetic (as in, the garbage thing, but both apply) that anyone passing by would cry laughing; that was about all which made up his memories with Schmidt in high school—laughing and crying. He doesn’t feel bad for it, not even seven years after, because he knows he was just a dumb kid. He didn’t expect some hotshot high-school jockey to second-guess anything he does. The only ones who gave a crap was—unsurprisingly—the office. In his mind, he excelled in all the important classes: physical education, football… and that’s all. All he needed to do was care about the rest of his classes.

Jenko had no excuses for his shitty grades and his general lack of care for everything but football and making sure chicks had the hots for him; that was made clear to him then, and especially so in police training. At first, it came to him as a new step forward, a way to recover from the senior year that did him dirty; soon after, he’d realize just how much he was missing from those nights spent getting shitfaced with his varsity team instead of studying for his midterms, or quizzes, or pop quizzes… and it was also then when he knew how lucky he was to run into Schmidt again at the enrollment desk. Morton, in contrast to Jenko, was an awkward, pudgy, and embarrassing meat sack who thought he could pull off bleaching his hair without looking like Eminem gave up his career at eighteen. The only thing that saved him was his bullying-worthy scholarliness which could’ve gotten him into a good university if he didn’t look like a white goblin. Now that they were finally getting along (maybe begrudgingly at first), he was finally starting to feel bad for all those days at school. It wasn’t like they were friends, though. All they needed from each other was the missing piece in their education to become the badasses they both knew they were meant to be. Though, if they truly wanted to create connections and make this whole two-way thing work, they’d have to understand their boundaries.

“I’m gonna make the entire department suck my dick one person at a time,” Jenko said in annoyance, but in a whisper as to not wake up the neighboring rooms.

“Dude,” Schmidt said half-asleep. “What the fuck are you talking about?” Schmidt should’ve been used to Jenko’s night-wave of rage the—what, fifth time around?—but his foul-mouthed runoff still caught him off guard. “Also, go to sleep, it’s like, 3 fucking AM.”

“You don’t get it because you’re a fucking human Einstein. I actually have to study for a test instead of bullshitting it.”

Schmidt groaned. The kind of groan you let out when you’re tired and want whatever bullshit is keeping you up to end. “Einstein was a human.”

“Fuck up.”

“F… fuck up what…?”

“Shut. The fuck up.” Silence long enough to be embarrassing filled the gap. “It- it was, like, a- that’s what I was tryna say.”

“Dude, if you wanna ace it so bad, go buy a case of Heinekens for the guys at room 20, they’ll do whatever you fuckin’ want.”

“Yeah, what? Like… suck my fuckin’ dick?”

“I think you need to go to sleep,” Schmidt muttered as he turned over and hid his head under the blanket.

“‘Sides, why would I waste 15 bucks on beer when I could just make you do it for me?”

“‘Cause it’d be more expensive, 30 at least.”

Jenko bowed his head down in defeat as he leaned back in his chair. “We’re never gonna be friends if we don’t do anything to help each other.”

Schmidt rose from his covers like a mummy and turned his head to face Jenko. “You want me to help you?”

“Please.”

Schmidt responded with a pondering silence, then rolled out of bed and reached into his nightstand. He flipped up a couple papers and playboy magazines before pulling out a DVD box for Legally Blonde. All the time Schmidt spent lazily walking to the DVD player and slowly taking the disc out of the box, Jenko stared into his back with an infuriated but confused look. The black box gave a little whir, and then the TV lit up. Slowly, Schmidt backed up and sat on the edge of his bed.

“Schmidt, this isn’t fucking helping me study.”

“Just watch the movie with me. I brought this movie to be watched.” Jenko tried to act like he didn’t think Legally Blonde was, like, the best movie of its time, but the facade could only last through the opening logos before he gave in and inched to sit next to Schmidt. Reese was a joy on the big screen, always in character and full of life, and BIG plus, she’s super hot. Jenko convinced himself when he was a kid that he only liked Legally Blonde because he wanted to kiss Witherspoon (and maybe more while he was at it but that was just because he was a kid), but as he got older he realized there was a lot more to the movie. He wasn’t big on intellectual analysis, especially for movies like this one, but he watched it so many times that it was inevitable for him to pick up on more than surface level details about Elle Woods. Her concept as a whole seemed completely stupid: a preppy blonde wanting to get into law school? She was seemingly doomed from the start, but she continued to persevere because she learned who she was; she was a lawyer. It’s the only movie that made him cry.

“Dude, are you… crying?”

“What? No?” He jerked down and hid his head in between his legs before rising back up. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Nothing even happened in the movie.”

“Yeah, I knew that. I- I mean, I didn’t, so, you know, I couldn’t be crying.”

Schmidt looked like his brain was flattening.

“God, I probably look like such a faggot.”

“…Well, I dunno, own it,” Schmidt said absentmindedly.

“The fuck do you mean ‘own it’?”

“Uhh, I dunno, like… be the faggot.”

“…That’s the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard.” Jenko said as his voice raised, and he let out a little laugh. Schmidt promptly shushed him and pointed to the wall. “Oh, yeah.”

“…I’m surprised you’re calling yourself that.”

“Why?”

“Well, you always called me a faggot in high school, and if it ever happened the other way around to you, you’d beat the shit out of them.”

“Nah, I didn’t throw any punches. Didn’t have to do nothing to make people change their mind.” They both laughed thinking about those days seven years ago.

“Yeah, you’ve got a look to you. A good one, I mean, like, you could make anyone do anything you wanted.”

“Mhm. You’d know, huh.”

“…Fuck, Jenko. It’s crazy I’m even having a conversation with you without getting my hair pulled.”

“Well, we were just kids. Things happen when you’re young, and they don’t change, I guess. Now we’re big boys,” Jenko hissed as he bumped Schmidt’s arm. Schmidt chuckled on the impact.

“Don’t call us that, you sound like a predator. But… yeah.”

“…You’re more earnest than I thought, now that I think about it.”

“Am I really?”

“Uh, fuck yeah you are. It almost makes me feel bad. You…” Jenko paused. “You’re actually pretty nice to talk to.”

“Yeah. Too nice even…”

Then Schmidt had an epiphany.

“Let’s get some beers.”

It only took them an hour and a half after that proposal for them to get inebriated enough to stumble out the window at any moment. They sat on the floor giggling and holding each other by the shoulder as they swayed side to side like they were dancing. Schmidt’s expected words to say were fuzzy, but they still came out.

“Ok, ok. Let’s play spin the bottle.”

“Dude, I fucking love that game.”

So they grabbed at an empty green bottle and firmly placed it on the wooden floor with a loud thump that they’d probably worry about if they were sober. 

(It turned out they would have to worry about it in the early morning when a small group of other students would be walking to their dorm and yelling for them to come out so they could talk. Jenko blamed Schmidt, so that turned out as you’d think it would.)

As Schmidt spun the bottle and shook his fists as if hopeful it’d land on him, he realized that it was only him and Jenko playing spin the bottle, and he burst out laughing as he flopped on the floor.

“Ooh shiiit!” Jenko exclaimed. “It’s me!!”

“Dude, you sound like a fucking idiot,” Schmidt blabbered on the floor.

“Watch out, man, ‘cause I’m comin’ for ya!”

“Wait, what are you…”

Jenko pushed his flat palm on Schmidt’s stomach as he crawled on top of him, making Schmidt let out a hefty breath and the scent of beer. Before he could curse out Jenko for it, he suddenly felt Jenko press his cheeks against Schmidt’s as he kissed him (as is required). Schmidt turned wide eyed as it happened and a hundred questions ran through his head: ‘What the fuck?!’ ‘He didn’t think I was being literal, right??’ ‘Is Jenko gay?’ ‘Does Jenko swing both ways!?’ ‘Do I swing both ways!?’

…but Schmidt didn’t do anything to stop him. He was too drunk to want to do anything, so Jenko continued to make out with his face as he hugged his proportionally rounder and warmer body. He felt his face turn red as the whole scene began to set in. After about a minute of Jenko slobbering all over him, he ran out of energy to keep kissing Schmidt and toppled to Schmidt’s right side, laying his arm over Schmidt’s chest. Jenko’s breath was labored, but he still had a drunk smile on his face.

“Dude…” Jenko said as he turned his head. “that was fuckin’ hot.”

“Dude, you’re gonna make me vomit.” Schmidt turned away and his body twitched as though he was actually going to throw up, but it wouldn’t come out. Maybe he didn’t hate it as much as he thought.

“But, like, bro, you have to admit… that was fucking hooooot.”

Schmidt flopped back. “…Yeah, it kinda was.”

Schmidt didn’t know what was happening anymore. What he was. Who he was. Whether or not Jenko also actually liked it and wasn’t fucking with him. He just hoped that, in the morning, they could actually finish Legally Blonde and then go eat pancakes or something.

Jenko wanted to sleep off the alcohol and pass the test.