Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Benched. Again? Seriously?

I swear I’m not that bad at baseball. To make things worse, it’s unbearably warm and we’re losing. So much for the Brawnyn Bears being the best team in the state. I mean, seriously, we’re getting thrashed by these cunts. ‘Hiram Honey Badgers’.

Why the fuck would you willing call yourself that? No way it’s only me that thinks that it’s the most idiotic name ever but, the team is undeniably good.
We’re literally down 13-1.

Coach says that it’s all about strategy. Says I’m good, but not the kind of good we need today. Or tomorrow or the next day or next week or next month, apparently. Whatever that means.

Pretty sure that it’s somewhere along the lines of ‘sit your ass on the bench and look pretty for the crowd, Tyler’. At least that’s how Nate put it, in his usual charming manner. Which means that this bench and I are gonna become good friends over this summer.

I glance over at the bleachers, they’re stuffed with people. My mom’s not here. Not surprising. She hates baseball. Thinks it’s too “aggressive.” She came to one game in my freshman year and literally flinched every time someone swung a bat or threw a ball. Said it gave her migraines.

So much for supporters. Well, my dad and my brother turn up sometimes, I guess that’s good.

Nate yells from the field, actually, it’s more like screaming. It’s some stupid chant we all like to pretend pumps us up. If anything, it makes sound more stupid than the fucking ‘Hiram Honey Badgers’.

I echo it back, just loud enough to look like I actually care. You know, maybe baseball just isn’t for me.
The game ends exactly how we knew it would. Badly.

Final score: 16–2.
No one says anything, the numbers hang there on the board, fucking mocking us.

Coach doesn’t even give one of his shitty speeches. Doesn’t even bother to look at us as we practically bolt off the field. He just starts on something about “next practice” and how we need to improve. Like he hasn’t been screaming the exact same thing at us for months.

Someone throws their beaten glove into the bleachers. Nate uses an obscene amount of curses. Dean blames it all on the heat. I stay quiet. I walk behind everyone, dragging my cleats with me.
So much for the Branwyn’s “revive”.

In the changing room, it’s a mess of sweat and cheap body spray. The smell of fucking Lynx is burning my nose hairs. Someone is playing this terrible rap music someone’s already shirtless, and the floor’s a mix of mud, grass, and whatever’s leaking from the ancient overhead AC.

Nate’s right in the middle of it, his towel which is now covered in grass stains is slung low on his hips, he’s talking like we’ve never lost a game.

“It’s whatever,” he says, violently shaking his head, his hair is dripping, the water’s mixing with the concoction on the floor. “We’re still the better team. They just got lucky.”

Dean laughs. “You see their shortstop? Man, he looked like he was fucking twelve. I could’ve snapped him right in half.”
“Yeah right, Dean, you couldn’t fight your way outta a wet paper bag.” Nate mutters.
Laughter erupts, not the kind type, but not cruel one either.

Then the conversation shifts, like it always does.

Nate sits, leaning back against a locker. I can tell that whatever he says next, won’t be civil.

“Downtown was fucking crawling with weirdos yesterday. I swear to god, it’s like this town’s becoming some kind of freak magnet.”

Dean smirks. “You mean like…aw, shit. What’s his name, again? The one that works at Mel’s?”

Nate snaps his fingers. “That’s the one. Walked past him the other day, he was wearing boots with a heel. A fucking heel. What is he? A fucking woman?”

The room erupts again. Cruel now. Not anywhere near kind.

“He looks like he’s dressed for a fashion show no one wanted to invite him to,” Dean sneers, pulling on his hoodie.

“Heard he paints his nails.” some rando adds.
“Well, I heard he was flirting with a dude last week,” another voice shouts.
No one dares to question it.

“Probably thinks we’re obsessed with him,” Nate mutters, his voice is laced with pure disgust.
I stay silent. I don’t look at anyone. Just re-lace my shoes and focus my eyes on the floor.

I wouldn’t want to rock the boat.

★★★★★★

We end up outside Mel’s, like usual. The neon sign flickers harshly, the “S” in Mel’s is busted, so it just reads Mel’ diner. The door sticks a little when we push it open.

Everything’s the same. Same booths. Same buzz. Same sticky floors. We jump into the back corner.

Nate gets the outside seat again. Dean steals the crusty menu even though he never actually reads it. It’s actually comfy, even if there’s 6 of us in a unusually small booth.

We order quickly. The waitress hardly writes it down. She knows us. Everyone here does.

Then the kitchen door swings open.

He steps out with a tray. Ashby.

Same colourful nails. Same dark eyeliner. He’s got his hair in this tiny stupid ponytail. Why would you even attempt to shove a curly mullet into a ponytail? One ear is covered in small silver hoops, a few necklaces into the collar of his shirt. His apron covered in countless stains.

He doesn’t say a word.

He moves carefully, not like slow, but more deliberate, like he’s trying to make himself look smaller on purpose. Quiet hands. Zero eye contact. No smile.

He sits each plate down in silence, only the low music playing and the dishes clattering.

Nate watches him intently the entire time.

“Damn,” he mutters. “you still playing waitress, huh?” A few of the guys laugh. It’s not even a real joke. Just mean.

Ashby doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t bother to react. Just quickly turns and walks back toward the kitchen like we aren’t here.

I glance up, only for a second. Behind the counter, I spot him and some girl. She’s medium height but shorter than him, red and black hair, pale.

He whispers something to her, she bursts out laughing, loud and clear. They continue to banter, and I realise that I’ve never seen him like this.

He’s different back there.

Light on his feet. Loud. Bubbly. Like the version we get is some weird ghost, and the real one is reserved for people who actually value his time.

I look away before anyone can notice I’m staring.

Nate nabs a fry off my plate. “You gonna eat something or just stare off elsewhere for the rest of the night?”

I force a smile. “Just tired.”

I wonder if Ashby has ever felt this kind of tired.

Chapter Text

“Yeah, man, it was fucking insane, she started breaking like a ton of shit in my room.” I mean, as much as I wanna hear another of Nate’s stories about the girls he fucks then totally ghosts, practice is ending.

And, to be honest, I actually couldn’t be more uninterested in Nate’s stories.

I’m unfortunately right in Nate’s sight line as I walk out of the changing room. Fuck. “Hey, dude!” I walk away. “Hey! Man!” He grabs my shoulder, and I turn around. “Ignoring me or some shit, Hayes?” Shit.

“Sorry, man, I didn’t know you were talking to me.” “Alright. What you up to after practice?” Well I sure as fuck don’t want to hang out with you.

“Ehhh. Not much. Probs just head home and chill with my brother.” Lies.

The last place I want to go right now is home.

I had this huge fight with my dad before practice, over nothing.

And trust me, I know that when I say that, people are just like ‘I’m sure it’s fine, couldn’t have been that bad’. I swear down my mom was actually crying, seriously. ACTUAL tears. And I don’t think I can face her until she calms down. She’ll probably pretend like nothing’s happened.

“Well, we’re gonna hit up Dean’s house, his dad is outta town and Dean knows where the liquor cabinet key is. You wanna join?”

“Probably not, man. Sorry.”
“What? You a chicken?”
“Nate, I’m not in the mood.
“Fucking buzzkill.”
“See ya.”
“Bye.”

I walk outta there, I don’t have any clue where to go. I mean, where can I go?

I check my wallet, I’ve got 20 dollars leftover from my last wage, and I’m fucking starving. Only one place that does disgustingly cheap food.

Mel’s.

★★★★★★

The door makes this horrible sound as I push it open, walking into the diner. It’s dead. Like really dead. I walk to the furthest away booth, I spot Ashby sitting on a table.

Is that like…allowed? I mean there’s gotta be some hygiene rules around that.

I sit down in the booth. He stands. I watch him walk over to the bar, he’s talking to that girl again, it looks like playful arguing? But they’re like whisper-shouting, I can just make out what he says.

“Paige! You serve him! I don’t want anything to do with that fucking team. Please? You’re braver than me.” He puts his hands together like he’s begging, still slumped over the counter.

“No. Ash, you do it. This is my half-shift anyways, I’m leaving soon. Go serve the poor boy, he’s like…the quiet one compared to the rest. Look at him, he could barely hurt a fly.” She sounds fed-up, but like she’s being playful about it.

Ashby huffs, grabs a pen and writing pad. He walks over, I try to redirect my eyes so he doesn’t know I was staring.

“Welcome to Mel’s, I’m Ashby, I’ll be your server today. Can I get you started with some drinks?”

Okay. What the fuck. That’s the first time I’ve EVER heard that boy speak to me.

“I…uhhhh. Um. You guys have like…coke? Like Coca-Cola! Not actual coke, like cocaine.”

“Okay. I’m sure we can find you some cola. You want a soda can or a float?” His face screws up all funny like he’s trying to hold in a really loud laugh or like he’s insanely confused.

“Can.”

“Kay.”

He walks away, clearly trying not to laugh in my face.

“One cola.”

The ice loudly clashes against the sides of the glass as he places it down. At least something managed to break the uncomfortable silence.

“You wanna order food?”

“I—fries.”

“Is that all?”

I nod. Why am I so fucking awkward when I’m in here?

“K.”

He walks off to the kitchen. The girl, Paige, laughs. Loudly. Fuck. I’m so embarrassing.

I sit in silence. Casually spinning my straw for a couple of minutes. Ashby and Paige are talking loudly behind the bar. Sounds like gossip. But there’s a lot of screaming, exclaiming and laughter.

And I’m still sitting here like a fucking incompetent toddler at the ‘adult table’ on Christmas Day. I hope that made some sense.

★★★★★★

“Okayyyy, fries. You need anything else?”
He places down a small red plastic bowl, the fries drowning in grease and salt.
“Uhhh. All good. Thanks”

He just gives me a small thumbs-up and walks away.

The restaurant door slowly opens, sticking to the floor as it’s pushed. An old couple walk in. The woman has this gray silvery hair colour, the man is bald. They look comfortable here, maybe regulars?

Ashby walks over to them without doubt, makes me feel weird. He had a full fucking argument with Paige, about serving me. I swear, I'm not that bad.

His voice pitches up as he speaks to them. “Hi! I’m Ashby, I’ll be serving you guys tonighttt, can I get yous started on drinks?”

Clearly, he knows them, and they know him. It’s not awkward or anything, he’s bantering with them like he would with Paige.

God, I envy people with good social skills.

A few minutes later, he walks back with a tray of drinks, chatting away to them.

Once he walks back over to the bar, Paige speaks to him.

“Okay, that’s my shift over. You gonna be okay handling this yourself?” “Do I look like this is my first rodeo?” “Funny.” “I’ve worked here 2 years, babe. Sure, I’ll manage.”

Paige laughs, grabs her leather jacket and walks out. I pick at my fries, they’re just soggy and cold now. I didn’t even know this was possible, but my food is making me sad.

I check my phone for the first time tonight. I’ve been here two hours. What the fuck? My mom probably thinks I’m dead, or actually, she might not care.

“Um…hey!” My voice breaks as I say it. Why am I like this?

“Yeah?” Ashby turns, looking at me.

“Can I get my check?”

“Sure.” He walks behind the bar.

I see him walk back a few minutes later, check in hand, “There.”

$8.15 with tax. What a steal, for fucking soggy fries and a coke.

I place down the cash, and stand. Grabbing my phone and checking my back pocket for my wallet.

“Thanks, man.”

“No problem. Have a good night.”

★★★★★★

It’s 10 PM by the time I get home. The sun is just setting. “Hey! I’m home.”

My mom comes rushing out from the kitchen, dishrag in hand. She looks relieved and equally worried.

“Where were you?”

“Um. Nate’s.”

“You didn’t think to call?”

“No, sorry.”

“You were supposed to take your brother to the mall! He needs new soccer cleats.”

“Sorry. I got wrapped up from this morning.”

“It’s okay, but you better take him sometime this week. And no excuses, it’s summer. You can’t possibly be that busy.”

“Yep. Will do. Anyways, I’m off to bed. Night.”

“Goodnight.”

Ding, Ding, Ding! 3 points to Tyler Hayes! I just KNEW that she’d pretend that nothing happened.

Why is my mother so fucking predictable?

I walk upstairs, missing out the creaky steps. I don’t want to wake my brother up, because he’ll want to have a huge conversation about each-other’s day.

And I DO NOT have the energy for that. I softly push my bedroom door open, wary of his room next to mine.

My room is a pigsty. My clothes are everywhere. Fuck my life. I push some of the stuff off my bed, strip my shirt and jeans off, then get in.

I can sort this in the morning.

God. Why is life like this?

Chapter Text

I actually don’t think there’s a worse way than to wake up to your bedroom door being rattled. What could POSSIBLY be so fucking important at this time?

“Just come in!”

The door swings open, and my 9-year-old brother, along with my ancient dog are stood like statues. “Can I help you, Finlay?”

“Sonny needs walked. Mom’s at work and Dad is sleeping.”
“So?”
“You need to do it.”
“Yeah, but not at fucking,” I look at my alarm clock. “SIX in the morning! Why are you even dressed?”
“I have soccer.”
“AT 12 PM! Finn, go back to bed.”
“What about Sonny?”
“He’ll live.”

Finlay drops the lead Sonny’s attached to, then just stares down at his feet. “What is it?”
“I can’t sleep ‘cause I’m awake now.”
“You can't even try?”
“No.”
“Let me guess, you wanna chill in here?”
He nods.
I sigh.
“Fine, come in.”

He looks longingly at Sonny.
“He can come in, too, but he’s not allowed on my bed.”

★★★★★★

I wake up a few hours later. It’s 9 now, and Finn has pissed off somewhere. I look down to the edge of my bed, and it’s just a blur of golden-brown fur. Fuck.
“Sonny! You little shit! My bed is gonna be COVERED in fur!”
I spring up, startling him off the bed.
“For fuck sake.”

I gather the pieces of hair that I can see, but I am well aware there will be hundreds for the next few weeks. Yay.

I fix my pillows and blankets, trying to make my bed look somewhat presentable. I grab a hoodie and some old sweatpants too, shoving them on before walking downstairs.

Finlay is at the table with a stupidly large bowl of cereal. “You really gonna eat all that, Finn?”

“Absolutely!” He decides to speak with his mouth full to the brim, a few flakes fall out of his mouth when he does. Ew.

I grab two slices of bread and throw them into the toaster; the smell of fresh toast fills the air.

I eat fast, then clean up after Finn, because he has kindly left a mess ALL over the kitchen. How is that even possible? It’s a bowl of cereal.

A bowl of cereal!

I bang on my dad’s door a few times. He has to take Finlay to practice, because I’m not taking an extremely loud 9-year-old tornado on a PUBLIC bus.

Yeah, not happening. We have a car for a reason.

“Dad! Dad! Wake up!”
The door opens, and there he is. My dad, who currently looks like a fucking zombie. “What is it, Tyler?”
“Finn’s got practice at 12.”
“What time is it?”
He’s rubbing his eyes now, slowly adjusting to the light. “9:30.”
“I’ve got time. Wake me up in an hour.”
“Okay.”

I walk away from his room, heading to Finn’s.

“You okay, buddy?” I knock softly, then push his door open. “Yeah, just getting ready.”

I walk in, watching him battle with his socks. “Want some help?” “Yeah.”

I bend down to his level, then help him put on his socks. “So, dad’s busy, so I’m gonna be taking you to practice on the bus.”

I’m well aware that my dad will not be getting up anytime soon. Him and Mom constantly do night shifts, I know he’s too tired. If I take Finn, I’d be doing them a favour, and I’d be doing him a favour too. I know the last thing he wants is to be late, and my parents have been sleep-deprived for the last 8 years.

Plus, maybe they’ll forget about the fight if I do this. Maybe my own guilt won’t have to eat me alive.

Finn kicks his feet unnecessarily, “But! But! I hate the bus!” I move my face back, dodging his kicks.

“Stop! Look! Finn. If I could drive, I would. But, Dad needs sleep, don’t be selfish.”

He whines, then settles. “Fine.”

★★★★★★

After I finish getting ready, I run downstairs. It’s 11:15, we’ve gotta go.

“Finn! Come on, little man! We gotta go if we want to catch the bus!”

Finn comes bundling downstairs, wearing his new soccer kit and carrying a drawstring bag, with his old cleats and a fresh change of socks. I’m sure that’ll end well when he has to put on socks himself.

We walk out and straight to the bus station, then I spot them.

Dean and Nate.

Fuck. My. LIFE.

“Isn’t that your friends? Tyler?”

“Shh! This way, Finn.”

I grab his hand and drag him to the back of the station, hiding behind a small pillar. “Finn, we’re gonna stay here until the bus comes. Okay?”

“Why don’t you wanna see your friends?”

“Just drop it, Finn. It’s not important.”

“Ok.”

Never EVER have I been this excited to see the bus. God, I’ve never been so scared in my life. The last people I want to speak to right now are THEM.

The bus doors open, and I pull Finlay to the bus with me, keeping my grip on his hand tight. Shit.

Fuck off. Nate and Dean step into the bus, shouting and laughing with each other at stupid volumes. Why? Why the fuck does this universe just hate me?

I swear to god, if I have to speak to these cunts on this bus, I’m gonna throw myself right off.

I drag Finn to the back of the bus, and wow. Just WOW. Nate and Dean just happen to be in the seat in front of us. I bend my top half forward and look to my left, so I’m level with Finn. I drop my voice to a whisper.

“Finn, whatever you do, do NOT, I repeat, do NOT, speak to or mention my friends. Got it?”

He nods.

Well, that’s a relief. 4 stops. 4 stops. That’s all it is. This is fine. I’m fine. Right?

I watch as the pair gets increasingly louder. They’re starting to annoy the entire bus, but no one has the balls to stand up to them.

Ironic.

I look past them, I spot Ashby in the seats just in front of them, I already KNOW he’s the next target. Poor boy.

I continue to watch as Nate leans forward, pulling Ashby’s headphones off his head.

Immediately, some sort of Asian-rock fills the bus. Ashby turns, looking pissed, then immediately drops the look when he sees who it is.

“Can I get them back?”

Nate chuckles. “Holy shit! The freak speaks!”

“Just give them back.”

Nate totally ignores his statement, and Dean chimes in.

“You off to work, fag?”

“Yeah. Give them back. Now.”

I kinda wish he’d react to the insults. Not in like a ‘I can’t wait to see them get a reaction outta him’ type way. Just…defending himself, I guess.

Nate and Dean just chuckle, then drop them on the floor. “Oops. Sorry.”

Ashby just sighs and bends down to pick them up, but just as his hand touches the handle, Nate’s foot comes crashing down. Hard.

Ashby lets out a sharp gasp.

“Sorry about that, man. Accident, honest.”

I wish I could smash Nate’s cocky face in. Right here, right now. But, firstly, I wouldn’t do it in front of my 9-year-old brother, and mainly, I don’t have the strength or the balls. So. Just leave it, I guess.

Nate’s foot retreats. I can just barely see Ashby’s hand, but from what I can make out, it’s BRIGHT red.

I feel bad. Wait. I turn to my little brother, great, I forgot he’s the biggest empath you’ll ever meet.

He turns to me, too, his big eyes filled with tears. “Why did they do that?” His lower lip is quivering too. I don’t understand why he feels feelings like this. He doesn’t even know Ashby. Maybe he got served by him once or twice.

“I don’t know, bud. But it’s okay. Look,” I gesture to Ashby, who I’ve just realised is crying. Well, that backfired. “the boy…he’s fine.”

“No, he’s not. He’s crying too!”
“He’s fine, little man.”

I see our stop coming up, I ring the bell and practically pull Finn off the bus. Trying to hide my face from the fucking ‘Double-Trouble’ seated close by.

“Hayes!”
Fuck.
I just walk off the bus, Finn’s hand unbelievably tight in mine.

★★★★★★

“Finn, man, was it really necessary for you to get all worked up like that? Look at your face, it’s incredibly blotchy.”

“Your friends aren’t very nice.”

“Trust me, I know.”

I continue to wipe his face with a wet paper towel, hoping the coolness will soothe the huge red blotches. He really felt bad, clearly.

“Okay, that’ll do. Let’s go.”

I throw the soggy paper towel in the Trash can. Then, we walk out of the tiny restroom that’s next to the soccer changing rooms.

“You good, buddy?”

He nods and sniffles.

‘Well, I’ll be here to get you in a few hours. Okay?”

He nods again.

“Love you.”

‘Love you, too.”

“See ya.”

“Bye.”

I walk out of the tiny building.

What can I do to kill 3 hours?

I walk for a few minutes, then sit. I can hear my stomach growling in my ears.

Mel’s, it is.

The walk is only about 20 minutes, but it feels longer because I’m hungry.

Usual.

I make my way to the door, the neon sign isn’t on. No WAY the owner is so cheap that he refuses to turn it on when it’s daylight. You know, that’s the first time I’ve noticed that.

The door squeals as I push it open. God, how I hate that noise. The diner is only mildly busy, a few couples and the odd family dotted around. I spot my booth, it’s fully empty. YES!

I walk over and take a seat, settling in fast. It’s so much better than yesterday; the people chatting just brings in this warm background noise. And, clearly, they’ve found out how to work the speakers, because there’s a nice mix-tape playing.

The sun spills through the window next to my table, the yellow glow highlighting the table perfectly. Wow.

Paige is at the bar, drying a few spare glasses; the sun from the window catches the red in her hair nicely.

The kitchen door swings open. Ashby walks out with a tray of milkshakes and burgers, delivering it to the family in the booth next to mine. His hand is softly bandaged.

My ‘friends’ really are dickheads.

He serves the food to that booth, then walks over to mine, taking a pen and notepad out of his apron pocket.

He looks down and instantly recognises me, he raises an eyebrow. Although, he doesn’t say anything. Shit. I feel obliged to say something.

“IIIII…it’s just that you’re fries are like—REALLY good.”

“Yeah, that must be it.”

“Drinks?”

“Coke.”

He nods and walks away, returning with my Coke a few minutes later.

“Any food?”

“Fries…?”

“Sounds good.”

I watch him disappear, reappear, and banter with Paige for a while. You know, maybe this isn’t so bad after all. I could get used to taking Finn to soccer practice. Especially if all my Sundays feel like this.

Ashby approaches my table again, another grease-filled red basket in his bandaged hand. He sets it down in front of me.

“So…where’s your friends?”
“They’re not really my friends.”
“Friday night told a different story.”
“It’s—it’s complicated.”
“K.”

He walks away, his boots softly clattering against the tile floor. The sun starts to highlight things softly again, but this time it just feels off. His bandaged hand is illuminated by the soft glow, pure guilt is washing over me.

Why did I let them treat him like that? But…what was I supposed to do? What could I do?

God. Maybe I am an empath, too. Maybe this is where my brother gets it from.

★★★★★★

“Can I get the check?”

“Yeah, no problem.” He gives me a small smile.

The diner has cleared slightly, the hustle and bustle is slowly calming.

I sit and wait for him to bring it over, and he does, but he looks weirdly…happy? I don’t know, I mean, I barely even know the boy. What am I on about?

“There you go.”

“Thanks.”

I pay and stand up, gathering my things. I walk, heading to the door.

“See you tomorrow, Fry Guy!”

I turn, Ashby’s standing next to Paige, both their faces are like kids in a fucking candy store. Clearly pleased with their new nickname. I just smile and continue walking out the door. I can hear them cackle as I walk out.

You know, maybe ‘Fry Guy’, isn’t really that bad.

Just maybe.

Chapter Text

3 tries. 3 fucking tries.
And I miss. Every. Single. Shot.

Strike out.

God forbid coach decides to do a mock match, and he puts me up. First time off the bench in 4 weeks.

Four fucking weeks.

I can hear Nate shouting about how pathetic I am.

I’ve had enough. If I stay here for any longer, I will lose my SHIT.

I throw the bat and walk off, straight to the changing rooms. I can hear the team continuing the game, so much for fucking teamwork.

I get washed and put on fresh clothes. There’s still an hour or so left, I couldn’t give a flying fuck, I gather all my stuff and head out.

But I’m well aware that I can’t go home yet. My dad will go crazy. He pours too much money into my baseball ‘career’ to let me walk out mid-practice.

Guess there’s only one place to go.

★★★★★★

The door makes that same old repetitive squeak. I don’t think that noise will ever not agitate me.

I can’t be fucked to look around, I just walk straight to the booth and plant my ass down. No wonder I’m always on the bench. It’s what I was made for.

I finally look up and around, the place is fully dead. Paige and Ashby sat on the barstools, talking quietly. Probably because of me storming in here like a rain cloud.

I’m expecting one of them to come over and take my order, but they don’t. Ashby disappears into the kitchen, then back out with a Coke.

He beelines straight to my table, placing it down softly, “Hey. You good?”

I nod.

I watch Paige busy herself with glass cups that need to be dried.

He softly nods, then slowly backs to the next table that’s in front of my booth.

Sitting down on it.
He looks at me for a few seconds, “You wanna…talk?”

“Sure.”

“If you wanna talk, I’m pretty sure you’ve got to say just a little more than that.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“So, what’s your name?”

“Tyler. Yours?”

“Ashby. So, let’s skip the small talk. You a stalker?”

“Excuse me?”

He laughs. “Joking!” He holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m just curious why you’re in this grease-ball every night.”

“It’s just…cheap. And convenient.”

“Yeah right. You gotta crush on Paige?” He narrows his eyes skeptically.

“No!”

“Good, cause she’s a lesbian. Lol.” He bursts out laughing, clutching his stomach.

“Oh. Okay.” I manage a small, breathless chuckle. What the fuck is going on right now?

“You know, you look incredibly angry.”

“Good. ‘Cause I am.”

“Don’t go acting all mysterious around me, Fry Guy, spill it.”

He leans back on the table, positioning his hands behind him and softly swings his legs back and forth.

I sigh.“Struck out at baseball practice.”

His nose crinkles and his eyebrows furrow; he’s clearly confused. “That’s it? Dude, I thought you got into like a huge fight or some shit. That’s kinda boring, deadass.”

“That’s it. And I’ll have you know it’s a HUGE deal.”
“Yeah, right. You can’t hit a ball? Boo-hoo. I can name THOUSANDS of more aggravating stuff .”

“What? Can I just not be angry?”

“I don’t recall saying that, Fry Guy. Anyway, no need to get angry. I’m not your enemy, Tyler.” He strolls over to the bar as he says it.

“Sorry.” Shit. Why do I feel bad? I fucking hate this empath stuff.

“It’s fine. So, how come you’re always visiting Mel’s?” I watch as he starts helping Paige dry and clean glasses behind the bar.

“It’s cheap. Always open. It’s just really convenient, I guess.”

“Fair enough. But, just to let you know, there’s a LOT more places in town that do actual edible food.”

“This is edible.”

“Yeahhh…no. That grease alone could fucking kill you.”

“True.”

“I’d recommend the milkshakes, though. Probably one of the only actual good things in here.”

“Yeah. Maybe I’ll get it another day.”

★★★★★★

It’s now my third hour in here, practice is finished.

But strangely, I want to stay?

Although I gotta go home.

My brother’s all by himself, well, not ALL by himself, my mom is probably passed out on the couch from pure exhaustion after work. And my dad’s doing a day shift today.
Great.

“Hey! Ashby?”

Mel’s is still empty, I’m the only customer in the entire restaurant.

Ashby stops, then turns back around, instead of going to the bar.
“You good?”

“Check?”

“Absolutely.”

He mocks me with a little salute. I need to admit, it’s actually pretty funny.

The small silver platter clatters down on the table, “Cash?”

“Yep.”

I grab a ten out my wallet, and slide it onto the tray.

“You can keep the change.” I smile.

“Thanks.” Ashby smiles too, but a genuine smile this time. Like he’s actually happy.

I gather my stuff, shoving it in my kit bag. Sling it over my shoulder and head out, waving as I do so.

“See you tomorrow!”
“Bye!”

The warm air hits me as I leave. One good thing about Mel’s is that air conditioning, holy shit, it’s like the Arctic in there when it’s compared to the heat out here.

I’m lucky it’s summer, it’d already be getting dark if it was winter.

The bus stop is just a block away, I decide it’s probably best to go home; my brother will be worried about me.

Just as I get to the bus stop, the bus arrives. It stops right in front of me.

I take $1.50, handing it to the driver. He looks suicidal. I would be too if I had to chauffeur screaming teens around for days and days on end.

The bus is empty; clearly, many people are out around this time. A little strange for 7 PM, especially because it’s summer.
I sit in the back corner and just sprawl out.

The drive is only 20 minutes or so, the town center is like no-man’s land, the only sign of life is the elders drinking their lives away in the nearby bars. Or the teens who smoke and drink at the tiny park.

God, how I wish I could get outta here.

The bus pulls up to the station nearest my house. I push the button, thank him and walk home. The air is slowly starting to cool; it’s hitting my face as the wind blows softly.

The only light on in my house is in my brother’s room. My dad is due home from work anytime now and my mom’s probably still asleep.

I insert my key and push the door open, trying to be quiet. I turn and lock the door behind me, placing my key on our key rack and going directly to Finn’s room.
I knock gently, then push the door open. “Hey, Finn.”

“Hi.” He’s engrossed in a game of FIFA, but I can’t help but notice that he’s weirdly pale.

“You feeling okay, bud?”
“Just hungry.”

“Shit. I wasn’t here to make dinner. Sorry, little man. Did you eat anything at all?”

“We had some leftovers in the fridge. But not much.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s ok. Can you make me something?”
“It’s the least I can do.”

★★★★★★

“Night, Finn.”

“Night.”

It’s 10 PM now. I made Finn some packet ‘Mac ‘n cheese’, watched 2 movies with him and apologised probably 20 times.

You know, sometimes I actually forget that I have stuff to do at home.

Summer just feels like a…break. From all of it.

I retire to my room. My dad came home sometime in between our second movie, but he didn’t bother to check on us. My mom is probably still passed out. So, yeah. Best day ever.

I get into comfortable clothes and just lay down. I plan to just scroll until I drift off.

Will this cycle ever actually break? ‘Cause I sure as hell don’t want my life to go on like this.

Chapter Text

“Tyler!?” Fuck my life. It’s like 9 in the morning. Why is my mother screaming my name like I’ve just murdered a small classroom of kindergarteners?

“YES!?” She can’t even hear me. Come on, man.
I drag myself out of bed and into the hallway. “YES!?”

She appears at the bottom of the stairs.

“No need to shout, Tyler.”

Kill me.
“What is it?”

“Watch your tone, young man. And you need to get up.”

Yeah, no shit.

“Yeah, was in the middle of that.” I gesture to my room, sigh and walk straight back into it.

I make my bed, clean up, get washed and dressed.

God, I’m due to rip my eyes out from the pure sorrow this routine instills in me.

I finish the routine and head downstairs, walking past my brother's door and knocking to see if he’s awake. No answer.

I open the door and check. He’s gone. Probably out with friends.

I continue downstairs, shouting for Sonny as I do.

The golden dog strolls towards me, and it makes me…sad. I don’t know why I have to be so morbid about this shit. I’m well aware my dog is gonna die someday, but some part of me always thinks it’s gonna be sooner than later. And the unsteady strolls of Sonny seem to just play into those thoughts.

I sit down next to Sonny’s bed, petting him gently. I have nothing to do today. Fuck.

Shouldn’t people my age be outside? Fighting? Smoking? Drinking?

And I’m the fucking loser who doesn’t even want to leave his house. No wonder I have zero friends.

“Mom!?”

My mom appears in the hallway, watching me sulk on the floor next to the dog.

“What are you doing?”

“Petting Sonny?”

“You look like you’re depressing yourself and him.”

“Anyways. Any ideas for something I could do today?”

Imagine someone was watching this conversation.

I already KNOW they’d be like ‘look at that fucking loser, has to talk to his mom to find something to do cause he’s got no friends’. And they wouldn’t be wrong.

I am TOTALLY, FULLY & PURELY pathetic.

“Why don’t you take your brother to buy those new cleats?”

“Where is he?”

“He’s playing soccer with the Goldstein’s kid. The one that lives 4 houses down?”

“Oh. Okay.”

She stands and walks to the kitchen, grabbing her purse.

“There’s $70. Get him a GOOD pair. Ones that’ll last.”

“You sure? Mom, that’s a lot of money.”

“I was saving up for it. It’s fine, Tyler. Take it.”
She shoves the dollars in my hands and shoos me off.

I walk over to the door, grab my shoes off the shoe rack, slip them on and head out.

The Goldstein’s house is only 4 down. It only takes me a few seconds before I’m there.

The door is green. Fucking weirdos. Why would you paint your door green?

I knock twice, no answer. So I ring the doorbell because I’m an impatient fuck.

A middle-aged, heavier woman opens the door. I’m gonna take a wild guess and say that it’s Mrs. Goldstein.

“Hi! Um, is my brother, Finlay, here?”

“Yes! He’s out in the garden with Tommy. Shall I fetch him?”

Who the actual flying fuck speaks like that? Why is my mom letting my brother stay here with these psychos?

“Yeah. That’s great.”
She disappears into the house, probably heading to the backyard.

I peek into the house, and I can just make out a room that looks like a kitchen. There’s another boy in there. Not my brother’s age, maybe mine.

He’s slouched over the table with a bowl of something. He looks half-dead.

Mrs. Goldstein pops out again, this time with my brother. He’s sweating and bright red, probably just finished a game of soccer.

“Hey, Finn.”

“Hi.”

I look up at Mrs. Goldstein, “Thanks for having him.”

“No problem! You’re welcome back anytime!”

I smile and grab Finn’s hand. I am spending NO more time on that weird-ass porch.

“How was it?” I look down at my brother, his face slowly losing the red tint as he breathes in.

“Good! I won every game.”

I unlatch from his hand and ruffle his hair while we walk to the bus station. “Well done! That’s great.”

He smiles up at me. “So, where are we going?”

“Mom asked me to take you to get new soccer cleats.”

“Ooo! Can I get orange ones!?”

“If they’re in stock and in budget, then why not? Knock yourself out, dude.”

Immediately, his walk gets peppier, his excitement slowly creeping outta of him.

The bus station is only a little busy, mostly just older folks who are heading to work. I find us a seat, the bus will be here in 10 minutes.

Me and Finlay watch as our bus pulls up. It’s pretty small, but it’s transport, so I’m not complaining.

We jump on, I pay our fare, and we take a seat up the back.

Finn raves on about this new Pokémon game the ENTIRE time. All that boy does is talk about himself. But I’m not complaining. At least he’s not sobbing about someone who looks remotely sad on the bus.

I press the button for our stop and grab his hand, holding him tight as we stand and wait for the bus to come to a halt.

★★★★★★

Once we arrive at the mall, I finally listen to my brother’s pleas. I let go of his hand.
He spent 6 minutes begging me to let him walk beside me, without holding his hand.

Saying that it’s really ‘uncool’, yeah, because not wanting my 9-year-old sibling to get snatched is seriously ‘uncool’.

We walk along to the sports shop, Finn still going on about this one Pokémon thing. I can’t be bothered to listen.

The shop stinks of sweat and just like…manliness. I know that I should like, enjoy that, but it’s just disgusting.

Why would ANYONE want to smell like that?

Finn leads me to the soccer section, the cleats lined up on the walls. There’s a bright orange pair; they’re pretty hideous, but he practically squeals when he sees them.

“LOOK!” He points directly at them, clearly in love.

I walk over, crouch down and search for a price tag.

$55

Easy.

“You like those ones, bud?”

“Yeah! They’re cool!”

“Okay. Let’s get ‘em.”

I grab the cleats and take them up to the desk.

I pass them to the girl working, she’s short, blonde and undeniably pretty. I think she’s Dean’s girlfriend. I’ve seen her slung over him at parties. I’m more than sure he’s drugged her and made her do unspeakable things.

How can someone do that and not be violently sick? I think I’d kill myself if I even debated actually doing that to a girl. Those boys are fucking disgusting creatures—yes, creatures. People who do that to others don’t deserve to be classified as human.

I don’t know if he classifies her as his girlfriend, but either way, that poor, poor girl deserves so much more than him.

“Hi! Just these for you guys today?” Her voice is sickly sweet.

I wonder if she’s ever woke up and found out what he’s done to her, or if he hides evidence. She’s probably woke up and blamed her heavy limbs and pain on a hangover. I hope at least once she’s stood up to him. That’s the least bit of confirmation she deserves.

“Yep, that’s all.” Finn stands beside me, radiating excitement. He’s clueless about what this girl might have gone through.

I swear to god if he ever does that to a girl when he’s older, I will punch fuck outta him. There are NO excuses for rape.

“Perfect! That’ll be $64.83, with tax.” She finishes bagging the cleats, and I pass her the money. “Great, thanks.”

I grab the bag, flash her a smile and walk out with Finn.

“Happy with them?”

“Yes! I can’t wait to play in them!”
“Yeah, bet they’ll make you faster, little man.”

I turn the corner, bag in hand, Finn following my feet.

Then I see it—no. I see him.

It’s Ashby. With Paige, a random girl and a random boy. Outside of the dying Hot Topic.

Paige is linking arms with the girl, that must be her girlfriend. But Ashby’s too close to that boy.

He’s tall, blonde and dressed in dark clothes. He’s like a full contrast to Ashby. His eyes are lined with this black eyeliner, and his outfit is on point.

Ashby has to literally look UP at him. But when he does, he looks like he wishes he could spend the rest of his life with that boy.

He’s a cunt. I know he is. No boy acts like that. He’s…he’s definitely taking advantage of Ashby. I can feel it.

I can’t look at them anymore. I feel…sick. I grab Finn’s hands despite his protests and drag him around the corner, leaving the mall.

We finally get home. Finn runs upstairs to his room, raring to break in his new cleats.

I walk to my parent's room, my dad’s lying on the bed, watching a movie.

“Hey, Dad. I’m just gonna grab a bite to eat with friends. Will you make dinner for Finn?”

“Yeah. All good. Go for it.” He barely looks at me. Clearly too invested in his movie. I’ll let Finn annoy him for food.

I check my pockets for my wallet and phone, then head out.

★★★★★★

The door makes the usual noise as I push it open.

But as I walk in, something comes over me. Bravery, I guess.

I ignore my usual booth and walk straight up to the bar, taking a seat at the barstool.

Ashby looks at me and places the glass he was washing down.

He raises an eyebrow. “Big step, huh? You really committing to the bar stool?”

I can really see his face in this light. His dark brown hooded eyes, the small individual curls that lay slightly astray from his mullet and the light touch of eyeliner.

“Eh. Yeah. Felt bold.”

“Nice one.”

“So, Cola?”

“Absolutely. You want it on draft?”

“Sure.”
He pours it, then looks up at me.

“You good?”

“Fine. Where’s Paige?”

He slips a straw into the glass and pushes it across to me, leaning on the bar, closer to me.

“She’s busy with her girlfriend, called in ‘sick’. Manager believed her, though.”

“Fair enough, I guess.”

“You sure you’re okay, Fry Guy? Didn’t strike out at baseball again?”

“Nah. Spent the day with my brother.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother.”

“Why would you?” I laugh. “He’s 9. His name is Finn—Finlay.”

“Cool. I have a little sister.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. She’s 12, Abbie.”

I chuckle softly, “Your parents like the letter ‘A’?”

“Oh yeah, big time.”
He laughs with me, his voice high-pitched and genuine. It’s sweet. I like it.

“So. Real talk.”

“Shoot.”

“Why do you hang around with those ‘friends’?”

“It’s…complicated.”

“Okay. Just a thought, how many people do you think would actually speak to you if you didn’t hit a ball every so often?”

Ouch. Low blow, Ashby.

“I…”

He just looks at me expectantly for a few seconds, then gets back to the dishes.

A few minutes later, an old couple walks in.

Ashby goes to tend to them.

I slip a $5 bill onto the bar and write on a nearby piece of paper, ‘Keep the change.’

I grab my things and walk out. I’ve got far too much to think about.

Chapter Text

My cereal is soggy. Uncomfortably soggy. It’s actually making me feel depressed, I mean, soggy cereal sounds like some poetic metaphor.

Finn is across from me; he’s scoffing down his cereal. He’s trying to get it down as fast as he can, just so he can go and play some soccer.

I was supposed to have practice today, told dad that it was cancelled. He was too tired to ask why; his brain is always like mush after a night shift.

My mom is working a shift right now, so it’s down to me to get Finn to training. Fun.

Finn shouts, “Finished!” with a mouthful of cereal. That mouthful is now all over the table. Good one, Finn.
I finish mine, get up and clean everything. I think I will rip out every individual strand of hair if my mom shouts at me for the state of the kitchen again.

I shove on my shoes and sit at the kitchen table. “Finn! We gotta go!”

He comes running downstairs, practically missing steps. “Ready!”

“Okay, let’s go.”

The walk to the bus station is fast, but the sun is boiling. I can barely breathe, you know, maybe missing baseball wasn’t such a bad idea.

I can’t stop thinking. I’ve never been like this. Never been good with feelings, talking or comforting. I’ve also NEVER been an empath. Why is this happening to me?

I spent the entire night thinking about what Ashby said. It was mean, hurt my feelings. But at the same time, it was…true. If I didn’t play baseball I’d have no one. My only friend would be my brother.

I’m such a saddo.

The station is desolate. There’s like me, Finn and a random guy. Nice one.

The bus pulls in a few minutes later. I do the usual. Pay the fare, find a seat, sit.

I mean, I could totally walk and save myself the money, but who cares? The cash is just rotting in my wallet—not that there’s a lot of it. ‘Cause I’ve got nowhere else apart from a sticky diner and a rundown bus station to spend my money at.
I sit near the back with Finn and just brace myself for another shitty journey.

The bus stops around the normal amount, with spare people and small pairs getting off and on.

We stop at Marilyn Road, just near the mall.

A few young teens and adults get on. And so does someone too familiar.
Is it just mandatory that EVERYWHERE I go, I have to run into Ashby?

He gets on first, then a smaller girl who looks like him—maybe that’s Abbie. Then HE steps on. That blonde guy. The same one that was FAR too close to Ashby.

He’s carrying the bags, laughing with them. I can see that he has a few piercings too, only a few in one ear. Nothing like Ashby’s.
The three sit together in the back row. Ashby doesn’t even notice me as he walks by.
Great.

★★★★★★

I press the button for our stop and the bus slowly comes towards it. I’m sick of hearing the two behind me laugh and talk nonstop.

Finn and I jump off and start to walk towards the soccer club.
He starts talking about cartoons or some shit. It’s not like I’m listening. I’m too busy thinking about who that boy is. And what does he want with Ashby?

The club comes into view, and I walk him in.

“All good, bud?”

“Yep.”

“Okay. Mom will pick you up, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Bye.” I give him a soft wave as I start to back out.

“Bye.” He returns my wave, then turns and walks away to the changing rooms.
So, what to do now?

It’s 2 PM. I have no friends. Nothing to do.

I’m going to take the bus home and sit in my room. This is definitely going to be the most interesting summer yet.

I’m at the bus station really quickly, and I just make it.

The ride home is pretty busy, mostly older people and a few single moms with kids.
I’m home in like 20 minutes. I walk in, grab Sonny and head right upstairs to my room.
My bed shakes softly as I throw myself onto it. I have my phone in one hand, my other is deep in Sonny’s fur as I pet him.
I have ZERO plans of moving anytime soon.

Somehow, I wake up like 4 hours later. Did I really nap? Either way, I feel like absolute shit.

My head is heavy, my limbs feel heavier, and I’ve never felt so nauseous. To make it worse, Sonny has fucked off somewhere else. Even my dog thinks I’m a loser.

★★★★★★

It’s 6:30 PM, I get up, get redressed into jeans and a Yankees tee, and I grab a zip-up sweatshirt too.

I head downstairs and grab my shoes. I poke my head into the kitchen to make sure mom hasn’t made dinner—who am I kidding? Of course, she hasn’t. I’ll pick something up for Finn on the way home.

The bus into the town is quick—I mean, it’s a nice night, I definitely could’ve walked, but I’m lazy.
The sun has cast a nice warm glow over everything; it’s one of the nicest rides I’ve been on in a while.

Once the bus stops and the doors open, I quickly walk to Mel’s, the half-glowing sign clear in the distance.
The door emits the normal squeal as I push it open; the sound is actually becoming…tolerable.

Paige is at one of the middle tables, the same girl from the mall sits in the seat, whilst she sits on the table—I KNEW that was her girlfriend.

One point to Tyler.

Ashby’s at the bar, wearing headphones—but like those old 80s headphones. The really thin ones with the spongy ear covers, I wonder if it’s an MP3 or a cassette, either way, I didn’t know people still wore them.

He’s too busy washing glasses to notice me coming in—also, how are there so many dishes to always be washed? This place is basically dead, 24/7. Who is drinking that much??

But Paige turns to look at me. “Hi.” The girl behind her—her girlfriend gives a small wave. She’s a really small girl with big eyes and long brown hair. Her bangs are basically IN her eyes, this huge black sweater covers her, the arms are so big that her sleeve is basically in the coffee that’s stationed in front of her.
“Hey.”

I stroll to my booth, and Ashby finally looks up. He takes off his headphones, and ‘We didn’t start the fire’ by Billy Joel starts playing out loud, god, why does that boy ALWAYS have his music so loud?

My dad used to be OBSESSED with that song. I haven’t heard it since…well, since Finn was born.
I take a seat and look at him. “Let me guess…” That’s all he says before disappearing into the kitchen.

Paige sits at the table, the two still talking, then Paige turns—“Do y’all know each other?” She gestures to her girlfriend.
The girl is a total stranger to me. Why would I know her?
“No. I don’t think so.”

The girl speaks; her voice matches her perfectly. It’s small, but still soft. “No. I don’t know him.” She gives me a small smile.
Paige just shrugs. “Okay, well, Danielle, this is Tyler. Tyler, this is Danielle.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“You too.”

Luckily, Ashby returns from the kitchen, breaking this weird and just plain uncomfortable conversation. I can’t believe I’m actually so awkward.

The drowning fries and Coke are placed on my table, and I look up at him, flashing a smile.
He smiles back too, one of those rare genuine ones. “Enjoy.”

★★★★★★

Before I know it, it’s 10 PM. Somewhere between free refills and weird music, time flies. Paige and her girlfriend left around 20 minutes ago; it’s been me and Ashby just sitting awkwardly on our phones.
“Hey, Fry Guy?”

I look up from my phone. “Yeah?”

He’s behind the bar, just tidying small things. “You gotta go. We shut in half an hour.”

“I’ll help lock up.”

“My ass.”

“Deadass.”

He looks increasingly suspicious. “You’re really gonna help me lock up?”

“Why not?”
“Fine.”

He walks over to my table and grabs my empty plate and cup, takes them into the kitchen, then comes back.
I watch him walk around, sweeping a few corners and pushing in the odd chair.

“Wait. Is this Clairo playing?” I can’t help but laugh as I say it.

“Yeah. Why? You a Clairo fan?” He laughs as he teases me.

“Nah. Just…it’s always on my daily mix—on Spotify.”

“Yeahhh…that’s it.” He narrows his eyes playfully.

I roll mine and grab a $10 bill out my back pocket.
“Will that cover it?”

“Yeah.”

He takes the 10 and cashes it, then goes to give me my change. “Keep it.”

“Thanks—Fry Guy.”

“Funny. You keep that up and you won’t get any pay at all.”

“You gonna run?”

“Oh, definitely.”

“Paige would catch you.” He snorts.

“In those boots?” I laugh back.

He shuts off the music and the lights.

“Go on, leave.”

“What?”

“It’ll feel weird if I leave before you.” He rolls his eyes and shoos me out, shuts the blinds, then heads to the door.

He jumps a little bit when he sees me still outside. “Why are you still here?”

“I thought we could walk together.”
Why did I ask that? Sometimes I need a good slap.
“Fine. Why not?” He locks the door and joins me, fixing his messenger bag.

It’s a brown leather, pretty oversized, it’s nice.

I watch him reach into the bag and pick out an apple.

“Why the fuck do you have an apple?”

“They’re my favourite, okay? Piss off if you don’t like it.” He laughs as he says it, taking a bite.

The rest of the walk is pretty silent, apparently he just knows where I live because we’re walking in the correct direction...but I never told him where I stay?

We get to a junction, “Where do you live?” He looks at me whilst he says it, throwing his apple core on the grass patch.
“A few blocks off Marilyn. You?”
“Around the same.”

We silently agree and keep walking.

Then he speaks—fully shattering the silence. “You know, you’re REALLY different when you’re not surrounded by people. Maybe even better.”

“You too.”

And just like that, we’re a few blocks off Marilyn. He walks to the right. I walk to the left.