Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ray Garraty isn’t sure how much more of his mother’s choked up voice he can take. 

In the last 25 minutes or so since they finished bringing boxes into Ray’s new dorm room, Ginnie Garraty has:

• Asked if Ray has his toothbrush: 7 times 
• Asked if Ray has his lucky baseball: 4 times
• Asked where and when Ray is getting his textbooks: 6 times
• Cried full tears: 3 times
• Said goodbye: 14 times

As she putters around his yet-to-be unpacked pile of belongings aimlessly, Ray feels a familiar wave of guilt wash over him, the same one that has been shifting its tides over the last month. Before he can dwell on it for too long, she finally stops fussing and stops to face him. 

“My boy,” she says, brushing a thumb across Ray's cheek. “What I wouldn't give for your dad to be here to see this.” Her eyes are a bit glassed over, as though she’s imagining something - or someone - just past Ray’s shoulder. Ray tilts his face into his mother’s hand and wonders, if he focuses hard enough, he could maybe feel his father’s hand there too. 

College has always been in the plan - Ray knew it, his mom knew it. His dad knew it. Insisted on it, even, from the time Ray was young. When they would toss around a ball in the backyard, his dad would beam at every great catch, insisting that his boy would go to college on a sports scholarship and grow up to play for the Red Sox. 

One of the greats, he would say.

Ray quickly refocuses and shakes the guilt off like a dog trotting out of a pond after a swim. If he doesn’t get a handle on this soon, he might find himself setting up a cot for his mom in the corner of the room.

“Alright, momma,” he says, pulling her in for a hug. “I don’t think I’m as far away from home as you think I am. And once you start up with your gardening club, you’re gonna forget all about me.” In a way, he sort of hopes that’s true. Without his father there, he worries how his mom will occupy her time with Ray gone. He has hope that gardening and book club and tea with her ladies’ group will give her what she needs to establish herself as a woman with free time instead of a self-proclaimed “empty nester.”  

A rapid tapping on the window both startles Ray and Ginnie and pulls them out of their goodbye. They spin around to see Ray’s new roommate, Hank Olson, with a goofy smile but clearly in a rush. “Garraty, you coming or what?” 

“Christ Hank, yes, I'm coming. Gimme a minute,” says Ray, both exasperated and amused. Olson presses his forehead and nose against the window. He looks 10 years old.

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Garraty, I’ve got him from here! I promise!” Ray expects that to pull another round of tears out of his mom, but she surprises him by giving Olson a wave and turning back towards him.

“It’s about time you get out there and start doing whatever college kids do,” she says, smiling and pulling him into one last hug. Their house isn’t that far away, but Ray can’t help but notice that she suddenly feels smaller than she did before. And that he isn’t really sure he’s ready for her to go after all.

—

Ray has to pick up his pace several times to keep up with Olson, who is practically skipping with excitement, as they cross campus to get to the university’s main park area. His excitement is contagious enough for Ray to not only be thinking of things to look forward to, but sharing them as well. But, mostly, he’s happy to see Olson enjoying himself. He owes his limited current, and probably larger future, social success to Olson. 

High school was as close to a breeze as the experience could be for Ray. He had never been short on friends, and was a celebrated baseball pitcher who regularly brought pride to his family and his school. But when his group all split off to different colleges after graduation, he had arrived at freshman orientation in a position he'd never found himself in before - with no lifeline and no familiar faces. Just when he began to worry what type of guy he might end up placed with, this crude ball of energy appeared out of thin air. 

“What’s up, sadsack? I’m looking for a roommate. You available?” 

Ray’s head snapped up, turning in both directions to make sure he was the one being spoken to. The guy standing in front of him was staring at him expectantly, seemingly annoyed that he didn’t already have his answer. He was probably a foot or more shorter than Ray and was wearing a baseball cap over his shaggy black hair.

“Do you wanna know my name first or anything?” asked Ray. 

“Eh, I’m not worried. You couldn’t hurt a fly, could ya? I’ve got a good sense for these things. Not so sure about my best friend Art, over there,” he said, motioning to a tall, willowy guy a couple dozen yards away, “but I’m sure he’ll do fine.” 

“He’s your best friend and you're still looking for a roommate?” Ray asked. 

“We’re dividing and conquering,” Olson had explained. “You get double the friends that way. He gets a new roommate, I get a new roommate, they got friends, we meet each other’s friends, and before you know it, you got a network that spans half the school. And I’m Hank Olson, by the way, if you care about names so much. You in or what?” 

Ray had rolled his eyes, but smiled. He had to admit, he was sort of relieved to have met such a go-getter on the very first day. He had always wondered if the cinematic college experience he’d seen in movies was just some sort of idealized fantasy, but with Olson as an ally, it actually seemed within reach. Maybe it would be nice to have a big group of friends to navigate it with.

Olson was (surprise, surprise) a bit of an oversharer, and Ray quickly had a pretty full picture of his pre-university life. Olson had not had the easiest time in high school; with the same larger-than-life personality but never matched with the right group to understand him, he scraped through with no one but Art and viewed college as a brand new start. Ray recognized that their positions were essentially swapped, and he knew that, were he in Olson’s position, he would feel too beaten down to be as boldly social as he was being now. He really admired his tenacity. 

And now, as they race towards the first social event of their respective new starts, Ray hopes that it’s everything Olson’s hoping it will be. And he’s excited to be a part of it. 

God help the Walker University campus, because it is not ready for Hank Olson.

—

He hates to use the word “picturesque,” but there’s nothing else to call it. The scene laid out before him is directly off the admission pamphlet - a beautiful early-fall New England day with a blue sky and bright, fiery leaves. Every square foot of the sprawling green quad is filled with students mingling in every which way - sprawled out on picnic blankets, lining up at the food truck parked at the far edge of the fence bordering the train tracks, tossing around a frisbee. 

Tossing a goddamn frisbee! He’s only ever seen that in movies.

“Would you look at these girls, Ray?!” Olson wails pathetically, spinning around like he’s in The Sound of Music. “We are SWIMMING in opportunity here! As we SPEAK!” 

Ray laughs and half-heartedly agrees, but doesn't admit that he hadn’t even really noticed. Despite his solid social and athletic standing in high school, he’s never had a serious girlfriend. It wasn’t for lack of interest - girls were frequently falling over themselves for the chance to talk to him. But, besides a 6-month fling that didn’t pan out after graduation, he wondered if relationships were either more likely to happen in college, or were something that only happened for other people.   

“Hank!” a voice calls distantly. Olson turns on his heel to see Art coming down the path.

Art is striking. Ray has met him a couple more times since the first day at orientation, but he is easy to pick out of a crowd regardless. He stands at least six inches taller than Ray, making him at least a foot and a half taller than Olson. His dark skin glows almost blue in the noonday light, making his white teeth and deep brown eyes even more dazzling. He’s thin as a rail, but muscular, with a cool and relaxed sense of style. His loose short-sleeved shirt is unbuttoned and flutters in the breeze as he strides towards them.

“Oh, nice! That must be Art’s roommate. I haven’t gotten to meet him yet,” Olson points out, and Ray swallows and frowns as the other guy trailing closely behind Art comes into view. 

If Art is striking, the other guy is magnificent. 

Although an inch or two shorter than Ray, the guy is visibly strong in all the places Ray isn’t. His grey t-shirt has the sleeves cut off, and his dark skin tone makes every movement of his arm muscles that much more noticeable. His dark brown eyes crinkle at the corners with his smile. His features are softer than the confidence he exudes. In fact, he seems almost shy. But the centerpiece of his appearance is the long, deep scar than crawls across his cheek from his temple to just above his lip. It’s impossible to ignore, but Ray doesn't find it shocking - he's intrigued.  

His good looks are obvious to anyone with eyes, but it’s his blend of calm & self-assuredness that effectively seems to remove everyone else within radius from the equation. He’s quiet and humble, even with every reason not to be. But he MUST know.     

Ray has known plenty of guys to size each other up and gauge what types of things they may have to compete for - girls, wealth, success. Who’s stronger, smarter, more attractive? Ray feels suddenly unsettled in his presence, maybe a little self-conscious, but he’s felt the sting of jealousy before. This isn’t that. He doesn’t feel competitive. He’s not sure what it is he’s feeling.    

"Well, if you're not gonna introduce me, I'll introduce my damn self," says Olson lightheartedly after having his hair mussed aggressively by Art and calling for mercy. He's turned his attention to the other guy and is holding out his hand. "Hank Olson." 

The guy shakes his hand and laughs. "Pete."

Art and Olson immediately begin their own conversation, and Ray feels betrayed that neither Art nor Olson had the decency to make an introduction. If you want something done right, do it yourself.    

“Hi, I’m, uh… I’m Ray Garraty,” Ray says, extending his hand. He cringes to himself - Olson had made the handshake seem very natural, but Ray felt like he was about to give a job interview. So much for doing it right. 

“Peter McVries,” he says, his handshake firm but not aggressive. Purposeful, even. Ray misses the handshake when it’s over. 

“Alright losers, let’s get a move on,” Olson shouts, rubbing his hands together. “Places to be, things to do… people to do, I don’t know! The world is our oyster!” He continues skipping ahead, Art struggling to keep up. Ray and Pete follow, falling easily into step beside one another. Ray racks his brain for something else to say to him. What’s the right next thing to say? Why does this matter so much?  

“You ready for this?” Ray blurts, gesturing to their surroundings at large, namely Olson excitedly talking Art’s ear off about all the parties they’d certainly start stumbling across in their first week on campus. 

“A little jumpy, but maybe that’s good,” says Pete, shrugging, with a small smile that creases the scar on his cheek. Ray thought that he caught Pete giving him an up-and-down glance, but doesn't get the chance to follow up on it - Pete is now motioning towards Olson. “How’d you get stuck with that one?”   

Ray laughs. “Ah, he kinda saved me actually. I didn’t really come here knowing anyone, so it was either get scooped up or risk landing with some psycho all year. I gotta kinda admire the energy.”

“Guess you’re right about that. Got lucky with Art, though. He’s much quieter - they’re some pair, huh?” Pete laughs softly, then pauses for a beat. “Too bad we couldn’t have landed together, but someone’s gotta keep these two in check.” 

Before Ray even has time to process what he’s said, Pete’s speeding up towards Art and Olson, nodding towards them in a motion that encourages Ray to catch up. Ray can’t identify the feeling building in his stomach, but he shakes it off and picks up his pace.  

—

“What a day, Garraty. We’re really in it now,” Olson beams giddily, leaping up to slap the doorframe and missing completely as they enter their room. He immediately starts picking shower items off his pile of belongings and chattering ceaselessly about the day. Ray isn’t used to the constant presence of another person but, in the grand scheme of things, he can’t help but enjoy the companionship. However, he’s having trouble focusing on anything Olson is saying. 

“Hello, Earth to Garraty? I’m hittin’ the shower, you comin’?” Olson says, motioning towards the door. Ray waves his hand and gestures towards his own mountain of unpacked boxes. 

“I’m gonna start takin’ care of some of this shit first. I’ll catch up in a little bit.” With that, Olson leaves and Ray can hear the slap-slap-slap of his shower flip flops treading down the hallway. But, rather than begin unpacking, he fishes a single item out of one of his bags - his lucky baseball. A gift from his dad. The first and only one they ever threw around together. He leaps onto the tall bed, throws headphones on, and presses play on his phone. 

Oh, have I been too discreet? 

How long am I supposed to wait?

I think about you nightly

Oh, can you tell I’m losing sleep? 

Oh, what am I supposed to do?

It’s hard to stay cool

Oh, when you smile at me

And I get nervous every time you speak 

Ray’s had a good day. He can’t deny that. He stares up at the ceiling, mindlessly tossing the ball, relaxing in the first quiet moment he’s had to himself since arriving this morning.  

He thinks of Art’s roommate. 

He thinks of Olson with gratitude - he’s the perfect person to spend time around when you only have it in you to go where the wind takes you. He’s free entertainment on wheels. A pocket planner of activities.

He thinks of Art’s roommate again. He tries to memorize the pattern of the scar across his cheek, and the way - 

“Jesus Christ, man. Come on,” Ray mutters to himself. He adjusts uncomfortably on the bed and closes his eyes. 

He thinks of Art himself. He’s quietly funny and seemingly always down for anything - the perfect companion to both support and balance out Olson’s antics. Ray can see the two of them becoming good friends over the next few weeks.   

Too bad we couldn’t have landed together, but someone's gotta keep these two in check. 

“Jesus fucking Christ. Okay,” he says, rolling out of bed with exasperation. "Get your shit together. Play ball." He must be more tired than he realized. It’s time to shower this off once and for all.

He grabs a towel and heads for the bathroom.

Chapter Text

The first week of classes goes by in the blink of an eye. Between pre-season baseball tryouts and meetings, the struggle to memorize the campus layout and location of classes, and the onslaught of first-week assignments and expectations, Ray has hardly had time for anything else, including catching up with Olson. They’ve seen each other for brief intervals in between Ray returning back to the dorm at the end of the day and his head hitting the pillow, dead to the world immediately. 

Today is the first day they’ve both been free enough to visit the dining hall together. The one closest to their dorm is a large room in one of the campus’s older buildings, with ornate carvings around the rim of the oval ceiling. The food stalls are all located around the edge of the room, with all the seating lined up in the center. Ray and Olson sit at a two-person table on the far side of the room along a row of windows looking out onto the street. Students bustle past on their way to afternoon classes. 

In between - and during - bites of sandwich, Olson fills Ray in on his week. He’s met a couple more of their hallmates - well, met two and had a run-in with another. A boy named Harkness two doors down is allegedly already part of the school paper. Ray isn’t sure if that’s his first or last name, but he doesn’t have time to clarify in between trying to absorb all of Olson’s information. Another is named Billy, which seems to be all Olson could glean from him so far. 

“That one’s quiet, but I wouldn’t fuck with him, Ray. He’s always got one of them damn toothpicks in his mouth. You can’t fuck with a guy with a toothpick in his mouth.”

“The Asshole” is a guy named Gary Barkovitch. Olson accidentally let the door to the bathroom close on him on the third day of the semester, and that was clearly all this guy needed for Olson to be Public Enemy #1. 

“Jesus Christ, fucker, watch where you’re going. What are you anyway, 4’3”?” He was off down the hallway before Olson could even wrap his mind around the interaction. All he could manage was a laugh and a bewildered “Wow!”.   

“He just hasn’t gotten to know your old pal Hank Olson. I bet the big baby just needs a friend!” Olson says. Ray really does admire Olson’s tireless optimism. He hasn’t let a single moment of his previous social rejection stop him from seeing potential in absolutely everyone. No one is safe from his drive for connection. 

That being said, it’s extremely clear he’s suffering from lack of time with his Number One. 

“This is probably the longest I’ve been away from Art since 6th grade. That’s my boy, Ray! I need to see my boy!” Olson cries dramatically, housing a handful of chips. “We’ll have to go hang out with them this week. I heard the roommate situation is going swimmingly. See, what did I tell ya?”   

Ray hasn’t seen Pete since last week, when they all spent the day together. Ray had had a great time, but is beginning to feel a sense of relief that whatever anxiety Pete had caused him was just first-day jitters manifesting in an unusual way. He’s back on track.  

“Hey, check out Scarface,” says a girl at the table behind him. Ray immediately whips around to scan the room, like a sleeper agent freshly activated. 

Okay, so Pete had still been on his mind. And he had been subconsciously scanning every room for the past week. 

He finally spots where they’re looking - sure enough, Pete is across the street, waiting at the bus stop. He’s leaned on one shoulder against the stop’s plexiglass frame, one foot crossed over the other. He’s scrolling on his phone, probably picking whatever music is going through the wireless headphones perched on top of his short black curls. 

Effortlessly cool. Fucking cliche, Ray thinks to himself, embarrassed how relieved he is to see him. 

“Holy shit,” the other girl at the table says with a laugh. Anger lodges hot in Ray’s throat, bracing himself for whatever mean thing the girl is surely about to follow that with. 

“He is so hot.” 

Oh. Okay. The heat moves from Ray’s throat and burns from his cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears. Well, at least he knows he’s not completely crazy. 

“I think he’s in my math class. And I saw him first, so dibs. Nice try,” says the other girl.

Ray rolls his eyes, confused by the sudden impulse to pull the shade next to their table down.      

“Tough luck, ladies,” says Olson, not directly to the girls but not really to Ray either. He just smiles with a shake of his head and takes another bite of his sandwich.

“What do you mean?” asks Ray.

“Art says he thinks Pete bats for the other team, if you know what I’m sayin’. I guess he does seem a little fruity. Not that there’s anything wrong with that!” Olson quickly adds, a little too loudly. “I certainly don’t get it, but to each his own. Probably for the best, he IS a good lookin’ dude. More ladies for us, huh big guy?” Olson reaches across the table to swat Ray on the shoulder with the back of his hand, which he hardly notices.    

He’s watching the bus disappear, leaving a now empty bus stop.     

—

On his walk to class, Ray opens the Walker University Radio app as he’s done every day for the last week. His dad had been a huge proponent of what he called “the lost art of college radio,” and Ray had made a resolution to carry on with that at least enough to see what it was all about. Back when Will Garraty was in school, the college radio channel was one of the main ways to connect with the campus at large; he and his friends hosted a program where they would discuss campus current events in between playing songs carefully selected by each of them. Will believed it was important to try and choose tracks many people had likely not heard of. 

Like spreading the gospel, he would say.

Nowadays, at least on Walker 92.3, it seemed to be a lot of the same US Top 40 that you could find on most other radio channels. Ray tried not to hold that against anyone; he knows as well as anyone that music taste is personal, and the hits are the hits. That being said, he has been wondering who’s in the booth. Shifts are usually controlled by different people every day, so he's been hoping that someone competent will end up in the seat. He's sick of riding the Boring Bus to Tune Town.   

He stops in his tracks when he flicks open the live channel and hears the exact song he’d been listening to his first night on campus as he ruminated on the events of the day.  

When I look in your eyes

I tend to lose my thoughts

But don’t forget your stare

Oh, what was that you said?

Ray smiles. The Boring Bus has made an unexpected stop at Good Taste station! 

He glances at the time on his phone. With 20 minutes to kill before his next class and the radio station just around the corner, he decides to stop in and see who’s spinning. Maybe there’s a friend to be made there, a bond to be forged over a good Ra Ra Riot song. 

The Student Union building has a few classrooms, but is mostly home to all the groups and organizations that keep students social and focused on things other than academic mental breakdowns. The side entrance takes Ray past the offices for Multicultural Affairs, the Center for Student Engagement, and the LGBTQ+ Alliance. A boy named Rank that Ray recognizes from one of his classes enters the LGBTQ+ Alliance office as he passes by. He feels a brief rush of sympathy for the way the boy always seems afraid. Cautious. He walks as though he thinks he might break the floor. 

Ray trots down the main staircase and pushes through the double doors, making his way to the mostly glass-walled radio station room. He quickly steps out of sight when the sound booth comes into view.    

“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” says Ray under his breath. 

The booth bus driver in question is Pete. 

Ray stands with his back against the wall, allowing himself a relaxing breath. He's always disliked snap-change feelings that make you feel like you’d been electrocuted in the matter of a split second. Surprise. Shock. Fear. He hates all of it. He hates feeling like he's not in control. 

Once the feeling passes, Ray leans into what he deems a safe space to look into the sound booth without being noticed. It’s glass-walled on the outside too, with a nice view of the grassy circle that sits within reach of the three distinct sections of the Student Union building. The small room seems to glow in the afternoon sun, and Pete sits at the soundbooth desk chewing on a pencil and tapping away at the laptop in front of him. His eyebrows are creased in focus, but Ray can see that he’s softly nodding his head along to the radio track playing through his headphones.

Square one, my slate is clear

Rest your head on me, my dear 

It took a world of trouble, took a world of tears

Took a long time to get back here 

It’s then that Ray realizes he’s still tuned in too. He has been the whole time. The new song playing is soft and gentle, with a guitar melody that forms a knot in Ray’s throat. There are probably dozens of other people listening, but in THIS moment, Ray only cares that he’s hearing what Pete is hearing - what Pete wants people to hear. 

“Garraty!” 

Split second. That’s all it takes. He rips his headphones out and whips around.  

“Jesus… Art!” Art is smiling like he hadn’t just scared him half to death. Ray smiles back in an attempt to cover… whatever it was he had just been doing. “How’s it going, man? Olson’s been talking about you non-stop.”  

“Going good, man! It’s been a long week without my boy too, but we actually just crossed paths and we’re gonna go get dinner tomorrow night. He said he’d mention it to you later, you and Pete should come too. I’m actually here to meet Pete right now.” Art then glances to the Walker 92.3 sign on the door and then back to Ray. “You interested in getting into the radio?” 

Heat crawls over the back of Ray’s neck and up to the tips of his ears. His heart is still hammering from being caught in the act, but he tries to make sure his voice remains steady. 

“Oh, um… yeah, maybe. My dad was actually big into college radio, so I thought I’d at least check it out at some point,” Ray says, hoping that it’s enough for Art to buy. Which he should, because it’s the truth and the sole reason he stopped by. And stood in the doorway for five minutes unannounced. 

“That’s really cool, man. Pete loves it. I’m sure he’d be happy to hook you up with a spot if you ever want to try it out,” says Art. 

Nice! Nailed it, Ray. Now to hope that Art doesn’t blow your cover when he gets in there. 

“For sure, I’ll have to talk to him about it sometime.” Ray swallows hard and checks the time on his phone. “I gotta get to class, but I’ll see you tomorrow night, yeah?”

“Yeah, man, see you then!” Art claps him on the shoulder and pushes the door open. Ray ducks out of view, careful not to take the exit that goes past the clear windows of the sound booth. 

The pathetic speed walk to class doesn’t do anything to help his heart rate return to normal. One more startle and he might fall over dead. 

—

Ray makes it to his art history class with a minute to spare, sliding into the seat he's claimed Scout’s Honor-style for the semester. Even though he and his dad shared a special love for sports, he had been raised with a real appreciation for art and music that he had nurtured all his life. When he saw the course listing for History of Art in Ancient China & Japan, he was overcome by the soft memory of walking hand-in-hand with his parents through the Museum of Fine Arts, flocked on both sides by shelves full of pottery and artifacts from eras past. 

It’s important to learn about the time before us, his mom had said, so that we can understand how important it will be what we leave when we’re gone.  

The instructor at the front of the classroom clicks to the next slide on her PowerPoint, and the screen lights up with an image of a ceramic tan bowl, covered in jagged stripes of gold. The word “KINTSUGI” is written in bold letters underneath. 

“Kintsugi was - and is - a pottery technique originating in 15th century Japan,” the instructor explains. “In an effort to repair broken pottery in a unique and aesthetically pleasant way, craftsmen began putting them back together with lacquer mixed with gold or silver.” She reaches into her bag and pulls out a small cup done just like the one on the screen. She hands it to the student sitting closest to her, and it gets passed around the room.

Most students give a cursory look and hand it to the next person, but when it reaches Ray, he turns it over and over in his hands and runs his finger along the largest gold-lined crack in the side. He smiles when the light catches it.

Pretty, he thinks to himself before passing the cup along. 

He’s still thinking about it as he walks home.

Chapter Text

The dining hall is packed by dinner time the next night, and Ray’s leg bounces incessantly against his chair. A few tables across from where he sits with Olson, two girls with their heads leaning close together keep looking up at him. The girl with curly blonde hair anxiously presses her hands against her cheeks, while the tall redhead gives her an intense pep talk. 

Ray is too busy staring at the entrance to the dining hall to notice. The knot in his stomach tightens when he sees Art and Pete push through the double doors.   

Since his visit to the radio station, Ray has accepted that Art probably at least mentioned to Pete that he’d seen him there, so he spent the day devising his cover story. He even created a playlist of songs to potentially share with Pete. As suggestions for the station, of course.

He quickly shifts his focus to Olson, resting his chin on his hand and listening intently so that he can pretend not to notice Art and Pete approaching the table. They throw their bags down and Olson immediately does all the greeting for the both of them, dramatically punching up his reunion with Art by reaching up to grab his face and babbling about how “they can never spend that much time apart from each other again!” Art laughs and scrunches his face, grabbing Olson’s shoulders to hold him at arm’s length. But as Pete swings into his chair, he’s laser-focused on Ray.

“Ray Garraty,” he says. Ray inhales at the sound of his own name in Pete’s mouth for the first time. “I heard you came by my station yesterday.” 

Ray stabs at his pasta. “YOUR station, huh?” he teases, not looking up from his plate.

“It is when I’m spinnin’ for the day. You lookin’ to get involved?”

“Maybe. I don’t know if Art told you, but my dad was big into radio. It was one of his favorite things he did in college,” Ray says. “But honestly, I came by because you played one of my favorite songs.” Pete beams so brightly that Ray’s cheeks burn. 

“Oh, yeah? Which one was that?” 

“Uh, ‘Can You Tell?’. I listened to a lot of Ra Ra Riot in high school.” 

“Mm. More romantic than people give it credit for. It’s one of my favorites too. What else you rockin’ with?” 

Ray leans forward in his seat, proud of himself. He knew prepping that playlist would come in handy. 

“Lately? I’ve been doing a lot of Damien Jurado. Some Petey, a lot of Iron & Wine.” He squirms under Pete’s focus on him, his suppressed smirk. “I really like Dave Matthews too.” 

“Man, of course your sensitive ass would listen to Dave Matthews,” Pete laughs. “You got good taste, Ray. I bet you’re a real hit with the ladies.” Ray waves him off, biting back a smile. He looks away too soon to notice Pete’s eyes soften, giving him a once-over.  

“You got a girl, Ray?” Pete asks. Ray swallows hard.

“Um… yeah. Yeah, um, I did. You know, I had to end it because of this. Going to school, I mean. She was going across the country, so. That was that.” 

Jesus Christ, man, he thinks to himself. Ever said a sentence before in your life?  

“That’s too bad, but smart,” Pete responds, looking back down at his plate. 

“Yeah, I think so too.” Ray pauses, thinking about what Olson told him yesterday morning. Maybe Art WAS right, about Pete being into guys. But if he was, was it okay for Ray to know that? Was it appropriate to ask? How do you even ask that?

“What about you, Pete? You got a lady?” Smooth. Pete hesitates for a long beat, then smiles. Ray’s heart stumbles when he locks eyes with him.     

“No, Ray. No I don’t.”

Ray holds his gaze for a moment too long. Before he can formulate a response, Olson suddenly holds out both hands, halting all conversation. 

“Am I crazy, or is that knockout walking right towards us?” 

The blonde girl approaching the table is Jan, Ray’s table partner in chemistry. She’s soft spoken with a good sense of humor and, to top it off, the prettiest face to match. Ray gets along well with her. In just over a week, he already considers her a friend; they’ve spent the 3-hour class sessions sharing their first-week campus experiences and bonding over being “the only child” in a family with 1 parent. She’s just about as sweet as a girl can be.

“Hey, Jan. What’s up? You okay?”

“Yeah! I’m sorry to interrupt you during dinner, I just realized that I didn’t have your number and was wondering if we could get together for a bit tomorrow morning. This chem assignment is killing me and… I don’t know, I just think you’re smart enough to help me?” She’s idly shaking her hands around her phone, jingling the thin gold bracelets that hang loosely on her wrists. 

“I don’t know about that, but I can definitely try. Want me to put my number in?” He fills out the contact and hands her back her phone. “I’ll meet you at the library at 9:00?”   

“Cool,” she chirps, ecstatic. She gives the boys a small wave and returns to her table, where the other girls are squealing. 

When Ray refocuses on his own table, Olson and Art are staring at him slack-jawed. Pete’s biting his bottom lip and smirking, his eyebrows raised.

“Didn’t know Mr. Bitches was sittin’ at our table! What the hell was that, Ray?” Olson cries. 

“That’s just Jan. My chem partner,” Ray says, glancing between Olson and Art and avoiding eye contact with Pete. Had he been alone, he wouldn’t have thought much of the interaction at all. But with a council of horny young men there to survey, he detects new meaning behind Jan’s request, and understands the gravity of the situation he’s just put himself in. 

“Damn, chemistry is right,” Art says, shaking his head and taking a bite of his steak. “Looks like you’ve got a date in the morning.” 

“I don’t really think it’s like that. Maybe I’m just smart, have you ever thought about that?” Ray deflects.

“Whatever you say, ladykiller,” Pete teases, throwing Ray a smile that makes his stomach flip.    

After several more minutes of ball-busting and begging for more information about his interactions with Jan, the boys finally toss their dishes on the conveyor belt and push their way to the exit.  

At Jan’s table, her redheaded friend breaks off from the conversation to watch them leave the dining hall. 

---

Outside, the campus skyline swallows the remainder of the sun, which seems to already be setting earlier and earlier. The sky is brushed with pink and gold, and stars begin to appear in pinpricks as the dark blue takes over. 

The boys have been walking for about five minutes when Olson stops in his tracks.

“FUCK! Art, we forgot to go pick up our books,” he shouts, whipping out his phone to check the time. “Bookstore closes in 3 minutes, and I need that shit for tomorrow!” 

He breaks off into a sprint back towards the bookstore across from the dining hall, followed by Art. Pete shakes his head at the laughable speed difference between the two boys, watching Olson’s short legs quickly lose their lead to Art’s long and lean ones. 

“I’ll meet you back at the room, Ray!” Olson cries, his voice echoing down the pathway. Left with just Pete in the dying September light, Ray struggles to untie his tongue.

“Where you and Hank livin’ again?” Pete asks. 

“Oh, we’re over on the west side. In Weygand,” Ray answers. Pete starts in that direction. 

“Wanna walk with me awhile?” he asks over his shoulder. 

“Yeah, Pete. I do,” Ray moves to catch up with him, his heart picking up speed as well.

“You said your dad was really into music in college,” Pete says, leaning towards Ray as he speaks. “What’s he do now?” Ray gives a small, sad laugh.

Wow. Getting into dead dad stuff already, Ray thinks. I was hoping it might take a little longer for that to come up. 

“Not much. He, uh… he passed away like three years ago. Car accident.” Even though he thinks about it all the time, Ray suddenly feels an extra pang of sadness. Maybe it’s something about being out “doing college” like his dad had always dreamed for him, and not being able to tell him about any of it. Maybe it’s the sudden image of his mom, at home by herself. Or, maybe, it’s the stress of this first week, the thoughts and feelings that he wishes he could unpack with him.  

His dad supported him through everything. He’d know what to do. And he’d make Ray feel okay about it.   

“I’m really sorry, Ray. That’s rough, man, and I’ve been there,” Pete says, his tone warm and sincere. “Lost my parents when I was seven, been in foster care ever since.” The look on his face - more resigned than sad - squeezes like a fist around Ray’s heart. He’s about to say that he can’t imagine losing either of his parents so young, never mind both, but Pete surprises him by suggesting the opposite.

“Not that it’s the same thing, at all. Hell, if it weren’t for a few pictures, I’d hardly even remember my daddy’s face. I couldn’t imagine really growing up and getting to know them and then having to say goodbye.” Pete meets Ray’s eyes. “It’s real nice that you’re finding things to stay connected to him.” 

Ray looks away. If he doesn’t, he’ll cry. And he’s not going to embarrass himself by crying in front of this unflinchingly cool guy that he’s still getting to know. 

“Sounds like he would have gotten a kick out of your freakass roommate, though,” Pete says.

Ray’s head snaps toward him. Pete is clearly stifling a laugh, and it only takes a half second of eye contact for him to break and take Ray down with him. 

“I’m just playing, though. He’s real funny,” Pete says once he’s caught his breath. “Horniest little guy I ever met, though. Is he actually talking TO any ladies, or just talkin’ ABOUT them?” Ray laughs, but stops to really consider Olson before answering.      

“He is full of talk, that’s for sure. But for all the looking he does, I do think he wants a serious girlfriend, and when he does get one I think he’s going to forget about every other girl on earth entirely. He’s a really good guy.”  

“Alright I respect a guy with the capacity for romance,” Pete says. “And I trust your judgement. Art’s too.” 

They fall into easy conversation for the remainder of the walk, so easy that Ray forgets how long a walk it is. The dining hall was on the opposite side of campus. When they arrive at the front doors of Weygand, Ray doesn’t know if it’s too soon to invite Pete inside, but he doesn’t really want their conversation to end.   

“Since you were so generous with your number tonight,” Pete says, and pulls out his phone. He opens a new contact and holds it out to Ray. “In case you ever wanna talk music again. Or anything else.” 

Ray’s hands shake in a way they didn’t when he gave his number to Jan. He checks it three times to make sure he typed it in correctly. 

“I… guess I’ll see you, then,” Ray says, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry Art and Olson kinda disappeared, but thanks for sticking around.” Pete smiles and puts his hands in his pockets.

“Goodnight, Garraty.” He turns and starts walking the way they just came. 

“Wait, where do you live?” Ray calls after him. He thought they’d been returning to their respective dorms together. Pete turns to look at Ray, continuing walking backward. 

“Miles,” Pete calls out. “I bet Art’s back by now. I’ll tell Hank you made it back.” 

Ray watches him lope down the path, his chest buzzing.  

Miles is directly next to the bookstore. 

---

Ray stands in front of the elevator in Weygand, his arms tightly crossed and gripping his backpack straps. 

Pete just walked him home. 

Specifically, Pete just went as far out of his way as he possibly could to walk him home.

He’s completely lost in thought and replaying the night in his head when the elevator door opens. A thin guy with a tan handkerchief tied around his forehead barrels out, checking Ray’s shoulder on the way out. He scoffs. 

“Watch it, queer,” he says, pushing past him. Ray’s heard the word plenty of times, but he’s never been called it. The way this guy says it makes it cut worse than other insults he’s been thrown before. He’s lost for words when a disembodied voice comes to his rescue.  

“Jesus Christ, Barkovitch. You don’t ever get tired, do you?” The voice comes from the couches across from the elevator. “Knock it off with that shit.” 

Ray turns around to see a tall, blond guy in a newsboy cap sitting with his back facing them. One leg is crossed, with an open book balancing on it. He doesn’t even look up from the book, at either of them. He just keeps reading.

“Whatever, Stebbins. Mind your own business,” Barkovitch spits, throwing the front door open and disappearing into the night. 

“Uh, thanks,” Ray mumbles. Stebbins turns his head slightly in Ray’s direction, but returns to his book without responding. 

Olson wasn’t lying. Ray can see a toothpick dangling from his lips. And he definitely won’t be fucked with.   

---

Ray has barely closed the door of their room when his phone buzzes. He crawls into bed and eagerly opens the text.  

(Unknown Number) - 8:25pm

Have fun tomorrow morning :) 

He cringes. He can’t believe he inadvertently accepted what was clearly a romantic advance in front of all of them. In his own defense, he was a little distracted. Certainly not thinking about his chances with a girl. He sighs, edits the number’s contact in his phone, and responds. 

8:27pm

Ha-ha. We’ll see

Pete - 8:30pm 

You’ve got nothing to worry about 

Well, maybe some things. He chews on his bottom lip, types out a response, and hovers over the Send button for 10 minutes before pressing it.

8:40pm 

Thanks for walking with me. Sorry you went such a long way

Pete - 8:42pm

No way is too long in good company 

Ray can’t stop the smile that spreads across his face, no matter how ridiculous it makes him feel. Before he can respond, another text comes through.

Pete - 8:43pm

I think they were separated for too long. I don’t think he’ll be home tonight

Attached is a photo of Hank sprawled across the small couch on Art’s side of the room, his head tilted back on the couch’s arm, mouth wide open. Fast asleep. Ray laughs. For the first time all week, he feels light. 

He double taps the image until a heart appears, and falls asleep with his phone in his hand.

Chapter Text

Tucked in a quiet, unoccupied corner of the library, Ray and Jan sit side-by-side, hunched over their chemistry assignment. For the last hour and 45 minutes, Ray’s concentration has been split between chatting with her and working on the same two equations back to back. Her concentration, he knows, is on him. 

“How’d recruitment go, by the way?” he murmurs, not looking up from his notebook as he continues to write. He’s trapped between wanting to know because he cares about her, and wanting to delay the inevitable. She’s wearing the sweater that he complimented on the second day of class, and he can smell her sweet pea perfume. He knows what he’s really here for. 

Touched that he remembered her upcoming sorority event, her blue eyes sparkle as she responds. 

“It was really great! It’ll be kind of a lot to take on, especially since I’m already in classes as hard as this one, but I think they liked me. I’m supposed to find out next week which ones want me before I choose which one I join.” She beams when he shoots her a kind smile between page flips. 

“That’s really great, Jan,” he says. “I’m sure you’ll have your pick of the bunch.”     

“Thank you,” she says, flattered. “And thank you for coming to help me this morning and everything. It’s really nice that you took the time to do this for me…” Ray can tell she’s not done, but she hesitates for so long that he finally looks up at her.

“Are you okay?” he asks. She cringes.  

“Alright,” she says, sighing. “I’m here on an agenda. Long story short, I think you’re very nice and I’ve really been enjoying talking to you. And I… am wondering if you would go out with me some time. If you wanted to try going out with me sometime.”   

The hopefulness on her face breaks Ray’s heart. He’s never fully understood attention from girls. Sure, he’s decent at a sport. Smart in some subjects. Funny when he needs to be. But he thinks of his constellation of freckles, the gap between his front teeth, the “baby weight” that his mom always promised him he’d grow out of but never did. What were they seeing that he wasn’t? He should be grateful that any girl is showing genuine interest in him, never mind a girl like Jan. Who is he to say no to her? Why doesn’t he want to say yes? 

He also thinks of how easy it was to become friends with her. He’s been so busy with everything else, and so distracted thinking of Pete since the very first day, that he hadn’t even really thought about the fact that he looked forward to the hardest class on his schedule because he liked to talk to her. Olson hadn’t even known she existed, because he’d forgotten to mention her altogether. 

He knows he could be a really good friend to her with time. He just hopes this doesn’t blow it completely.    

“Jan,” he says softly. “You are an insanely nice girl. And I’ve really liked talkin’ to you too. And it’s BECAUSE of that that I really want to be honest with you that I can’t be with you like that. I think I’m, uh…” he trails off, his leg starting to bounce under the table. “I think I’m thinking about somebody else?” 

Her expression’s freefall stabs him with shame.

“Oh. I’m sorry, Ray, I thought we were…” She quickly brushes off the tear that’s gathered at the corner of her eye, and attempts a smile. “Who’s the lucky lady?” 

His heart races, Barkovitch’s voice echoing in his head. 

Watch it, queer.

There’ll be no going back from saying it out loud to her. She’s been nothing but sweet - he only prays she doesn’t have the same vitriol up her sleeve somewhere. 

“It’s uh… he’s my friend’s roommate.” 

“Oh,” Jan says. Ray’s eyebrows knit as the light goes on in her head, the realization spreading across her face. She claps a hand to her cheek, embarrassed. “Oh! Oh, my God, Ray… I am so sorry, I really didn’t mean to misread this like that. I feel ridiculous. If I had known, I-” Instinctively, Ray quickly places his hand on top of hers. 

“Please don’t apologize, it’s really not your fault. To be completely honest, I’m kind of all over the place at the moment. I think I’m still catching up to myself.” Jan gives him a sympathetic smile and squeezes his hand. 

“I haven’t spent time around a nice guy in a really long time. I think I should have known you were too good to be true,” she says with a choked laugh. “But I meant what I said about you, and if it’s okay, I really hope we can… still be friends?” Her kindness almost makes him want to cry. For a split second, he wishes he shared her feelings, that he could just undo this conversation and say yes. She’s the type of girl most parents dream their kid will bring home to meet them. But that path is shrinking in the rearview whether he likes it or not, and he’s overcome with relief that she’s still sitting in front of him, asking to be friends.  

“Of course,” he breathes. “Of course. You’re a great girl, Jan. This really has nothing to do with you. Honest.” She smiles, but it quickly turns impish after a few moments. 

“Is it one of the boys from your table last night?” she asks, leaning in conspiratorially. He blushes and rolls his eyes. 

“Maybe we don’t get into that yet,” he laughs softly. She joins him. 

“Fine. Don’t trust me. But, as a friend, there actually is something you could help me with.” 

---

Ray stops into the dorm between classes, where Olson is laying in bed on his laptop. His head pops off the pillow when he hears the door open.  

“There he fuckin’ is! How’d it go, big dog? ” he chirps happily. Ray breathes out a laugh through his nose. 

“Should ask you the same thing. Welcome home, by the way. Running to the bookstore tire you out that much?” He pulls open the picture from Pete and holds it out to Olson.

“Fuckin’ asshole,” Olson scoffs. “Now TELL me, Ray. Don’t leave a guy hangin’!”  

“Like I told you guys, we’re just friends. I got nothin’ to report.” Olson groans and throws his head back against the pillow, gripping his hair.

“Are you tryin’ to KILL me? You got a beautiful woman beggin’ for your number in front of everyone, in front of God, and you come back and tell me you’re just friends? What did you DO that whole time?” 

“Helped her with chem lab. I told you, I’m smart.” 

“Whatever you say, fella. I swear, you must be gettin’ fruity on me now too or something.”

Ray’s stomach drops.

Watch it, queer. 

He knows Olson is just joking. Hell, he’s not even looking at Ray anymore, just smiling and tapping away at his laptop again. Still, for reasons Ray’s not sure of, it causes the dam holding in all his stress and confusion to break. 

He starts to cry. 

“Woah, hey, hey, hey,” Olson says, pushing himself up on his elbows. “Ray, are you okay?” He just covers his face with his hands and drops into his desk chair. 

“Ray, I’m sorry, I was just messin’ around, man. Honest,” Olson says, leaping off the bed and crouching down next to Ray’s desk. His eyes barely clear the tabletop, so he stands back up. “Can you talk to me?”  

“Just feelin’ kinda stressed right now, I think,” Ray says, sniffling and pressing his thumbs into the corners of his eyes. “It’s been kind of a weird start to the semester.” 

“Will you talk to me about it? If I promise not to say any stupid shit?” Olson asks. He’s still Olson, but Ray can sense his tone shift. It’s the most sincere and serious he’s ever seen him. 

“I, uh… met Barkovitch last night. Called me a queer.” 

Olson rolls his eyes. “Ray, that guy’s just a big asshole. He’ll say that to anything that moves. You can’t let him get to you like that.” 

Ray looks down at his hands, overcome by the same fear before telling Jan. What happens if you think someone is one way and then they prove you wrong? What do you do if one part of yourself is enough to change the way someone sees you? Do you make the leap and accept the consequences? Or do you sacrifice the chance for anyone to ever really know you in exchange for safety?

In the short time he’s known him, Olson’s already showing himself to be a more real and committed friend than anyone Ray knew before. That has to be worth the leap.   

“I think I might be, though.” 

For a brief, terrifying moment, Olson is quiet. Still avoiding eye contact, Ray wonders if he’s just made a huge mistake.

“And I said that fruity thing back there. That what did it?” Olson’s regret-filled reply actually makes Ray laugh. Hard.

“Kind of, but you’re good.” He finally looks up at Olson, who’s wearing an ashamed pout.   

“Well, Ray, if I may pull my foot outta my big mouth for a moment,” Olson says, hopping onto the end of Ray’s bed. “I just want you to know that I’m sorry, and that when I say shit like that, I don’t… mean it in that way. It’s just the kind of talk I grew up around, some things just kinda stuck. But that’s no excuse, and I promise it won’t happen again.” 

Even though Ray already knew all of that, deep down, hearing Olson say it brings him the peace he needs to feel calm again. He leans back in his chair and, in his post-meltdown clarity, feels suddenly embarrassed. He’s made a point not to really cry in front of anyone and hasn’t in a long time.

“Now that that’s all outta the way, what’s even got you thinkin’ about this? You ACTUALLY meet someone or something?” Olson asks. 

Now comes the real test. There’s an ocean of difference between confiding in Jan, who didn’t even know which boy Ray was talking about, and confiding in Olson, who spent last night passed out on the couch in said boy’s room. But, he’s come this far. Might as well finish the job.

“You have to promise not to tell Art,” Ray begs, immediately realizing his poor choice in wording as he watches a rollercoaster of shock & bewilderment ride across Olson’s face. 

“Oh my God, Ray, ART? MY Art?” 

“Jesus Christ, Hank. No,” Ray says, his heart wanting out of his body completely. “Pete.” He’s surprised to see that Olson doesn’t seem to be. 

“Good. ‘Cause if anyone breaks my boy’s heart, I do have to side with him, no matter how much I like the one doing the breakin’.” He contemplates until something suddenly dawns on him, and his eyes widen.

“My God, Ray, he walked your sorry ass home last night! How was that? Did anything happen?” He’s leaned forward, gripping the end of the wooden bedframe, and Ray smiles as he realizes he’s doing something he’s never done before. Not even in his younger school days.

He’s gossiping about a crush with a friend. He’s never had one big enough to do that before. 

“No, no, nothing like that. I don’t think it’s like that for him.” 

“I don’t know about that. Seemed pretty happy when he came home last night,” Olson says, an annoyingly smug look on his face. “Now, I promise I won’t tell Art if you don’t want me to, but if we get him in on it, we might be able to get you some more information. We’re good wingmen.” He pauses. “Well, we’ve never done it before but I think we could be good at it.” 

“I’ll think about it,” Ray laughs, pushing out of his chair and reaching for his shower bag. He stops to look at Olson. “Thanks. Seriously. This… was really helpful.” 

“Go on, get outta here,” Olson beams, jumping down to smack Ray on the shoulder before hopping back onto his own bed. Ray opens the door to head to the bathroom.  

“Oh, by the way, Jan knows a beautiful woman that wants to meet you.” 

He closes the door, smiling with satisfaction at the muffled “WHAT?” screamed in the room behind him as he walks away.

Chapter Text

“I’d be scared what a motherfucker like him would show up to a date in. Tell me he’s not gonna wear somethin’ crazy to try and impress her,” Pete exclaims, taking a long sip of his coffee. The October chill has set in, and their paces quicken at the thought of somewhere warm.  

With Jan and Olson’s blessings, Ray has spent the last 3 weeks opening himself up to any and every opportunity to talk to Pete. They’ve texted nearly every day since the walk home together, and to Ray’s delight, Pete is the conversation initiator more times than not. It begins with mostly music exchanges, with a progressive injection of stupid videos, film interviews and, a little at a time, invitations to tag along on errands and food stops. When Pete asked him if he wanted to get coffee this morning, he stood up from his desk mid-English worksheet, threw on a coat, and walked out the door. He can’t even remember if he turned his desk lamp off. He won’t be surprised if he gets a text from Olson this afternoon asking if he got raptured.    

Putting a definition on the feeling towards Pete has only made it worse, because now he’s confronted head-on with the “why.” He’s overwhelmed by how quick and funny and constant Pete is, laughing so much lately that it makes him feel like he might as well be twisting a lock of hair around his finger and kicking his feet. He’s also crazy smart, which Ray doesn’t understand the full extent of until Pete casually mentions that he was the valedictorian of his senior class.   

The more he learns about him, the more the feeling settles in the front of his mind. But, it’s also been mixing with something else too. Ray’s biggest hope arriving at Walker was that he wouldn’t be alone, and between Olson, Art, Jan, and Pete, the coffers are overflowing. He starting to like Pete more than he’s ever liked anyone, but he also just LIKES him. He’s grateful to be in his orbit. 

Pete asks to stop by the radio station to pick something up, and on the walk over, Ray fills him in on Olson’s upcoming date tonight. 

---

While hyping Jan up to ask for Ray’s number, her friend, Clementine, had spotted Olson at the table. 

“The peanut’s cute,” she’d said to Jan. “If things don’t work out with Ray, I’ll still take that one.”  

Jan shook off Ray’s rejection in record time, and quickly shifted into Gay Best Friend territory. She immediately shared the details of her conversation with Clementine, and the two began devising a plan to connect her with Olson. Ray wrote down her number and, just to see Olson squirm, waited until dinner that night to reveal the information he’d gathered. When he pulled up Clementine’s Instagram, Olson looked back and forth between Ray and the photo of the stunning redhead, annoyed.

“This shit is so not funny, Ray,” he’d said, sounding genuinely hurt. “I thought you and I were friends.” Art leaned in to look at the photo from across the table.

“We are, so you can either take this info or leave it,” Ray said, handing Olson the scrap of paper with her number written on it. “She called you a peanut and I think she’s about a foot taller than you, but she thinks you’re cute.” Olson snatched the paper and pulled out his phone, shaking his head.

“If this is some kinda shitty joke, you’re dead to me.” 

7:42pm

this is Hank Olson. I think my friends are catfishing me. to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking? please include a photo with your WU id 

“Are you insane?” Ray exclaims. “That makes you sound like a serial killer.” All three boys jump when the phone buzzes on the table. 

(Unknown Number) - 7:44pm

this is clementine :)

Attached is a picture of the girl from the photo. She’s smiling, holding up a peace sign behind her school ID held with her thumb and ring finger. Clementine Moreau.  

“Holy shit, Ray,” Olson shouted. “Holy shit!”      

---

“I wouldn’t put it past him to wear moon shoes or something,” Ray teases. “They’ve been texting for weeks and he’s feeling pretty good about it, but I heard she’s like, a foot taller than him. I don’t know what that’ll do to his self confidence.”

“He’s got plenty of personality to make up for it, I’m sure she won’t even notice. Until it’s time to kiss him, in which case they may need to invest in a stepladder. Little stool or somethin’.” The two dissolve into laughter as Ray pulls open the door to the Student Union, holding it open for Pete. Ray walks in behind him and doesn’t see Pete smile to himself. 

Pete retreats into the back corner of the small, warm studio room and digs through a drawer for the flash drive with his class project on it. Expecting the quick stop Pete prepared him for, Ray stands in the doorway, but steps inside when he notices a small bulletin board hanging on the wall above the sound desk. His heart lodges in his throat. Written on small sticky notes pinned all over the board are all the songs he’s recommended to Pete over the last few weeks.

He barely contains a smile, blowing air out his nose as his breath catches. Not sure if it’s something he’s supposed to see, he quickly turns back towards Pete, who has already noticed. He rubs the back of his neck, but remains too cool to read. 

“Think you’d be a, uh… good fit for the station. You should come play some of ‘em sometime.” He squeezes past Ray and pushes open the door. “Wanna come back to mine for a bit?” 

“Yeah,” Ray nods, his heart speeding up, and follows him out. 

---

Ray doesn’t realize he’s been imagining the inside of Pete’s room until it matches his expectations exactly. Where most college boys are messy and careless, Pete is classy and put together. Where everything else is chaos, Pete is calm. He radiates it.  

His bed is neatly made, with a well-loved, burnt orange blanket folded carefully on top of the green comforter. A small woven rug sits beside the wardrobe, and on it balances a redwood acoustic guitar. With Pete’s gravelly, smoky voice, Ray’s insides stir to think what he must sound like when he sings.

A stack of notebooks and classwork sits on the desk, as well as a neat row of books with names like Playlist for the Apocalypse, Crush, and The Unsettling of America. A small drawstring bag lays untied with some of the contents spilled out - a few coins, a pass to an art museum in the city, a worn train ticket. On the corner of the desk is a table mirror, surrounded by a small assortment of tubes and brushes.   

“S’that makeup?” Ray asks. 

For a minute, it looks like Pete is calculating whether to deny it, or make up an excuse for having it. But instead, his face softens and he makes a move to pick up one of the small items. 

“I had a foster sister once, really into makeup but couldn’t figure out what looked best on black skin,” Pete says, fidgeting with what looks like a capped pencil. “She started using me as a practice dummy. Like those plastic heads kids used to get for Christmas, you know?” Ray melts, watching Pete lost in the memory of it. 

“It’s a tender thing, Ray. To have someone hold your face so gentle, have them paint you real careful. Something nice about lookin’ pretty too. You ever had that before?” Pete asks, looking up expectantly.

“Not really. The kind of guys I grew up with probably woulda killed me if they caught me doin’ something like that,” he says, twisting the leather band around his wrist. 

“Mm. Life’s too short for that, Ray. You trust me?” Pete asks, raising his eyebrows and motioning for him to sit on the bed. “I sure ain’t gonna kill you about it.” Ray hesitates but sits, his chest humming. 

Pete sits across from him, dropping a couple of small tubes & brushes on the bed next to them. He pulls himself in closer until their knees are touching, and picks up a small pat of green powder and a brush. Ray swallows hard at the closeness.  

“Alright, handsome. Close your eyes now,” Pete says softly. The blush that blossoms on Ray’s face feels like it starts at his core, and he chews his bottom lip as Pete waits patiently. He obeys, putting his trust in Pete and closing his eyes.

His breath hitches when Pete’s hand reaches around and holds him by the back of his neck, and touches the brush to his eyelid. It tickles but feels gentle and soft. To his surprise, the nervous fizz in his chest begins to dissipate, and he’s overcome by a deep sense of calm. He breathes deeply and slowly as he follows the shadow of Pete at work, backed by the light coming in through the window beside them. 

When he slowly allows his eyes to flutter open, he’s completely caught off guard by the way the afternoon sun settles on Pete’s skin and makes his brown eyes glow a bright amber. He feels his eyebrows knit pathetically, and hopes Pete doesn’t notice the goosebumps that spread over his arms. 

“Man, I see you starin’,” Pete teases, a smile playing on his lips. “Go on, ask me what you wanna ask me.” Were the goosebumps THAT obvious? Did he hear his heart skip awkwardly at the sight of him? Ray panics briefly before realizing Pete is talking about his scar. Ray’s face burns, ashamed to realize that he HAS wanted to ask about it, more desperately than he even knew until this moment.   

“Who did it to you, Pete?” Pete closes the powder he had been working with and picks up a black pencil. 

“Close your eyes again and I’ll tell you.” Once Ray obeys, Pete gently takes hold of his chin and tilts his head up to begin his work again, making Ray’s stomach flutter wildly. He completely folds at the gentle control and holds his breath, waiting for Pete to continue.  

“Had this crush a few years ago. A friend,” he says, “and when you’re a dude who likes dudes in high school, information like that travels pretty fast. Told the wrong person about it… next thing I know I’m gettin’ cornered in the school parking lot by the class psycho.” His hand brushes Ray’s cheek as he marks a slow, careful line across his eyelid.

“Hurt like hell, looks like shit, but that wasn’t even the worst part of it,” Pete says after a few beats of silence. “Word got back to my friend. Never talked to me again.” The pencil cap closes with a clicking sound, and when Ray opens his eyes to look at Pete, they’re wet.

“Don’t cry, gorgeous, you’re gonna mess up my work,” Pete says with a sad smile. “That’s just life sometimes. It’s still worth it to know you could love.”

Ray’s heart sinks to his feet at the thought of it. He thinks about the way a lazy verbal insult from a stranger felt, and the way it’s weighed like an anchor at the back of his mind. He can’t imagine being attacked, and having to see a reminder of it in the mirror every single day. Ray doesn’t know the RIGHT thing to say, but he says the only thing he can think of. 

“Y’ever heard of kintsugi?” he asks. A quizzical smile passes over Pete’s face, and he waits for him to continue. 

“It’s this pottery thing. They put back together broken bowls and stuff using gold so that you can still see all the places it was broken, but it’s still something beautiful. Maybe even more beautiful than it was before.” He swallows, waiting for Pete to respond. That may have been too much.  

“Mm,” Pete hums softly. “Okay. I think I see what you’re getting at. Almost sounds like you’re trying to flatter me, compadre.” Ray bites his lip.

“I don’t know, maybe. Point is,” he says, “it doesn’t look like shit. I think it might be one of my favorite things about you.”

Pete’s eyes widen for a moment, and Ray can see his breath quicken ever so slightly. 

That might have actually been my best line ever, Ray thinks desperately. Please let that have meant something. 

Pete opens his mouth to speak, but the silence is instead broken by a knock on the door. Both boys flinch, and Ray’s heart jumps so hard that he can feel it in his temples. 

Fuck me to death. 

“Pete? You in there?” a voice calls through the door. 

“Collie? Whatchu need, man?” Pete answers, kindly but dazed and a little breathless. 

“I’m about to head out, do you have a minute to do my hair?” Pete lets out a breathy laugh and turns back to Ray. He gently reaches forward to brush the hair off his forehead. 

“What can I say, I’m good at braiding,” he says with a soft laugh. “Wipes are in my desk drawer, but you should really take a look at yourself first.” He hops off the bed and opens the door, where a frankly beautiful guy with tan skin, thick eyebrows, and long, silky dark hair stands waiting for him. He gives Ray a small wave and smirks at Pete, who quickly closes the door and leaves Ray alone in the room. 

He grabs the small mirror off the desk and can’t help but gasp when he sees himself. His face has only ever been one thing - freckles and teeth. It’s all he’s seen when he looks in the mirror for the past 18 years. He’s never seen himself like this. 

He wonders if Pete thinks he’s pretty. 

---

“If I get there and this is a prank, I’m moving to a different dorm,” Olson says, flocked by Art and Ray as they walk him to the coffee shop in the center of town. Ray just shakes his head and smiles, knowing from Jan that Clementine was just as eager for the date. To his pleasant surprise, Olson put himself together quite nicely in a blue collared shirt and tan bomber jacket. He’s still wearing his signature baseball cap. He’s still Olson, and that’s the way it should be. He’s not showing up as anyone but himself. 

As they approach the coffee shop, all three boys gather to look in the window. Clementine’s red hair stands out like she’s the only one in the room. 

“Jesus Christ,” Olson says under his breath. “Wish me luck, boys.” He pushes his way into the coffee shop and approaches her table. He’s only a little taller than her standing as she is sitting down, but she smiles so brightly at him that Ray can’t help but smile too.

“My man’s not gonna know what to do with all that,” Art says. They burst out laughing, and turn back towards home. 

Chapter Text

“I know you’re spoken for, Ray, but let me tell you that you should wish you were me right now,” Olson brags as they approach the dining hall for breakfast. If he’s usually at a 10, today he’s at a 20, dragging Ray out of bed for a report on his night. 

“Hey, I’m NOT spoken for, but I’m glad it went so well. Though I think you kinda owe me an apology for thinking I was bein’ some conniving asshole,” Ray responds, slapping him upside the head as he holds the door open and lets Olson shuffle in before him. As they wait in line for Olson’s complicated coffee order, he goes on the sappiest rant ever heard by mankind.

Clementine is a forensic science major, which apparently made for a long and intimate conversation about their shared love for gritty crime dramas and podcasts about unsolved murders & mysteries. She likes scary movies and stoner comedies and loud music and exploring the city. Olson brags that she not only isn’t turned off by his crude sense of humor, but dishes out plenty of it herself. They've already discussed going to homecoming the following weekend. 

“She is FUNNY, Ray. You’ve never met a girl this funny before. Hey. Look at me, Ray,” he reaches up and grabs Ray’s chin, turning his face toward him. Ray laughs and swats him off. “You were right, okay? That what you want to hear? Christ’s sake.” 

As they sit down with their drinks, Olson continues on with his romantic tale, and Ray’s heart swells very genuinely at Olson’s happiness. He can’t help but be amused that this alleged soulmate has come in the form of a 6’1 rock-and-roll girl so enamored with him from a distance that she sought him out herself. It’s what he deserves.

Ray is listening & engaged until his phone buzzes.  

ART, OLSON, PETE

Pete - 10:23am 

filling in for a gig spot at greyhound with art tonight. yall wanna come?

Ray sits up in his seat, a jolt striking him head to toe. Besides carefully cultivating playlists and dispatching them to the general public, Pete has also expressed his passion for singing and playing guitar. His foster parents got him a guitar for his 11th birthday, and it quickly became his escape, favorite pastime, and greatest talent. Ray has wondered what he’s like when he plays since learning that, and even more so after seeing the guitar in his room. He doesn’t want to miss the opportunity to find out. 

Ray - 10:25am

I can be there

When he looks back up from his phone, Olson is giving him a sarcastic resigned stare. 

“You textin’ your boyfriend instead of listenin’ to me? You’re breakin’ my heart, Ray,” he says with a groan. But, he’s smirking smugly.

Ray grimaces, putting his phone face down on the table. “Sorry.”

“You’re good. You been listenin’ to me talk long enough anyway,” he says, picking up his phone.

Olson - 10:27am

awww is my boy gettin back on the bass??? <3 ill come too

Olson renamed the chat - “musketeers :o)”

“How’s all that going, by the way?” 

Ray’s heart rate spikes at the thought of his afternoon with Pete the day before, and he bites back a smile. “Kinda good, actually,” he says, taking a sip of his coffee and avoiding eye contact.

“Atta boy, Ray!” he exclaims. “Pete’s a good guy. Art’s been having fun with him. He’s no Clementine, but he’s alright.” He takes a bite of his egg & cheese sandwich and squints, spotting something over Ray’s shoulder. 

“Hey, no fuckin’ way. I didn’t know Stebbins and Harkness were a thing.” Ray follows Olson’s nod and sees the guy from the dorm lobby outside the entrance to the dining hall, still with the same hat & toothpick. He’s even taller than Ray thought, and he stands with his arm around the waist of a much shorter guy with a pretty, pinched face and thick-rimmed glasses. He kisses the top of the boy’s head and they part ways. 

Olson raises his eyebrows. “Who’d have thought I'd be the only one getting any ladies around here?”  

“I’ll be back in a second,” Ray says, pushing away from the table and following Stebbins to the back of the food line. He idly grabs an apple to put on his plate, calculating the right combination of words to not piss this guy off.  

“Hey, I never got to thank you for stickin’ it to Barkovitch,” he blurts, and Stebbins turns around. He has the stony face and build of a male model, and his quiet intensity makes Ray’s stomach churn. 

“All good,” Stebbins says curtly. 

“I’m Ray, by the way.”

“I know. I’ve seen your name on your door.” He has an accent Ray can’t quite put his finger on, one he hadn’t noticed the first night. Ray clears his throat, not sure if he should continue. This guy’s not making it easy.

“He just hasn’t gotten to know your old pal Hank Olson. I bet the big baby just needs a friend!”

What the hell, he’s been on a lucky stretch with making friends recently. Maybe it’s time to take a page out of Olson’s book. 

“I saw you come in with Harkness, he lives down the hall from me. I didn’t realize you knew each other.” Stebbins scoffs.

“My boyfriend, Richie? Yeah, I’ve got a passing familiarity.” 

Ray thinks of Stebbins’ response to Barkovitch that night, the anger and defensiveness in his voice. Combined with the tender forehead kiss he just saw outside, Ray feels a sudden rush of respect for him - but it’s also mixed with some sorrow. “Has Barkovitch given you guys trouble before?” he asks.  

“I don’t have time for homophobic shit,” Stebbins mumbles. “I don’t know if he even means what he says or if he just can’t help being an asshole, but Richie’s had a hard enough time being gay, never mind trans. Walker’s his new start. I came a long way to go here with him and I’m not lettin’ some asshole fuck it up.” A look passes over Stebbins’ face as though he’s said more than he intended, but he continues down the line, picking things off onto his plate. 

“That’s really good of you,” Ray says. Stebbins looks like there's something else he wants to say, but just gives another quick nod. Ray nods back, figuring this may be as far as he’ll get with him.

He steps away to return to his table, but has one last idea.    

“We got some friends playing a gig at Greyhound tonight. If you wanna come.” Stebbins looks up, and Ray shrugs. “If you two are lookin’ for folks to hang out with here, I know a few good ones.”

He still can’t get a smile out of him, but he’s satisfied with what he does get. “Thank you, Ray.” 

Ray returns to his table, setting the plate down. Olson stares at him.

“The fuck you get one apple for?”  

___

Greyhound is a small bar around the corner from campus, only big enough for the bar, 8 tables, and a small area in the corner where local bands play seven days a week. The place is packed almost every night. The band scheduled to play had bailed for the evening, and the owner pulled Pete’s name off the contact sheet, where he submitted it when he came to campus for the first time. Ray doesn’t see him when he enters with Olson, but does see Art chatting with Tressler, another guy that Ray had met in passing from Art and Pete’s hall, and the dark-haired guy that Ray recognizes from outside Pete’s room yesterday. Art sets up a bass guitar, and Tressler sits at the drums. 

Ray surveys the room. In the back corner opposite them, Stebbins and Harkness sit side by side in a booth. Harkness holds his phone between the two of them, and they share a set of earbuds. Harkness is laughing at whatever’s on the phone, but Stebbins is looking at him, smiling softly. So he does know how to do that. 

He looks up and catches Ray’s eye, shrugging and giving him the smallest of smiles too. Even if they weren’t ready to approach the group, they showed up. That’s enough for Ray. 

Olson sprints to Art, gushing about his return to music. Apparently, Art had played bass for the school band until his sophomore year of high school, when he quit to focus on his honors classes. He hasn’t played since, and it’s serious for Olson.    

The dark-haired guy looks Ray up and down out of the corner of his eye.  

“Hey. You were at Pete’s yesterday,” he says, pulling out a cigarette and dangling it from his lips. His well-worn denim jacket was probably blue once, but has gone a soft grey. Around his neck is what looks like a large animal tooth on a leather strap, and his hair is intricately braided on each side of his head, joined together in a long braid down his back. Ray wonders if Pete did it. 

“Yeah. Collie, right?” The guy nods, flicking a lighter to the end of the cigarette and covering it with his hands. 

“You seein’ him?” Collie asks, taking a drag and turning his head to blow the smoke away from Ray. Ray stands up straighter, clearing his throat. 

“Oh, uh… no, we’ve just been hanging out. We’re just friends.” Ray’s eyes widen as a sudden thought passes over him. “Are you?” 

Collie barks out a laugh, coughing twice on the smoke. 

“No. We were roommates during freshman orientation and just stuck it out after that. My sister always did my hair when I was home, she obviously can’t while I’m here so he started doin’ it for me.” He takes another drag. “Don’t worry man, relax. He’s all yours.”

Ray’s heart stutters. “What do you mean?”   

“I don’t know what YOUR whole situation is, but whatever you said to him yesterday did a number on him. Fucked up my braid twice.” He gives him a do-with-that-what-you-will shrug and turns back to Tressler. 

Processing Collie’s information, Ray pulls Olson back to the table closest to the band area to let Art finish setting up. He can’t help but feel a sense of pride, imagining Pete turning his words over in his head that much.

So that was a good line. 

As if on queue, Pete rushes in through the side door holding a brown electric guitar in one hand and a pick between his teeth. He quickly plugs the guitar in and gives a hurried apology to Art and Tressler, and Collie joins Ray and Olson at their table. Pete glances up at them but quickly looks away, giving a few test strums to the guitar before Tressler lays down their beat.

The song is a soft alternative R&B number, with a steady beat and wavy guitar. The muscles in Pete’s arms flex gently with every strum, and Ray holds his breath when he leans in towards the microphone.  

I’m so into you

But I don’t know where I’ve been

I just want you to

To take me where you heart is

All of Ray’s wondering hadn’t prepared him for how this would make him feel. Pete is completely in his element. His hands clip gracefully across the neck of the guitar, his face scrunching and softening as he plays different chords. His voice is soft with a scratchy edge, hitting the song’s high notes in a way Ray wouldn’t have expected he could. Under the blue spotlight, he is exactly where he belongs, doing exactly what he was meant to do. 

Olson nudges Ray’s side with a smirk, but he’s too entranced to even notice.     

And you’re made wonderful

I would never want you to 

feel like you could never be right

Pete looks up and locks eyes with Ray. It makes his stomach jump, and he knows he should shift his eyes somewhere else. But he can’t. He breathes out as they hold each other’s gaze. 

Pete smiles at him. 

Love is all you want

I would never do you wrong

Hold it down and give me some time

In the moment, all that exists for Ray is Pete and the feeling of his own heartbeat, scraping and clawing to get to him.

He’s all in.

____________________________________________________________________________

At the end of their set, Ray lingers a few steps back from Collie and Olson as they chat and help pack up. Olson, who doesn’t miss a thing, takes a chance on his wingman dreams.

“Hey, not too shabby, McVries,” he says, pulling Ray forward and clapping him on the back. “Consider us fans.” Ray's face burns as Pete turns his attention to him. 

“Why thank you, Olson. How kind of you to show up, Garraty,” he says, zipping the guitar into a black padded case and swinging it over his shoulder. “Your feedback is valuable to me.”   

“You didn’t tell me you were good or anything like that,” Ray says, more shyly than he intends. Pete beams.

“You’re a dear boy, Ray,” he says. “But I’ll be real with you, I wish I hadn’t asked you to come.” Ray’s chest tightens, but Pete’s still smiling.  

“You’re distracting.” He picks up the small amp and lightly checks Ray’s shoulder with his own, pushing out the side door and leaving Ray staring after him.