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“What the fuck?”
Steve stands in the doorway, hand frozen on the handle. He stares blankly at the can on the floor.
It’s an unassuming thing. Steve almost kicked it over when he had first opened the door, as inconveniently placed as it is. A small object, garishly yellow. The text scrawled across it — tall and loopy, in a shaky font — reads: La Croix.
“What?” he mutters again, scooping it up with a furtive glance left, then right. There’s nobody there, and Steve knows he’s just missed him. Fucking 5up.
He holds the can tightly as he locks his apartment in record time. Then he’s off, picking a direction at random and hoping against hope that he’ll run into 5up before he makes it out onto the street and disappears. Steve has a bone to pick with him, after all.
By the time he spots him, he’s almost given up hope. But then he catches a glimpse of a tiny fucking loser on the sidewalk wearing a huge sweater and skinny jeans, and Steve latches on like a missile to its target.
“5up!” he yells, ignoring the bewildered look that a stranger sends his way. “5up!”
5up, predictably, keeps on walking. His shoulders lift in that way they do when he’s laughing and oh, Steve could just kill him if only the bastard would slow down long enough to let him do it. In retaliation, he quickens his pace. 5up’s little legs are no match for his and they both know it.
Air burns in his chest; he’s about as close to running as a man can be without actually running. The La Croix sloshes violently around in its can. Steve makes no attempt to steady his hand. 5up grows ever larger on the distant sidewalk.
Fuelled by indignation, Steve mentally laments on just how stupid the guy looks in his ridiculous sweater and flattened hair, like he’s taken his headset off and immediately Ubered to Steve’s house in a freakishly obsessive manner. As he draws ever nearer, he swears he can see a dent in those curls. An unfortunate line right across the middle. Pathetically, Steve wants nothing more than to run his fingers through the hair and mess it up — mainly as a huge favour to 5up’s image, but also because a part of him longs to know what it would feel like.
After he kills him, of course. Breathless, Steve pushes through with a miraculous burst of energy.
“You bastard,” he pants as he catches up to 5up. He wraps one hand around his shoulder and pulls him back, slowing his warpath across America. A smug smile is fixed on 5up’s face as he pretends not to notice Steve at all. “You’re an annoying piece of shit, you know that?
5up’s eyes flicker over to him. He gives Steve a pointed once-over. “And you look like you could do with a drink.” His eyes fall to Steve’s other hand and he gasps theatrically. “Oh, would you look at that!”
He’s talking about the La Croix, but Steve is keenly aware of his own flushed cheeks and pounding heart all the same. The can hangs loosely in his grip; he doesn’t really know what to do with it. Toss it in the garbage? Pour it all over 5up’s head? Drink it? None of his options sound all that appealing. Who drinks fucking La Croix anyway?
Apparently, 5up. Steve isn’t so sure how he feels about that.
Squinting down at the can, he frowns in mock consideration. “I dunno, man. Some asshole left it outside my apartment earlier. Reckon it might be spiked.”
“Probably,” 5up agrees easily. “I wouldn’t trust it.”
“Huh. That’s weird, ‘cause I seem to remember you threatening to do the exact same thing this morning. Ring any bells, 5up?”
“You know, I don’t think so? I actually only recall us making plans for dinner — which we still need to finalise, by the way.”
“Hey. My treat?” Steve suggests, holding up the La Croix with a winning smile. 5up rolls his eyes but his expression is fond.
“God, no. Let’s just find a nice restaurant instead.” Tilting his head, his smile turns positively wicked. “If you’re that desperate to treat me, you can pay for mine.”
Steve’s stomach plummets. His feet almost miss a step.
“Easy now, 5up, let’s not be hasty,” he says, hastily.
5up bursts out laughing at Steve’s mildly horrified expression. It comes out of him in bright gasps that bring a smile to Steve’s face, unprompted. His shoulder shakes under Steve’s palm and it’s only now that he realises he’s still grasping it, feeling the bone beneath the fabric of 5up’s sweater. Reluctantly, he gives one last gentle squeeze and pulls away.
His gaze won’t stop returning to 5up, though. He tries to look at the road, the surrounding street, tries to figure out where the hell they are and where they’re going, but then he’s back to watching 5up fight off his own smile with conspicuous effort. It’s endearing in that odd sort of way of his. He watches as his unbothered front crumbles again the moment his eyes find Steve’s.
“Sorry,” 5up chokes out. “It’s not even funny, I just—” And he breaks off into another bout of laughter. “You don’t understand— your face—!”
Steve lifts his chin to the sky and shakes his head, eyes screwed shut.
5up’s laugh is one of those simple pleasures in life. In Steve’s life, at least. In others’ too — he knows. He’s seen the YouTube compilations. Perhaps shamefully, given that he’s friends with the guy, but he has. And he gets it, really.
“Laugh away, man,” he says. He means it, even though he says it because he knows he can get away with it. It’s not like he can tell 5up that his laugh brightens up Steve’s day, or whatever. That would be weird. It doesn’t really matter if it’s true or not.
As 5up recovers, Steve kicks a rock across the asphalt. He’s constantly aware of 5up breathing unsteadily beside him. Occasionally, his inhale wavers with the beginnings of a chuckle.
The rock skitters away from Steve’s foot when it hits a stray bump. Steve watches it go wistfully and almost doesn’t notice the feeling of a hand brushing against his. But he does, and sends a careful glance at 5up, who blinks back at him.
5up comes to a stop, so Steve does too. He takes a deep breath and visibly calms himself. Amusement still lingers in his expression even though he looks almost unaffected now, hidden in the residual flush high on his cheeks and the shine of his eyes. Steve feels like he’s falling.
“So, dinner?” 5up questions hopefully, and Steve is still fucking falling and he can’t seem to stop. He grins lopsidedly.
“Was this your plan, dude? Lower my standards with La Croix to— What? Seduce me into taking you on a date?”
“I didn’t say anything about a date,” says 5up, now blushing fiercely. “I asked you out to dinner.”
Steve furrows his eyebrows in mock confusion. “You’re here to make dinner plans,” he says flatly. 5up nods, and part of Steve believes him; which is weird, because dinner had felt like more of an abstract concept than a set plan to begin with anyway. But there’s cold metal against Steve’s palm and he’s not about to let him off that easily.
“So, the La Croix. Was that to make me chase you, bud? You could’ve just knocked. You know I’ll always make time for my favourite little guy.”
“That was nothing to do with me,” 5up denies immediately. He’s obviously masking a grin but Steve plays along and doesn’t call out his shitty porn acting.
“Huh,” he says, and tries to sound surprised. “Guess there’s someone interested in me out there somewhere. I’ll see you around, 5up!”
He manages one step before 5up has a hand on his chest, the smile finally breaking through onto his face. “I hardly think that will be necessary,” he mumbles, and Steve’s resolve nearly crumbles right then and there. Barely, he hangs on and allows himself a short laugh. Only as a treat, because he’s a fucking trooper for putting up with all 5up’s shit.
“You’re admitting it? It was you?”
As expected, 5up waves him off. “I was in the area.”
Snorting, Steve catches his wrist. “Did you seriously get an Uber here just to give me this shit?” He raises the can and grimaces. “You didn’t even get the best flavour! The lemon one sucks!”
“Oh, come on Steven. I didn’t Uber here just for that.”
Steve huffs, not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed. On one hand, he’d worried that 5up might truly be going insane for coming all this way just to leave a can on Steve’s doorstep and then run away. On the other, it had made Steve feel a little special—
“I also had to go to the store.”
5up’s lips twitch when Steve groans loudly, dropping his wrist like it’s burned him.
“Yours came in a twelve-pack,” he continues, delighting in Steve’s anguish. “I gave the other eleven to the Uber driver.”
“Good fuckin’ riddance,” grunts Steve, though he’s strangely offended that 5up would give his sparkling water to another person. Then he mentally kicks himself and reminds his brain that he doesn’t actually like La Croix. Although, sparkling water is sparkling water…
“Jealous?”
5up’s smile is pure evil. Steve rolls his eyes. “Uh, yeah. Eleven more of these and I could’ve done some serious damage to the global economy. They’d have to send you into witness protection.” He pauses while 5up dissolves into laughter. “You’re a fucking nightmare, by the way.”
Still chuckling, 5up sets off walking again; slowly, until Steve matches his pace. “I’ll let Brian in the white Nissan Altima know about his service to the world. Five stars?”
“Two, dude. And he’s lucky to get that.”
“I’m willing to compromise on four. It’ll cost you, though.”
Steve nudges his shoulder. “Yeah? Name your price.”
“Dinner,” 5up says stubbornly. “I choose where.”
He hesitates when Steve just snorts and shakes his head, a dumb smile playing on his lips. “But only if you want to…?”
“Duh,” Steve scoffs. “It’s a date.”
5up beams. Steve almost reaches out to ruffle his hair. Almost.
He’s not entirely suicidal. He settles for taking 5up’s hand instead. It feels better anyway.