Work Text:
The bar smelled of must, and the carpet was sticky from the decades of alcohol that clung to it. There was probably a drug deal going on in the back tables. It was a shithole in every sense of the word, but that’s exactly why Ethan felt so at home there.
He might not be an emo anymore, but after his breakup with Trinity, he felt like he was falling apart. He’d seen it coming. They were two very different people, and while opposites attract, attraction isn’t always strong enough to stay together.
It was times like this that he really didn’t like being sad.
He ordered another shitty drink as an equally shitty band began to play.
“The guitar work really wants to make you set it on fire, yeah?”
Ethan turned in shock, recognizing that raspy voice from a past not so long ago. “Bradley??”
Bradley dropped into the bar seat next to him. He'd changed a little since Ethan'd last seen him. For one, he no longer slathered his hair in hair gel, which was an improvement in his opinion. But he’d also aged into his angst, still so clearly emo, but he wore it well. Black had always made his eyes shine.
Yeah. He was drunk enough to admit to himself Brad was deathly attractive.
"Long time no see, bible thumper."
"You're uh, out of jail?"
“Yup,” he said plainly.
Ethan sat there in silence, feeling awkward like he usually did, except more so than usual. What do you say to the sort of homoerotic idol who you'd committed arson with? There was no normal way to continue this conversation.
“So. Uhm. That’s good… I guess?” Ethan swallowed awkwardly. “It’s… nice to see you.” Ethan wasn’t sure if that was true but he said it anyway for lack of anything else.
Bradley stared at him, amused. He flagged down the bartender and ordered a drink.
"Just a beer for me, thanks." He turned back to Ethan. “So how’s you and that Jesus freak doing?”
“Oh… We broke up. A couple of weeks ago actually,” Ethan tried to swallow down the misery in his voice when he said it, but it didn’t quite work.
"Surprised it lasted that long.”
"Yeah, uh. She tried to baptize me. Again. After she found out I was bisexual."
Brad snorted. "She lured you into her backyard and into a kiddy pool full of holy water . Are you really surprised that she's a little… unstable?"
“Said the guy who pulled a knife on Isaac.”
"Well, first off, he deserved it, second , at least I never tried to pretend I was any less fucked up than I was."
They both sat in silence for a while, listening to the band.
"God. They really are awful, aren't they?" Ethan said after a little while, sipping his terrible drink in the hopes the alcohol would make the performance more tolerable.
“Sounds about as good as my guitar playing.”
Ethan snorted before his eyes widened. “N-no.”
“Oh fuck off, you know that you’ve always been better than me. I can admit that now."
"I don't think you were bad exactly. Just a little um, uncoordinated."
“And here was me hoping you’d grown some balls when I was gone.”
"Okay, okay! Fine. I admit it. You were pretty bad. Sorry. You had passion, though. Sometimes that's the most important thing …Do you still play?"
“Was in a shitty inmate band for a while, but that fell apart pretty quickly. You?”
The guitarist on stage began wailing into the microphone like a dying cat, stalling all further conversation as the mic peaked. An deafening electronic screech rang out into the venue. Sometimes Ethan really hated open mic nights.
Brad flinched at the sound. “Wanna talk somewhere else that’s not… here?”
Ethan nodded profusely.
"OK. Grab your drink, just… keep it on the down low, okay? I don't want to go back to prison," he laughed half-heartedly.
They stumbled out the bar door, drinks in hand, and settled down on the pavement. It was sweltering outside, but the darkness kept it cool enough.
After they sat down, Ethan spoke up. "You seem kind of chill about that. The prison thing, I mean. I thought you'd be more upset."
"Well, I was pissed at first. Really pissed. But being behind bars really gives you a sense of perspective. I met a lot of guys worse off than me. I didn't want to end up like that.” Brad took a hefty swig of his beer before looking up at the streetlights that blotted out the stars. “I know that all the lyrics we made together were about dying… but for once, I think I wanted to live my life."
"Wow,” Ethan replied, a little stunned. "Well… for the record, I'm glad you're here. You seem happier."
“I am too. Was nice running into you, I think. Ain’t happy though, happiness is for posers.” Brad pointedly did not make eye contact. “Now enough with the sentimental shit. I'm getting hives under my makeup."
“Mm yeah posers. And weird school-funding drug cults.”
Brad grinned, "Damn straight.”
Their bottles hit together with a clink.
The conversation petered out after that, but not uncomfortably. Despite how strange their relationship had been, it was still kind of nice to see Bradley again. And for how world-ending his circumstances had seemed at the time, he missed when the worst thing in his life was teenage drama and peer pressure.
The horrible band finally ended their song to muted applause from the audience. Ethan glanced behind him at the bar doors, nerves attempting to strangle him as an idea formulated in his mind.
Finally, he stood and held out his hand.
"It's open mic night tonight, and I've got my old guitar in the back." Ethan smiled awkwardly, feeling like a young, dumb, gangly idiot again. "It's acoustic, but still- we'll probably uh, blow those other idiots out of the water. What about it?"
Bradley looked up at his hand for a long moment, and then haltingly reached up and took it. As Ethan hauled him to his feet, Brad replied. "Like that'd be hard. Everyone on mic tonight sounded like they actually were playing underwater."
Ethan chuckled. "I assume that's a yes?"
Bradley slugged him in the shoulder in response. It sort of hurt. Ethan rubbed the sore spot, frowning. "Just show me where you're parked, shithead." They walked through the parking lot together, Ethan twirling his keys in his grip. They stopped in front of his old, partially rusted van. A faded live laugh love sticker adorned the back next to a coexist one.
“Don’t judge the stickers, I got it used.”
Bradley was staring at the stickers and definitely judging him, or at least trying really hard not to laugh.
"You drive a mom car, dude,” he said instead, hiding what Ethan assumed to be a shit-eating grin behind his hand.
“At least I can drive.”
“Oh, now that’s a low fuckin' blow!”
Ethan unlocked the car and walked around to the side of the car, sliding the door open. He laughed to himself. "Deserved it."
Two guitar cases were lying in the back of the car, surrounded by haphazardly packed moving boxes. The seats were collapsed, leaving the whole back open.
Ethan sat down, throwing some old trash towards the front seats and pushing the boxes back to make room. He patted the floor of the car next to him, hoping Brad wouldn’t comment on the current state of his car. It had been a rough few weeks, okay? “It’s been a couple of years. We should probably at least attempt to practice."
Brad's eyebrows rose, but otherwise, he said nothing about it. He sat down next to Ethan, shoving aside a stray shirt. "Let's see if you can still play, soccer mom."
Ethan reached for the first case, popping open the latches with a satisfying metallic click . He carefully reached in and pulled out his old and somewhat ragged acoustic.
He dragged his hand across the strings before wincing at how out of tune it was. He reached up and fiddled with the knobs until the sound rang out smoothly.
"Uh. Sorry. Been awhile." Ethan offered nervously, and then he began to play. He wasn't really thinking about anything in particular, just playing whatever came to mind. It jumped a few tunes before his muscle memory finally settled on a song they used to play together, singing the lyrics to himself without quite realizing it.
Brad stared. His gaze tripped Ethan up. "Holy shit. You actually remember the lyrics?"
He stumbled the song to a halt, his hand resting it on the strings. “It wasn’t that long ago, Bradley. Plus, you practically drilled them into us.”
"Eh. I just didn't think you’d want to remember them." He reached out and pried the guitar out of Ethan's unprotesting grip. "Alright, lemme try."
Ethan watched him as he began to play. A little rusty, maybe, but not bad at all. Better than he used to be. Maybe he'd practiced more than he'd said?
Brad picked up the song where Ethan'd stopped, and Ethan laughed softly.
"Sounding a little sentimental there, Brad."
There was a discordant note as Bradley's fingers slipped on the strings. "Shut up. Fuck you."
“You sound good, though. Better than before, honestly.”
“Shut up. You and me both know I don’t need a bigger ego.” Brad's voice was light, but he was boring holes into the dusty brown carpet of the van.
"Well, I think we sound good enough. Shall we head up there and wing it?”
"Fuck it,” Brad breathed, still not making eye contact. “Why not."
Ethan passed the acoustic over to Bradley to put away and then reached into the back, clambering over the boxes to get his electric guitar. He popped open the trunk from the inside.
Bradley hopped out of the car to meet him on the other side.
But just as Ethan moved to hand it to him, he tripped over a box of hangers and toppled out the back from the guitar's weight.
He hit the asphalt hard, groaning. He blinked several times, disoriented, and then jolted in concern. "My guitar!"
"Chill." Brad hoisted the case up to show him it was safe in his hand. "I managed to grab it. No harm done …Well. Except for your jeans, but I think they look better like that," he looked him up and down with a smirk.
Ethan rubbed his head and looked down at his jeans which now had a huge rip at his knee. His skin didn't look too banged up, at least.
Brad offered his free hand and hoisted him up. "I don't understand how the hell you got two separate women to date you."
“I’m charming,” Ethan said smugly, brushing himself off. He walked around to the side of the car and carefully picked up the acoustic before shutting the side door.
He handed the case over, swapping it for the electric.
"You realize Roz is definitely a lesbian, right? She just hadn’t realized it yet." Brad said, reaching up and closing the trunk with his free hand.
"Wait. Really?"
"Are you for fuckin' real right now? Aren't you bi? Why is your gaydar so shit?"
“How’s yours any better? Aren't you straight?"
“I’m gay dipshit. How the hell did you not pick up on that?” He walked away toward the bar, leaving Ethan standing there, stunned again. And slightly panicking. Although, he couldn’t quite place why.
He scrambled to keep up with him. "Uh… congratulations??"
Brad turned his head to give Ethan a look before continuing into the bar.
Ethan followed him in. By the time he’d caught up, Brad was already signing them up to perform. All they had to do now was listen to the shitshow for a little while longer. Honestly, the musicians should name their band that. It’d be fitting.
After Brad signed them up he gestured him over to the corner of the bar. Ethan nearly tripped over his feet moving to join him, bulky guitar case still in his hand.
"You're lucky they have an amp on stage. You'd probably die trying to get it out of your car." Brad commented, leaning on the bar.
Ethan pretended not to hear it over the noise of the bar. "I saw the list, it seems like there's a lot of people in front of us…"
"Yeah, we should probably be ordering some more drinks. Next round’s on me?”
Unfortunately, as the next artists went on stage and began to perform, Ethan realized, to his horror, that their song was a ten-minute rock ballad about economic hyperinflation.
“Another round of drinks sounds great,” Ethan replied. And god, did he mean it.
But one round became two, then three, and then four. Before he knew it the room was swimming around him, and their conversation was becoming more and more haphazard.
And also surprisingly heartfelt.
Brad slumped over the counter, staring at his drink. "Ya know…I think I might have had a crush on you in secondary,” he slurred, “I just thought you were so… I was jealous.”
Brad was developing the upsetting habit of striking Ethan dumb. He managed to scrape together enough neurons to reply after a while. "Jealous? Of me ?"
He laughed. “Thought you were gonna steal the band away from me, I guess. You know what I was like.”
“An asshole?”
“Yeah. That.”
The announcer called them, and Ethan slid out of his barstool. He was more sloshed than he'd realized and stumbled, but Brad steadied him with an arm around his shoulder.
"Damn, you’re shitfaced, man."
For some reason, Ethan started laughing, and the two of them grabbed their instruments and tripped on stage, giggling like Christian school girls the whole time.
The performance was a blur, and they had to restart a few times, but they finished their set with triumphant grins and the polite applause of the bartender.
They stumbled off-stage together as the next band went up to perform. They exited the bar and headed back to the van. Ethan was now leaning most of his weight on Brad's shoulders.
He jostled his keys out of his pocket, nearly dropping them in the process. As they threw the cases back into the van, Brad spoke again with a sigh. “I should probably be getting back.”
Ethan fumbled with the keys again, somehow managing to lock the car. "Wait, wait, gimmie your number. This was fun.” He practically tossed his phone at Brad as he handed it over.
Brad managed to type his number out, sending himself a message with Ethan’s phone.
Ethan pocketed his phone again and then stumbled after Brad, who was walking towards a taxi lurking on the street.
Brad paused and looked over his shoulder at Ethan. "What are you doing?"
"Comin' to see you off…s'polite."
He accidentally smacked into Brad's back, misjudging his momentum.
Brad used his arm to steady him again. "You are such a lightweight, man." He flagged the taxi over and then turned to look at Ethan. "Are you going to be able to make it home?"
“Well, it’s parked in the parking lot right now, so I should be fine.”
The taxi pulled up in front of them, and Brad disentangled himself from Ethan to open the door and slide in.
“Well. See you later, I guess.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Brad yanked Ethan in after him. “You’ll shrivel up and die as soon as the sun rises sleeping in that thing. Come home with me.”
"Uh," Ethan had fallen partially on top of him, and it was sort of short-circuiting his very drunk brain. “Okay,” he said before he had the chance to think about what he was saying, voice cracking and face starting to heat. Not for the first time did he miss having foundation to hide his blush.
Brad reached forward, yanked the door closed, and then gave the disgruntled driver his address. The car peeled out of the parking lot and onto the congested streets.
Only then did Ethan realize he was still sitting partially on Brad, the sudden movement of the car pushing them even closer together.
“Ya know, for being so scrawny, you really are pretty fuckin’ heavy,” Brad wheezed, seemingly breathy from Ethan being smushed into him. His eyes were inches from his, and Ethan couldn’t seem to look away.
From the moment they’d met, Ethan had practically worshiped him. He was so desperate to fit in and Bradley just seemed to do it so effortlessly. He wanted to be like him so badly, but looking back on it, it wasn’t just that.
And the way Brad’s gaze was pinning him in place, was very quickly reminding him of that fact.
Love and worship had always gone a little hand in hand.
Before Ethan really realized what he was doing he was leaning in and kissing Brad.
It was stupid. He knew it was stupid. But he was drunk and still raw from his breakup, and this night had been so strange . Brad had changed, but he was still so achingly the same man his stupid teenage self had found himself yearning after. It was such a confusingly slurry of emotions he didn’t know how to parse through with anything but action.
But to Ethan’s surprise, Brad almost instantly started kissing him back. Ethan let out a shocked moan into his mouth. The noise opened his lips, letting Brad lick his tongue against his teeth.
Bradley’s breaths turned ragged, whispering a stuttered “fuck” in between their lips. He wrapped his arms around Ethan, pulling him impossibly closer and causing Bradley’s shirt to ride up against him as heat radiated between their clammy skin.
Three loud, sudden bangs rang out as the driver hammered on the ceiling. Ethan remembered abruptly that they were not, in fact, alone. Ethan sprang apart from Brad, face on fire as he caught the taxi driver's disapproving glare in the rearview mirror.
"Put on your fuckin' seatbelts."
***
Ethan woke up the next morning with a piercing headache in a bed that definitely was not his van.
But distant crunching was what finally got him to slowly blink his eyes open properly against the sharp sunlight streaming through the room’s window.
A stranger he'd never met before was standing in a pink bathrobe, patterned with little white cats. She was staring down at him, eyebrows raised.
"You two were fucking loud," she said, punctuating the sentence with another loud crunch as she raised the spoon into her mouth to take another bite from her cereal.
That was when he felt movement beside him. “EBONY GET THE FUCK OUT!”
The shirtless person beside him, who he soon realized was Bradley, reached past him, grabbed a pillow, and chucked it at her. Ebony calmly sidestepped the projectile and turned to walk out of the room, her cat slippers making little squeaking sounds as she shuffled away.
"Sorry about my roommate," Bradley mumbled, ”Rent was cheap.”
However, Ethan hardly processed what he said as he was too busy staring at Brad's shirtless chest, questioning how the fuck that happened.
He looked down at his own equally shirtless chest and let out a squeaky “Holy shit.”Brad slid out from under the sheets, thankfully wearing pants. "How do you take your coffee?"
“...Black like my soul?” Ethan joked tiredly as his brain screamed incoherently.
“Good.”