Chapter Thirteen

 

 

 

He goes downstairs and heads for his treadmill, hoping to burn off the weird energy left over from last night. Running always gives him time to think, but he’s not sure that’s what he needs today. He tries to clear his mind instead, focus on everything but Scott. He has an album to promote, and a tour coming up. It’s not like there’s nothing else to think about. He starts making lists of things he has to do before the tour, then gets tripped up by one item: Book touring band.

Scott, obviously. He needs Scott with him now more than ever, as long as they can move past this... strangeness. Whatever it is. He curses and turns the speed up to a sprint, forcing himself to think only about his body, about pushing himself harder.

He goes until he’s gasping for breath, his legs shaking and his sides aching and his heart racing. When he can’t run another second, he slows the treadmill to a crawl and walks until he can hear himself think over his heartbeat again. Then he slides off the belt and onto the floor, drenched with sweat and heading into the kitchen in search of water.

Scott shuffles in while he’s still drinking, and Carter catches just a glimpse of him around the plastic of his water bottle - plaid pajama pants and one of Carter’s oldest and biggest t-shirts, sleep-ruffled hair and stocking feet. He’s rubbing at his eyes sleepily, and Carter laughs to himself and almost chokes on his water. He looks like the world’s biggest three-year-old.

“Morning,” Carter says, and Scott grunts in reply. Carter wonders if he’s hungover. He just seems sleepy, though. Maybe a little uncomfortable, but Carter can’t blame him for that. Not after last night.

Scott moves into the kitchen, heading for the coffeemaker, so Carter steps closer to the fridge. But Scott reaches for the fridge and bumps Carter’s side, and he looks surprised about it too, like he didn’t even see Carter there. Carter intentionally blocks his second attempt at opening the fridge, and stands there until Scott looks up at him.

“Can I get some water?” Scott asks, his voice gravelly.

“You look like you could use some coffee,” Carter replies, but hands over his water bottle. Scott takes it and holds it close to his face, even when he’s not drinking. “Let me get you a mug,” Carter offers, and Scott nods.

They both move to the left and then to the right, and Scott laughs in a high-pitched, almost hysterical way. Carter takes him by the arm and leads him to the other side of the island, sits him down on one of the bar stools, so he won’t get in the way again while Carter’s fixing him something to drink. Scott rests his elbows on the counter and holds Carter’s water bottle with both hands. He’s watching Carter intently now, and Carter can feel his gaze even when he turns his back.

Carter gets the coffee started and then stays leaning against the counter, reaching for a paper towel and dabbing at his face and neck. He’s so sweaty and gross, and he’s already thinking about how amazing the shower is gonna feel.

“Do you do that every morning? Work out?” Scott asks, sounding almost disgusted, like he can’t imagine a normal human being doing such a thing. It’s completely unfair that Scott can be so thin with no effort at all.

Carter ducks his head down and turns to look at Scott over his shoulder, smiling. “Not every morning. Most. I think I’m gonna miss it when we’re on tour. It’s hard to work out on a bus.”

“The bus is an awesome excuse to not work out, I think.”

Carter laughs because Scott expects him to, but the joke kind of falls flat and Carter doesn’t know what to say in response. They both fall silent and watch the steady drip of the coffeemaker. Scott sighs and rests his chin on his hand.

Carter can’t think of anything to say that doesn’t sound awkward or weird or somehow sexual, and when the coffee finishes he jumps at the distraction, going through each step slowly and deliberately. He turns and presents the mug to Scott, watches him take a sip like he’s afraid he won’t like it. As if he hasn’t watched Scott fix his coffee the past three mornings, and the five years before that. As if he doesn’t know how he takes it.

Scott sets the mug down and licks his lips, and Carter looks away quickly, but not before the idea hits him, the idea that he could lean forward and kiss the heat off Scott’s lips right now and Scott probably wouldn’t stop him. He could taste the coffee on Scott’s breath. He suddenly craves that more than the coffee in his own mug.

He glances up at Scott and catches Scott looking at him. Those brown eyes flicker away quickly, and Scott’s hand comes up, curled into a fist, brushing his hair out of his face with one knuckle. It falls back in the next instant, and Carter wants to reach out, tuck it back so it will stay.

Instead, he stands and stretches and drains the rest of his coffee in one scalding go. “I need to get in the shower before I get cold.” He doesn’t mean it as an invitation, but it sort of sounds like one.

As he’s making his exit, Scott calls after him. “Are you doing anything today?” He sounds hopeful, and Carter isn’t sure if Scott wants to be left alone, or if he wants to spend the day with Carter. He selfishly hopes it’s the latter.

“No,” Carter says without turning around. “I’m just... here.” He glances back over his shoulder quickly, needing to see Scott’s reaction.

Scott smiles, just a little bit. “Awesome.”

Carter very deliberately doesn’t kiss Scott again after showering, when he’s standing in the bathroom trying out a new eyeliner and Scott comes in, poking around him, stealing a bottle of nail polish and meeting Carter’s eyes only for a second in the mirror before disappearing again.

He doesn’t kiss him when he hears music coming from the guest room, a chord progression that he knows repeated over and over and over, a little smoother each time. It’s a song from the new album, one they’ll be playing for the first time on tour. This is the first time he’s heard Scott play it, and he pauses outside the door for just a moment, listening, imagining Scott sitting cross-legged on the bed, guitar practically dwarfing him where it’s slung across his lap. He decides against going in. He stands in the hall and listens to Scott practice for a few minutes instead, then retreats to his own room, leaving the door open so he can hear the music.

Scott comes scurrying over to him sometime in the afternoon, grinning hugely and brandishing his phone, exclaiming over the new picture of Riff that Scarlett’s texted him. Carter’s sure she’s sent it to him, too, but he looks and smiles and agrees with Scott’s declaration that Riff is the cutest kid he’s ever seen. Scott looks back down at his phone with a sweet smile on his face and warmth in his eyes, and it’s all Carter can do not to pull him into his arms and kiss him just as sweetly.

Carter’s always been the type to just eat when he’s hungry, but he rather likes this schedule of meals that comes with sharing a house with someone. It reminds him of tour, when they would all go out to a restaurant in a big group, or troop down to the hotel dining area in the morning for breakfast. He calls Scott into the kitchen and announces his intention of cooking something.

“We have to use the kitchen,” he explains. “Once we’re on tour it’s back to fast food and room service.”

“I like room service,” Scott says.

“Because you can’t cook. But tonight, we’re going to.”

Scott gives him a doubtful look, and it feels so natural to reach over the counter and nudge Scott’s shoulder. It makes Scott grin, and that always makes Carter smile as well. It feels like Scott is more than just Carter’s friend, he realizes, and quickly busies himself with finding a cutting board and knife. Scott’s replacing the void in Carter’s life that Alex left, and that all the other boyfriends left when those relationships ended. They haven’t discussed it, and Carter firmly thinks they shouldn’t, because he doesn’t want whatever comfortable closeness they have between them to dissolve. Relationships are trouble. He thinks he’s starting to learn that, maybe. Finally.

He sets out the utensils and motions for Scott to come over. “All right, you’re in charge of the chopping, and I’ll be in charge of the actual cooking.”

“What,” Scott scoffs, “you don’t trust me with real cooking?”

“I’m giving you a knife, aren’t I?”

Scott waves the knife at Carter. “You gonna give me something to chop, or should I just start on my fingers?”

Carter lays his hands over Scott’s protectively, laughing. “Please don’t, I need these fingers.” Scott looks up at him, eyebrows raised and a smirk on his lips. “I need you to play for me,” Carter amends. “I need you with me on tour this year.”

Scott beams at him, looking full to the brim with happiness, and Carter actually catches himself leaning down, so close, so close to kissing him. He plants a smacking kiss on Scott’s cheek instead, covers it with a smile. When he moves away to get vegetables out of the fridge, Scott stays right there at the counter, smiling, watching Carter, content. He pulls out the things he needs and gives them to Scott with instructions to chop everything into bite-sized chunks, and he can’t help but linger for a moment and watch Scott’s fingers curl around the pepper and how carefully he holds the knife.

They dump everything into a pan for Carter to stir-fry with chicken strips, and Scott sits at the counter with his arms crossed and his chin resting on his wrists, watching. Carter keeps turning around to look at him, and each time he looks, Scott’s smiling. It’s such a nice change from what brought Scott here.

“You should do that more often,” he says offhandedly.

“Do what?”

“Smile. I like it.”

“Oh, do you?” Scott asks, his voice heavy with innuendo that Carter doesn’t get until he turns and sees Scott’s expression. He laughs and nods, because yes, he likes whatever Scott does with his mouth. He almost says so, but he stops, suddenly afraid that Scott will take it the wrong way. He doesn’t want to make Scott uncomfortable, not now when things are going so well. He doesn’t want to remind Scott of that night, of how badly Carter fucked up.