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His next couple of weeks are about typical. It’s actually odd because he’s used to being tense, a tightly coiled spring constantly compressed, and now he’s almost relaxed. That’s what makes him nervous.
The phone chimes. He absolutely does not practically dive for it, launching himself towards the device by throwing his entire body to the head of his bed so he can grab it. That’s another thing: he doesn’t usually have his ringer on. It makes him nervous to miss a message, but even more so to hear it ding, so he typically chooses the lesser of two evils.
Tucker
yeah but you still think Star Trek canon makes sense AND that the animated series is good.
so your argument is invalid
:)
Specs
That has nothing to do with anything??
And I’m RIGHT
Long live science fiction that doesn’t have to tie itself together and can still make sense!
He can’t help his smile—it’s all so dumb. But he’s having fun. There’s a pause, and Specs is typing again.
Specs
And you still haven’t watched the movie with the Eighth Doctor.
Tucker
what does that have to do with anything?
Specs
Oh, so now you care about relevance
Tucker
about what?
Specs
Relevance.
Tucker
what’s that?
They’ve only met in person once, but he can hear the words like Tucker is saying them, can hear the antagonization for what it is. He begins to type, reconsiders what to say, then stops. His eyes sweep his room until they snag on an old dictionary. He leaves his phone on the bed when he goes to grab it, and it chimes again. Specs makes his way back to his bed with the book in hand, flipping through it and starting in Q then ending up somewhere in T before he finally gets to R. The phone dings again, but he keeps his focus on his search. He goes through Ra… Re. Now he grabs his phone to get a picture of the entry, but—
He gets sidetracked by the messages greeting him.
Tucker
you good? did you die?
…seriously, is everything good?
He scoffs, then takes a photo of the dictionary entry for relevance with his phone, angling it carefully. Just because they’ve messaged… a lot over the past few weeks, it doesn’t mean he actually cares that much. Honestly, Specs is fairly certain he’s used up most of his minutes on Tucker.
Specs
Yeah. Here’s your definition.
Tucker
…dude.
There’s a decently sized pause without a response, and… Specs hates it.
Specs
I’m fine
I had to go grab the dictionary
A few more moments of nothing, leaving Specs’ heart in his head, until finally—
Tucker
im glad you didn’t get murdered
Specs
No, you’re the only serial killer I let into the apartment
B)
Tucker
just don’t make a habit of it
Specs
Wasn’t planning on it
Does that mean you’re not allowed over?
Tucker
nah, you’ve already let me in
it’s too late there
He hesitates, not quite sure why it makes his stomach swoop and flutter. With the way they’ve been talking every day since their first meeting—texting and calling, depending on which is easier—he knows he shouldn’t be nervous. That isn’t stopping his stomach from doing gymnastics and tap-dancing around like its purpose is to make him feel miserable.
Specs
Are you free right now?
You could come over
You still need to see Eight
There’s an even longer pause, and Specs watches his phone, willing a message to come through.
Tucker
yeah, gimme a second.
do you care if i bring my camera?
Specs
No, go ahead
Tucker
great
it’s a date
He throws his phone back on his bed, then rethinks—he should give some acknowledgement that he’s seen it. He starts typing but gets a message before he can finish it.
Tucker
also i get it if you’re busy
you don’t have to do a “message received” if there’s something else you need to do
it’s chill
…he kind of hates him.
Well—okay. He hates it, ears burning, but he also… kind of loves it. It occurs to him that maybe he should be more unsettled by how routine this has become, but honestly he can’t bring himself to care.
Specs
Sorry, it’s habit
Tucker
no, it’s fine
you just always have to have the last message unless you fall asleep
just wanted to let you know it’s fine
Specs
B)
Tucker
fuckin nerd
i’ll be over in a sec
This time, he just tosses his phone back onto his bed, then grabs his sketchbook and a pencil.
The good news is that it seems like that one weekend was, for the most part, a one-off. Which isn’t to say that it was entirely calm, or anything along those lines.
It’s more that the “Weekend Of All Time” hasn’t repeated itself in the same manner. He’s decided that’s best: that weekend was exciting enough, and he’s still got his hands (and messages, but he’s not complaining about either of those things) full and his thoughts scattered. He’s got… a lot of thoughts now, and he’s sorted through a lot of it but doesn’t like the whole of it. Not that—
Yeah. It’s been a few weeks, but nicer than The Weekend.
He huffs a sigh as he adjusts his camera around his neck, holding it up to his eye to look through. He grabs a quick photo of the clock in the hall before his phone buzzes, and he tries not to be too eager as he drops the camera so it hangs from his neck and grabs his phone from his pocket.
Specs
That has nothing to do with anything??
And you still haven’t watched the movie with the Eighth Doctor.
He smiles, laughing a little. This nerd.
Tucker
what does that have to do with anything?
He shifts, stepping out of the way in the middle of the hall. Really, sometimes it’s almost hilarious how much the building reminds him of The Shining. The closet bathroom—while not quite in with the Horror Hotel theme—is his next spot to grab a photo from.
Specs
Oh, so now you care about relevance
He shakes his head. Winding him up is too much fun, and very easy.
Tucker
about what?
Specs
Relevance
Tucker
what’s that?
He pockets his phone so he can start on his way. They haven’t been able to meet up properly since that weekend, but he can still envision the (weirdly adorable) indignation of Specs having his buttons pushed. Thankfully, the object of his interest isn’t far, so once he gets going it’s not a long walk. He stops at the door of the closet to check his phone again.
Huh. Nothing.
Tucker
you good? did you die?
He pockets his phone again then shoulders the door open. Once inside, he checks again. There’s still been no response, which is… slightly worrying.
(Okay, he doesn’t want to admit it too much, but he’s a lot worried; they’ve talked a lot over the past few weeks, and he’s gotten rather attached.)
Tucker
…seriously, is everything good?
He pauses where he’s standing, holding his breath in anticipation.
A photo comes through.
Specs
Yeah. Here’s your definition.
Tucker
…dude.
He starts typing, but… he’s honestly not quite sure what to say. It’s irrational, but still. He deletes the message. He starts another, then deletes it. He really doesn’t know what to say. But Specs beats him to it.
Specs
I’m fine
I had to go grab the dictionary
Tucker starts some more messages, but… it really is a struggle to put it all into words. He sighs. He just needs to say something.
Tucker
im glad you didn’t get murdered
He pockets his phone then snaps a quick photo. Once he’s got it, he checks the two messages awaiting him.
Specs
No, you’re the only serial killer I let into the apartment
B)
He stifles a laugh.
Tucker
just don’t make a habit of it
He leaves his phone on the counter of the sink while he takes a photo of the elusive Bathroom Axe, and once he’s got it there’s two more messages. He responds to them then slips his phone in his pocket so he can get his last few photos.
By the time he’s leaving, closing the door behind himself, there are three new messages.
Specs
Are you free right now?
You could come over
You still need to see Eight
Oh.
Oh, fantastic. There’s no way he doesn’t know that Tucker is maybe, just a little bit, dealing with the World’s Stupidest Crush, right? Right? But then, they’ve become oddly attached, fixtures in each other’s days without physically being there, so…
He still doesn’t know how to answer. He’s pretty sure it’s obvious, with how long it takes him to respond because of the number of times he starts (and aborts) messages. At this point, the best course of action is Business As Usual. But there’s still the issue of his camera…
Tucker
yeah, gimme a second.
do you care if I bring my camera?
Specs
No, go ahead
Tucker
great
it’s a date
There. Maybe some kind of something will happen.
There’s a brief pause, and he thinks for a moment. He can practically see Specs stressing about sending a message back. Tucker shakes his head with a soft smile as he takes his camera apart, putting it in the case carefully and zipping it in securely.
Tucker
also i get it if you’re busy
you don’t have to do a “message received” if there’s something else you need to do
it’s chill
Only a few weeks, almost entirely over text, and still… he knows him. It’s a weird thought.
He starts on his way to Specs’ apartment, answering a few more messages as he walks. Once he’s on the right floor, he sends the last one off then pockets his phone, eyes scanning the numbers on each door until he finds the one he wants.
He knocks on the door.
Specs only has to hear one knock before he’s shooting up, standing too quickly for himself to keep up with and having to catch his balance before he can actually move. He abandons his sketchbook on the bed, tucking his pencil behind his ear and adjusting his glasses slightly from the disturbance they get from it, then high-tails it to the door. Sue him if he’s a little eager; he’s not sure what to call (or think about) this whole ordeal, but he’s having fun.
He throws the door open quickly with a smile, and Tucker blinks when he sees him.
“You got your lenses in the old frames?” he asks, not quite startled, but certainly looking like he hadn’t been expecting the glasses that, honestly, Specs is more comfortable with.
“Oh,” he adjusts his glasses self-consciously, flushing slightly, then has to catch the pencil behind his ear before it falls. “Yeah. The wire frames… were a pain in the ass,” he settles on. Tucker nods, looking like he’s trying to determine something that Specs can’t figure out. Specs steps to the side to let him in then tucks the pencil back behind his ear.
“Do you have popcorn?” Tucker asks, instead of dwelling on the glasses, as Specs shuts the door to the apartment. His camera is packed away in a bag, gripped in one hand, and Specs watches him for a moment before coming back to himself.
“Uh—probably. You can put your camera down, if you want,”
And then Tucker’s looking back at him from over his shoulder, not quite smiling but clearly amused, and Specs feels his own heart rate pick up a little. Weird. He’s not nervous, at least not that he can tell—
“Is by the couch fine?”
“Yeah! Yeah, anywhere you want,” Specs nods, pushing his glasses up and shuffling around to get to the kitchen. “Can I see some of your photos?”
There’s a pause as he starts digging through the cabinets in his search for popcorn, Tucker still in the living room. He’s not too pressed about it, going elbow-deep in his search, and he’s not paying too much attention, which means that when Tucker finally speaks again, from right behind him, he jumps.
“Sure,” he says, shrugging slightly. Specs smacks his elbow on the door to the cabinet in his surprise, turning his head, and then Tucker’s tapping his shoulder lightly and using one hand on his waist to gently navigate him away from where he’s at. He flushes, going hot with indignation, and sidesteps harshly, aggressive and defensive. Tucker pauses to turn to him, expression unreadable, and he cools for a moment before his upset flares again. He can’t find words, just stands there and splutters embarrassingly. Tucker raises an eyebrow. Specs stops, managing to make his mouth stop moving, leaving him gaping. “…were those words, just now, or just sounds?”
Specs is fairly certain this is one of the worst situations he’s ever been in.
“Words are just sounds,” he argues, crossing his arms and taking a step back as Tucker… goes back to the cabinet.
Okay, sue him. Tucker’s already well aware that Specs’ kitchen leaves a lot to be desired, and that he’s already fairly comfortable trying to navigate the area despite having only been in the apartment once.
He sets his camera down by the couch, effectively claiming a spot (or so he hopes) then makes his way into the kitchen, and Specs is deep into one of the cabinets in his search for popcorn. He watches for a second before he steps closer, coming to a stop once he’s behind Specs.
“Sure,” he answers with a shrug, and then Specs is smacking his elbow and whirling around. He can’t help it; Tucker uses a hand to physically shift him out of the way, and then he’s going red. He feels a surge of affection, of all things, at the whole situation.
And then Specs just stands there, making noises that sound like he wants them to be words, and Tucker waits until he’s gone quiet, still looking startled and flushed, before he finally speaks again.
“Were those words, just now, or just sounds?” Tucker asks, and Specs crosses his arms.
“Words are just sounds,” he argues, taking a step back, and Tucker rolls his eyes as he goes back to his search for popcorn. It’s quiet for a moment while Tucker rifles through, then closes that cabinet to check a different one, and Specs eventually ends up slowly gravitating close again so he can watch Tucker as he pokes around.
His fingers snag on the package, and he grabs it quickly, pulling it out and turning around.
“I’ll make it, you can go ahead and put the movie on,” he decides half-absently, turning the packet around to read the instructions. He’s done this multiple times before, but that doesn’t stop him from somehow having to check to make sure he’s doing it right every damn time. By the time he looks up again, Specs is already gone.
He gives the packet a little shake before he puts it in the microwave. Now, he waits.
Specs escapes the kitchen as soon as Tucker suggests he go get the movie ready, willing himself to calm down as he flips through his DVDs. He skips past Back to the Future but goes too far and ends up in the spies and espionage section, at James Bond. He slows his pace, then, going back to the science fiction section until he’s at Doctor Who. Eight is closer to the end, so it’s fairly easy to find the disc once he’s there, and he removes it carefully so he can inspect it.
Its condition is fine, which isn’t a surprise because it was the same last time he saw it. He pops it into the player once he’s satisfied.
He climbs up onto the couch, on the opposite end from where Tucker’s placed his camera and grabs the remotes so he can adjust the volume. After the microwave dings Tucker comes back in, two bowls in hand, and he hands one off to Specs before he sits down at the end his camera is at.
“So. The photos,” he starts, placing his dish on the floor and grabbing for the camera. He takes it out carefully, then turns it on and starts pressing buttons so he can flip through photos. They end up leaning closer together, shifting to the middle of the couch, legs and arms bumping until they get settled. Specs gets situated so he’s directly next to Tucker, and they’re still touching as Tucker goes through the photos he’s taken.
It doesn’t feel odd.
Really, there aren’t that many photos, so there’s not much for Specs to see, but he appreciates it enough that Tucker seems pleased. He’s got enough knowledge from his art courses to be curious about specifics, though he’s not really that knowledgeable, and that only seems to please Tucker further.
“These are good,” Specs tells him once they’re done, shifting away and gravitating back towards his side of the couch. Tucker shrugs, leaning away and putting the camera back in the case and grabbing his bowl of popcorn back up.
“I’ve practiced,” he says simply. “Are we going to watch the movie, or just leave it at the title screen?”
Specs scoffs but presses play on the remote, curling up comfortably near the armrest. He puts his elbow on it, holding his head up on one hand, eyes never straying from the screen. He’s hyper-aware of Tucker’s eyes on him at the beginning, but once he finally looks over Tucker’s focused on the movie.
Once the credits are rolling, Specs stretches and yawns, and Tucker can’t help that it grabs his attention. He looks over, shifting on his side of the couch, and after a moment Specs is looking back with an odd sort of smile.
“Well?” he asks expectantly.
Tucker has a very good idea of how to wind him up while not lying. “It was fine,” he shrugs, and he can see the moment the wheels stop in Specs’ brain.
“Really.” His voice is flat. It’s almost funny.
“Really,” Tucker echoes. Specs rolls his eyes, leaning back and shifting so he can see Tucker easier.
“Disrespectfully, you’re wrong,”
“I’m wounded,” Tucker says drily, then checks his watch. “Shit, it’s already six,”
“You could stay for dinner,” Specs suggests, looking slightly surprised at his own words even as he says them. “We can find another movie?”
He should get back to his own apartment. He really should. He still has to get his photos onto his computer, and then he has to finish his reading for one of his classes, but.
But.
“Fine, but none of that animated Star Trek bullshit you keep defending in the lobby,”
“Hey!” Specs shifts, leaning forward. He sounds vaguely irritated but not mad. “It’s a perfectly respectable Trek and helps establish character and background!”
“...it’s The Animated Series.” Tucker deadpans. He’s not actually that invested in it; he’s only seen a few episodes of Animated Trek, but he has a decent amount of respect for what he does know. It’s just also… The Animated Series. It’s not exactly the best of all the Treks, and even more so it’s oddly fun to see how much he can wind Specs up.
“Animation can be just as respectable as live action,”
“The issue isn’t that it’s animated, it’s that it’s specifically Star Trek: The Animated Series,”
Specs inhales deeply, then exhales. Tucker waits.
“You’re just wrong,” Specs decides. “But no. I figured I could try to find my copy of The Shining, or Black Christmas,”
“Alright,” he agrees. “I’ll get delivery, what do you want?”
“Whatever is fine,” and then Specs is sliding off of the couch and onto the floor, on his knees as he takes the Doctor Who disc out of the player and puts it back in the booklet. He flips through until he finds the empty space for it and puts it in, then flips through some more, and Tucker removes himself so he can actually go make the call.
There’s a pizza place not far from the apartment, he knows, and it’s decent, so he figures that’s a safe bet.
Specs flips through his booklet of DVDs again, skipping through the genres all of his discs are separated out into until he’s solidly in the horror section. From there he just has to go alphabetically, so… Black Christmas it is. He slides it out and puts that one into the player before returning to the couch.
Tucker comes back not long after, flopping back onto the side he’d claimed earlier, and they both watch the commercials play.
“I ordered pizza,” Tucker tells him. Fantastic.
“Did you actually get something edible?”
“Buttered squash, anchovies, all dipped in caramel and chocolate,” Tucker starts, watching him carefully, “all on top of a regular cheese pizza,”
Specs feels like he’s going to be ill, wrinkling his nose. “Jesus Christ,”
Tucker laughs. “Nah. That would be a waste. I just got a regular cheese, figured that was a safe bet. We can get fancy with it later,”
“Good.” he nods. That’s a relief, at least; otherwise, Specs is fairly certain he’d have to end this all immediately. “We can wait until it comes to start,”
“Right,” Tucker nods, stretching his legs out in front of him and leaning back on the couch, eyes closed.
They should talk about something, he knows, but he doesn’t know what, and honestly he’s content just sitting quietly and occasionally looking over to watch Tucker.
“Hey—can I sketch you?” he asks, before he can think about it. He’s been doing a lot of that recently.
Tucker cracks one eye open, looks over. “What?”
“Can I sketch you?” Specs is repeating, swallowing and looking away. It’s ridiculous, actually.
“Yeah, sure,” Tucker shrugs, like it’s nothing at all.
The pizza doesn’t take long to arrive, and Tucker’s up before Specs looks like he’s even realized that there’s a knock at his door. He pays the pizza man and gives a tip, then takes the pizza back to the living room. No point in leaving it in the kitchen right now.
“I come bearing offerings,” he declares with authority, holding the box of pizza aloft like it’s something sacred. Specs rolls his eyes.
“Right,”
“It’s true,” Tucker sits and puts the pizza between them on the couch, and when he looks up Specs looks like something’s imploded.
“You can’t just put that on the couch,” he says, revolted. They clearly live in two different worlds.
“Where else would I put it?”
“Somewhere that’s not the couch!”
“...and where would that be?”
“The floor. The coffee table. Your lap. Anywhere but the couch,” Specs rattles off, already grabbing at the box and putting it on the aforementioned coffee table. “I don’t care if you eat on the couch, but do not leave food on it,”
He sounds like he’s expecting this to happen again.
“Fine,” Tucker concedes. “Next time, I’ll just let you get it,”
“Please,”
Tucker shakes his head and laughs. It’s all weirdly endearing.
But he can’t dwell on that right now, so he grabs a piece of pizza as Specs stands and goes to turn the light off. He returns to the couch so he can turn their movie on then grabs his own slice.
“Did you at least like that?” Specs asks once the credits start rolling.
There’s no response.
He looks over, and—
Oh. Tucker’s fallen asleep, leaning on the arm of the chair but mostly on the back, and the faint light from the screen casts a very slight glow on him, and something affectionate tugs in Specs’ chest. It’s only a little after eight, but… he really doesn’t have the heart to wake him.
Instead, he grabs the box of what’s left of their pizza and puts it in the fridge, then goes to his room to grab his sketchbook. He doesn’t need much light for some scribbles, and he’s planning on finding something else to watch, so he’ll be fine. He goes back to the living room after sparing his own one last glance.
He steps carefully as he walks back to the couch, clutching his sketchbook tightly. He settles back into his spot easily, then grabs the remote, flicking through channels until he ends up on some X-Files reruns. This casts more light around the room, giving him a better view of the man currently asleep on his couch. He doesn’t even try to fight the soft, growing smile.
Instead, he grabs his pencil from behind his ear and starts sketching, occasionally letting his gaze drift to Tucker.
He’s not sure what time it is, or how many episodes have played, the first time he starts nodding off. He shakes himself awake and looks back to his paper, then to Tucker, then back to his paper. He does some shading, adds a few small details but not much, then closes the book and sets it on the floor, pencil on top of it, then turns his attention to Scully and Mulder.
He’s not trying to fall asleep, but he’s not fighting it either. This is nice, he decides. It’s calm and peaceful and he wants to live in this moment, burrow inside and pull the sleeping Tucker in with him so they can hibernate in it for as long as they can.