puckandpie | [5/28: post-prom making amends]

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carson

[5/28: post-prom making amends]

While I'd felt bad backing out on Caron's prom invitation at the last minute, I don't really regret the decision. Jack hadn't ever outright said I shouldn't go, but he's pretty easy to read once you know all the tells and I could see that he was uncomfortable with the whole thing. Maybe even a little hurt. Plus, given everything that had already happened that week with the words scrawled across his back, it seemed sort of thoughtless and mean to just abandon him, even if for only one night.

I hadn't ended up even spending much of the evening with him, but I felt better knowing he could call on me any time if he did need me and I promised myself I'd find a way to make it up to Carson later.

Until, that is, I get the birthday notification.

I'm a day late to noticing it, a single little pop-up when I log into Darrow's bizarre excuse for Facebook and at first it feels like a joke. Or a mistake. I mean, Carson would've told me his birthday was yesterday, wouldn't he?

Except I definitely already know the answer to that.

The guilt is immediate, almost crushing, as I immediately set about baking the best lemon blueberry pie I can possibly manage, as well as a lemon crumble and a good old fashioned batch of chocolate chip cookies just in case.

A few hours later, I'm knocking at Carson's door, pie carrier, Tupperware container, and a carefully wrapped gift box in hand. I have to carefully balance everything to press the doorbell and I suck in a breath and just pray he'll even be home.

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Carson's face hurt.

In the grande scheme of things, he supposed he hadn't even been hit as hard as he could have been, but for someone who had never been punched before it really fucking hurt. He'd muscled through the last couple of hours of prom despite any lingering humiliation and the growing swelling along his cheek bone, and since his arrival home had dedicated himself to one thing: wallowing in his hatred for everyone and everything. He'd even put off starting transcribing his notes for his prom article and just slept in, and since waking up that morning had done little more than scowl in front of his television with a bag of frozen corn pressed to his face with the hope that the bruising would miraculously disappear before school started back up.

Given he was pasty faced and bruised like a goddamn peach, he somehow doubted he'd have that much luck.

He'd actually been on the verge of falling asleep where he'd set up camp on the couch when the door bell went off, and for a second he legitimately considered ignoring it. Knowing his luck at this point it would just be a surprisingly polite burglar or the universe deciding he needed to get a fresh punch delivered to his doorstep, but with a groan he forced himself to get up and answer the door, his sad bag of frozen corn half thawed and mushy from where he still had it pressed to his face.

Honestly, he shouldn't have been surprised to find Eric on the other side, but he still was, and for a second he froze.

"If you changed your mind about going," he finally said. "You're a day late."

If I'm honest, I'm half expecting him not to answer even if he is home. I hadn't given him all that much warning before changing my mind and even if I hadn't realized then that it was his birthday of all days, I still wouldn't blame him at all for being upset with me. If nothing else, I can leave at least leave the cookies here with a note that I'll drop off the rest whenever he'd like. He doesn't have to see me or talk to me at all.

So when the door opens I actually feel a bright flicker of hope and I pull in a breath, practiced apology right on the tip of my tongue until--

"Oh God," I breathe, my stomach dropping instantly. My hands are still full and I make an abortive movement forward, desperately wanting to get a closer look at that horrid bruise. He's clearly been icing it, at least. "Carson, what happened??"

"Prom was less than a resounding success." Carson admitted in a flat mumble, his face pinched as he tried to decide why Eric was at his door. While the text he had gotten last minute had been worded nicely enough, even apologetic enough, he still couldn't help but wonder why it was Eric had been so willing to go until he actually had to go. Maybe with the secrets on everyone's backs had been trying, and maybe he had legitimately talked it over with his boyfriend, but it was suspicious to agree and then duck out abruptly.

He didn't really blame him for not wanting to go. He was just irritated as all hell that he'd been led into thinking that he would.

And that he managed to get punched in the face on top of being ditched.

Glancing at the tupperware and pie dish in the shorter boy's hands he couldn't help but absently prod at the swelling under his eye as he chewed his cheek, sorely tempted to just retreat back to the nest he'd made on his couch and continue his day of glaring at the news. "Are you going to a bake sale?" He questioned instead, though he suspected he already knew the answer.

"That happened at prom?"

It's all I can do to not let my eyes just bug right out of my head. I'm still holding all these stupid things awkwardly, but I'm not about to just invite myself right on in even though I know Carson likely would if our positions were reversed. Instead I just try to shift the pie I have sort of cradled against my hip and stare at him, dumbfounded.

"Oh-- No, these are for you," I try to explain, my mind still reeling. "I-- Goodness, Carson, why didn't you tell me yesterday was your birthday?"

"I got sucker punched in the face." He said bluntly, staring the other boy down shrewdly before letting some of the tension relax from his shoulders.

Eric's surprise was somewhat satisfying in it's own right, and Carson let it soak in. For a second he considered leaving it at that, but if he was honest he did want to be able to vent about his frustration with that evening to someone. But the older boy had to remind him of what an even bigger cluster-fuck the previous day had been, and he couldn't hide the way his face pinched. "I don't know how you found out, but it isn't a big deal." He said evasively, stepping back and leaving the door open so the other boy could follow. "Birthdays are just the same as every other day, the only difference is that you have one less year to achieve your goals."

"Besides," he continued with a shrug. "You decided not to go to prom anyway. So it isn't like the fact it was my birthday was going to make a difference."

Not for the first time, it strikes me just how awful a life Carson's had. I'd gotten a taste of it that day in the library, listening to those voicemails. I get a little bit more every time we talk, I think, a little more of an understanding into why Carson is the way that he is. Because he's not easy to like sometimes; he's abrasive and cutting and sometimes cruel. But I've come to learn it's all a defense mechanism, all built up from years of having only himself to rely upon when, if absolutely nothing else, he should've had a mother.

So it doesn't really surprise me at all that he sees nothing special about his own birthday. It doesn't surprise me that he feels like time is ticking, like he has some limited amount of time to prove himself.

"It might've," I reply but even as I say it I'm not sure it's true. After all, Carson's birthday wouldn't have changed the fact that Jack spent a week with his deepest secret etched across his back. And I'm not sure it would've helped Jack feel any better about me going with Carson to prom or not.

"And it is a big deal," I protest, nearly suffocating under the mounting guilt. "Everyone's birthday is a big deal. Or at least it should be. It's the one day of the year everyone get to celebrate you. I know you like lemon blueberry pie so I made one of those," I continue, nodding down at my arms. "And a lemon crumble and some cookies just in case you're not feeling very lemon-y today. And something else, too. I know you're... well, I understand if you're upset with me. I'm really really sorry, Carson."

Carson bit the inside of his cheek and shifted his weight. It was on the tip of his tongue to argue that there was no point in celebrating when there was no one to celebrate with. His social circle had always been virtually nonexistent and even back home birthdays had been small affairs, typically either an awkward dinner out with his mother or an equally awkward dinner in where he barred himself in his room and she eventually sobbed herself halfway through his cake. In Darrow he didn't even have her, so what was the point? Without prom he would have likely just gotten himself take out and called it a successful evening.

Instead he'd had prom. And apparently now he had an overly attentive baker.

"Its really not a big deal," he repeated, though there was less resistance to it. He couldn't help but eye the tupperware and the small package speculatively. "I'm not really a very celebratory person most of the time. At least not yet. Give it a few years and the news journal I'll start will have people begging to celebrate me." He attempted a smirk but the expression caught and pinched when the soreness in his cheek flared.

Reaching up to prod at the skin he hesitated before backing up further into the apartment and waved at Eric to follow him in. "I'm not upset with you." He said, then paused and corrected himself. "Actually... that's a lie. Yeah, I am. But my birthday has pretty much nothing to do with that. I'm just pissed that you bailed. Look, I get it. I pushed you into saying you'd go. But you didn't have to lie about wanting to and then bail out." With a frown he shrugged and glanced back at the living room where the television was still playing. "You could have just said no."

Sometimes I feel like Carson's goals are an exercise in megalomania or at least narcissism, but right now, I find myself hoping he gets just exactly what he wants, that somewhere down the line, he really does have a whole group of people aching to celebrate his birthday with him. Even if they're not really his friends, though I hope they are. Everyone deserves that, I stand by that.

He steps back then, silently inviting me inside, and I let some of the anxiety in my belly uncoil as I step in after him, keeping my head ducked as he speaks and wincing when he admits he is angry with me. I can't blame him, of course, though I do have to shake my head as I set the pie down on his kitchen table.

"It wasn't a lie," I insist, turning my wrist in an attempt to get the blood flowing back into my fingers after holding that pan for so long. "I did want to go when you asked. I mean, after it became an actual invitation and not a demand. It's just... I wasn't expecting the city to play another trick on us that week and I didn't feel comfortable leaving Jack alone. And he's. I mean, this thing between me and him is still so new. I'm scared of messing it up, if I'm honest. I really, really like him, Carson."

He kept a sedate pace as he followed Eric into the kitchen, his arms crossing on their own accord and a pinched frown pulling at his mouth. It was selfish, but he'd spent the entire past evening and the better part of that day blatantly ignoring the explanations Eric had given him for bailing. He knew it was selfish, but being pissed off was simpler and easier than trying to analyze the larger part of the situation, as much as he preferred to believe himself better than that.

There was still a large part of him that wanted to scoff at the other boy's earnest explanation. As inconsequential as prom was in the grande scope of his life, it was the snub and disregard that had itched under his skin, his eventual black eye literal injury to the existing insult. But as much as he i>wanted to roll his eyes and mock, Eric legitimately seemed sincere.

Sometimes trying to be a better person was exhausting.

With a sigh he leaned back against the counter and almost scrubbed his palm over his face before catching himself just in time. "I'm not going to say that its all okay because you have your shiny new romance going on," he settled on, rubbing at the underside of his chin with the back of his hand. "Or that I even really get it. I mean, I probably would have let him deal. Well... more like I would have definitely let him deal. But I guess if you had to bail out, that's as good a reason as any. The fact your timing sucked was just further proof that I have some sort of curse on me."

Carson seems to deflate a little, resting back against the counter and rubbing at his eye. After everything I've come to learn about Carson, there's no question that what I've done hurt him, even if he won't ever admit as much. After all, I suppose it's easier to be angry than to show anyone you might be hurting.

"You don't have to accept my apology," I tell him after a moment. "I mean, I'd like you to, obviously, or I wouldn't be here. But I know I've upset you regardless of my reasons. You're allowed to be mad at me even if I didn't know it was your birthday at the time and even though I really doubt I could've stopped you getting punched at all. Though I am really sorry that happened to you," I add quickly, very nearly stepping forward to reach for him though I catch myself just in time.

"I'd still like to be your friend," I continue with a sort of awkward one-shouldered shrug. "And I'll understand if you need to think about that, too. I promise the next time you invite me to something -- if you ever invite me to something again -- I absolutely won't bail on you at the last minute."

Carson chewed the inside of his cheek for a second, and in that moment he was sorely tempted to just be petty. It would have been easy to accept the offer of baked goods but flippantly tell Eric to leave, that is presence was no longer welcome or necesarry. But at the end of the day, as irritated as he was, as humiliated as he had felt when he had landed on his ass after getting decked, none of that had actually been the older boy's fault. Maybe his presence could have helped, but as much as Carson liked to daydream, he had no time or room in his life for what-ifs or maybes.

"I didn't say I wasn't accepting your apology, or saying we aren't friends." He said evenly, and despite his better judgment he couldn't fight down the tiny hint of an exasperated smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. With a snort he pushed up and away from the counter and wandered closer to inspect the tupperware on the table, his attention lingering on the wrapped package for a second as he investigated the baked goods.

"I had a shitty night and being pissed at you was convenient," he admitted carefully. "It wasn't awful, but kinda shitty. It could have been worse, I guess. There were no Carrie moments." He flashed an sardonic grin at the other boy before tugging at the pie tin for a closer look. "The fact it was my birthday wasn't even a big deal. Okay, so maybe I had the idea that I'd spend it with a friend instead of at the dance alone. But that wasn't on you because I didn't tell you." Chewing his lip for a second he shrugged and looked away. "I just figured you had bailed because you didn't really want to go, and I was mad." Truthfully, his anger stemmed more from the thought that if anything, Eric just hadn't wanted to go with him. "But it isn't your fault. I get that. I'm irritated, but I'm not mad."

For a minute, I'm worried Carson's just gonna kick me out and be done with things. He has the right, I know. Whatever my reasons, I disappointed him, hurt him, even. On his birthday. That'd be a hard thing for a lot of people to deal with, I know, and given what I know and understand of Carson already, I wouldn't blame him.

I might be a little miffed, admittedly, but I'd understand in the end.

When he speaks though, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding and wait, listening quietly as he continues. I don't want to interupt when everything feels so tenuous. I know how much Carson likes to talk. "Was the whole night really horrible?" I ask, hoping, I'll admit, to try to alleviate some of my guilt. "Did you at least get enough good stuff for your article? I promise you I didn't just decide I didn't wanna go or lie to you when I said I did. I'm... I'm sorry for ditching on you, I really am."

"I got some stuff for the article," Carson agreed with a shrug. Most of what he had gotten had been on how spectacularly bad the entire affair had been, from Kyle getting crowned prom king to the irritating and mundane music choices. Chewing the inside of his lip idly, he tried to ignore the fact that he had actually danced to some of that music, and for a split second his stomach gave a nervous little flip that he tried to squash down and ignore.

"Getting punched in the face definitely didn't earn my first and only prom any favors," he admitted. Waffling for a second he leaned back against his counter and absently looked down at the nails on his hand, more as a distraction than a cleanliness check. "But I guess it could have actually been worse. There was a girl there. We're uh-- we're going to go see a movie." How he had swung that he still wasn't sure, but Dee had been fascinating and oddly magnetic, so he was still dubious that it wasn't actually some sort of horrible miscommunication. Or some sort of set up staged by someone in one of his classes.

Honestly he just really needed to stop over thinking it.

"You can stop apologizing," he finally said. "I guess as far as social crimes go, this is a misdemeanor at best. I might give you some shit for it, but I won't hold it against you."

It takes a minute for me to realize what it is he's saying and a moment more for me to get over my surprise. The rest of what he says barely registers at all as I ask him, "Wait, are you saying you have a date?"

Honestly, it shouldn't be unfathomable by any means. And it's not, really. Carson's a good-looking guy and he's definitely smart and driven and confident. It's not difficult to imagine anyone finding that desirable. No, the shocking thing is that it seems like something he wants when, up until now, I sorta got the impression he was into minimal human contact. I've often wondered, even, if I'm his only friend and really only that by matter of default. And, until about two minutes ago, even that much was up for debate.

Part of me wonders if he's pulling my leg now, too.

Carson's expression sunk into something shrewd and calculating at Eric's blatant surprise.

"It's not like, a date date." He corrected, folding his arms and raising an eyebrow in challenge. "She was just-- she was interesting. Like comic book interesting. Some sort of chosen one from an apocalyptic future. And she told me she crashed because she'd never done any of the typical teenage stuff, the kinda shit that gets taken for granted. So I thought I'd go out of my way and suggest she get to embrace the mundane stereotype and see just what she wasn't missing." There was a beat of silence and something itched at the back of his mind. His own words sunk in, and he remembered the way heat had crept up the back of his neck when she had taken his hands into her own small ones, and his eyes flared open in realization.

"Oh shit." He muttered, glancing from the intriguing array of tupperware on the counter to Eric himself. "Oh shit. I have a date." His arms uncrossed and fell to his side. "And I have a fucking black eye."

I feel my eyebrows shoot up at the way Carson describes this girl as interesting if only because I can't honestly remember if I've ever heard him call anyone in this entire city interesting in the entire time I've known him. If that doesn't say something, I don't know what does.

But he keeps going and, the longer he speaks, the more apparent it is that this really is something.

And he's clearly getting that, too.

It's hard not to let my lips twitch into a smile when his eyes go wide and his arms drop to his sides and he looks honestly so surprised.

"Youuuu have a date," I confirm in a sing-song voice. "But don't worry about the eye, she'll probably think it's all tough and rugged or something. Did you really ask her on a date to prove a stereotype? Goodness, what sort of alien are you, Philly?"

Despite his growing panic over the realization that he had a goddamn date, reflex alone was enough to make his eyes immediately narrow at Eric's amused tone. His eyebrow twitched in irritation and he scowled at the other boy, somehow unsurprised but still frustrated that the older boy was getting amusement out of his situation, the traitor.

"It's not funny," he insisted flatly. "If it wasn't already obvious, I've never been on a date. Let alone taken a girl to the mall for a movie." His own impulsive stupidity was staggering, and he briefly had to wonder if the girl was some sort of magic trickery of the city to have so easily made him lose his sense when he was talking to her.

Somehow he doubted it. And that was even more shameful.

"I'm an idiot." He spat with a sigh, grabbing at one of the tupperware containers and inspecting the baked good inside. "This place is making me reckless. And now I have to take this girl out and it's going to be a disaster."

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[5/28: post-prom making amends]

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