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Mar. 21st, 2009 12:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sabinetzinTitle: Observations
Summary: You don't know why no one else sees it.
Fandom: DC Comics
Word Count: 2104
Rating/Warnings: PG-13, language
Pairing: Ted/Booster, mentions of Bruce/OC, implied Bruce/Clark
A/N: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
abarero for ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
boostlethon 2008.
From ten fifty-five to twelve thirty, approximately, every Tuesday and Thursday, you sit on the left side of the fourth floor lounge, eating your lunch and waiting for 203 to start.
There's this guy who comes right after you do- you know he's an engineer, partly because you can see his textbooks, but mostly because he shows up at exactly eleven and leaves at exactly eleven fifty-five every day, and who else does that?- and always works at the table by the windows. You know him, in that vague sort of way that all grad students know each other, which is to say you think you might have been introduced once.
He's sort of tangentially connected to the group of students that you privately think of as the really good TAs- the ones who lead workshops and throw the best parties, the kind who always seem to be ready to drop everything and help the undergrads who inevitably stumble into disaster. There's that blonde girl who leads the GSC- always with some guy from forestry or some shit who never leaves her alone- and this gorgeous and terrifying international student who runs the Model UN team. They never seem to leave the company of that nerdy guy from journalism with the ridiculous Midwestern accent, who inexplicably seems to be BFFLs with that complete asshole from the MBA program that keeps walking in front of your car every damn morning.
You kind of hate them- you kind of get the feeling he does too- but that's mostly because you really wish you were them.
They sort of come in and out- they stop and talk to him, they pull up a chair- but mostly he's alone, doing his work.
--
You make it through one, and only one, Model UN meeting before the princess drives you crazy. You're certain she's good at foreign politics and networking, if the team's stack of awards are any indication; unfortunately, democracy doesn't seem to be her strong suit.
--
And you and the engineer go on politely ignoring each other until, like, the middle of September, and then there's this new guy.
Only, he's not really new- not to you, anyway. You went to the same school for undergrad, and though, giant SEC schools being what they are, you've never actually met him, you definitely know him. He's Booster, star quarterback when you were still taking 100 levels, whose name you've personally chanted in a football (and Evan Williams) induced frenzy. He got kicked off the team your junior year for something involving betting. It was a big damn deal when it went down- you remember watching it on SportsCenter and cussing at the TV- though you can't seem to recall what he did. After that, he just fell off the face of the earth- you think you saw him once working at the campus museum, but that's it- only to resurface in your grad school, where nobody seems to have any clue who he is.
Weird.
Anyway, Booster hangs around the engineer all the time now. At first, you think he's just messing with him- they don't exactly seem like the type to be friends- but it seems like an awful lot of effort on his part just to mess with somebody's head. And whatever it is that the engineer's- Ed? Ted? Ted sounds right- friends see in Ted, they certainly don't see it in Booster. When they look at him, their faces register anything from calm disinterest to outright disdain.
But when Booster looks at Ted, his whole face lights up.
And you don't know why no one else sees it.
--
"That thing will kill you," the guy from forestry- was it environmental science?- tells you as he sits down at your table, indicating your Nalgene. "Chemicals."
"It's got five cups of coffee and two shots of espresso in it," you reply, feeling clever but jittery and snappish (since it's already half-empty). "If I die, pour it down my throat and I'll probably hop right back up."
"Ollie," he introduces himself, laughing and offering you an apple in truce (which is exactly the thing to make it stop tasting like you've been going down on Juan Valdez all morning); as he passes it to you, you notice the wedding ring, and everything makes a whole lot more sense.
You're ten minutes into a surprisingly non-awkward conversation when he mentions something, and you realize he's that Oliver Queen, and holy shit, you didn't even know he went here. You've known who he was since back when Weekly Reader was your most trusted news source- your best friend cut out the article about his miraculous survival after the plane crash (you have it on good authority that she personally kissed his picture every night before bed- she'd shit a brick if she knew you knew though). You remember when he was the poster kid for the environmentalists, way back when everybody was up in arms over the state of the ozone layer (what ever happened to that, anyway?). It puts an inexplicably hilarious spin on the whole conversation.
"So what's the deal with Ted and Booster?" you ask when the topic swings toward his friends, leaning closer and trying to look conspiratorial.
You know you've scored a hit when his eyebrows lift in pleased surprise. "I swear you could see it from space. I mean, I don't know when Ted's going to-"
The door to the lounge opens in the middle of his sentence, dammit. His friends are here- and his wife, you realize now. "Nice talking to you," he says, polite but distant, and you realize the blonde is giving you a look. It's not much of one though, which you figure is appropriate and just a bit insulting. "Shoot me an email sometime." He does give you a wink, though, so no harm, no foul.
You've got to call Eliza. She's going to eat it up.
--
It's just Tuesday- any Tuesday- in October. Nothing special is happening; your classes are fine, your research is fine, your advisor is fine, your turkey sandwich is fine. Not interesting or great or anything, just fine.
And that's why you almost miss it.
You register when Booster leaves, but you don't glance up again for a couple more seconds. But when you do, Ted is right in your line of sight.
He's resting his forehead on his hand, looking at the door. His expression is- well, the first word that comes to your mind is "heartbreaking," followed swiftly by "like somebody just took away his teddy bear." He snaps out of it after a bit, but he still looks completely lost and forlorn- and goddamn, do you know that look.
What you really want is to go over there and give him a hug (but that would be too weird, wouldn't it?), because above all, he looks like he really needs one.
Not from you, though.
--
You're just sitting there, minding your own business, listening to Maroon 5 (cause you're five-years-ago like that), when you see the journalist- Clark- making his way towards you like a man on a mission. He makes a (totally presumptive) gesture at your earphones, and you take them off.
"I saw your Obama pin." You turned in your absentee a week ago and you're damned tired of hearing about it, but you let him talk anyway. "I'm trying to get student opinions on Proposition 8," he tells you. "Would you mind being interviewed for the paper? It won't take ten minutes."
"No offense, or anything," you say, winding your phones around your MP3 player, "but if you're looking for someone to interview, isn't there someone closer to you you should consider asking first?"
Clark rolls his eyes in a not-this-again gesture. "Listen, I'm not sure what rumors you may have heard about Bruce and me," he says, with a snappishness that doesn't suit him, "but I assure you that they're nothing but rumors. We're just very close friends, and that is it."
You blink at him in confusion. "What are you talking about?"
He just stares at you. "What are you talking about?"
"Your friend Ted," you explain. "Isn't it obvious?"
"Apparently not," he responds, still looking a little gobsmacked. "Really?"
"He didn't walk up to me and say, 'Hey, guess what, I'm gay' or anything," you reply peevishly, "but yeah, I think it's a pretty safe bet."
Clark is obviously blind if he doesn't see it, and you don't feel like arguing with him over it- but you do feel bad enough to give him the interview.
--
Booster, you've started to think, really is blind.
The thing is, Booster's just as bad about the whole lingering touches and longing looks thing as Ted is, but he doesn't seem to notice that Ted's doing it. For that matter, he also doesn't seem to notice that he's doing it. For all you know, he does it to everybody- you've only seen him be all touchy-feely with Ted, but Ted seems to be the only person he sees when he's here (which you figure is a sign in and of itself).
One Thursday, they're talking about something- you can't hear them over your music- and Ted puts his hand over Booster's. Just an innocent, meaningless gesture- except that it's totally not, and you, Ted, Booster, and half of campus must see it by now.
Booster just sits there, looking at Ted's hand, apparently- suddenly- lost for words. And Ted starts to pull back, but Booster's quick, catching Ted's hand in his. And, shit, you're going to be late to a meeting if you don't go right now- and you're going to die of shame if you're late cause you're too distracted by your own personal soap opera- but you still feel bad when they both startle as you push your chair back from the table and stand up, breaking the moment.
You're pretty hopeful it won't be their only one.
--
You accidentally on purpose sleep with the MBA- Bruce, Bruce something, starts with a W- at the GSC Holiday social.
He is just as much of an asshole as you thought.
You also start to think that maybe Clark doth protest too much.
--
And then the day comes.
It's the week before finals, and the lounge is absolutely swamped. Some undergrad is crying in the corner, but everyone but Clark is caffeinated enough to ignore it. The mood is tense, to say the very least; you personally are five pages, two sets of assignments, and at least one cup of coffee behind schedule.
And the only open seats are at Ted's table. With Ted and Booster.
Shit.
"Mind if I join you?" you ask, trying to sound casual, accidentally cutting Ted off in the middle of something scientific sounding.
"Sure," Ted says, moving a textbook out of the way so you can put down your lunch.
You start to introduce yourself, feeling more than a little like a stalker, but Booster cuts you off. "I know you. You used to write for the paper- in undergrad."
You're surprised, to say the very least. "Yeah, that's me."
"I liked your columns," he tells you, giving you a bright smile, and you start to wonder if you've gotten the wrong idea entirely. But Ted raises an eyebrow at Booster, who looks just a little bit sheepish.
You talk- not about anything interesting, really. You find out Booster's doing an MA in social work, which is not really what you expected, but it sort of works, in an unexpected kind of way. The most interesting part is watching them up close- and as it turns out, every suspicion you've had is obviously, blatantly true.
"You guys are really cute together," you tell them, impulsively, before you turn to go. Ted turns bright red, but Booster's grinning like crazy.
--
When school starts back, your schedule's changed; eleven to twelve-fifteen is now 206 (which kind of makes you want to quit your PhD and possibly jump from the top of that one skyscraper downtown that kinda looks like it has ears). It's vaguely disappointing that you can't indulge what Eliza calls your "weird gay crush," but you've all but put it out of your mind.
Except that on your very first trip to the lounge of the semester, you pass Ted and Booster on their way out. Ted is grinning like crazy, like Booster's just told the joke of the year- and holy shit, they're holding hands.
And now everybody can see it- but you don't really mind sharing.
Summary: You don't know why no one else sees it.
Fandom: DC Comics
Word Count: 2104
Rating/Warnings: PG-13, language
Pairing: Ted/Booster, mentions of Bruce/OC, implied Bruce/Clark
A/N: Written for
abarero for boostlethon 2008. From ten fifty-five to twelve thirty, approximately, every Tuesday and Thursday, you sit on the left side of the fourth floor lounge, eating your lunch and waiting for 203 to start.
There's this guy who comes right after you do- you know he's an engineer, partly because you can see his textbooks, but mostly because he shows up at exactly eleven and leaves at exactly eleven fifty-five every day, and who else does that?- and always works at the table by the windows. You know him, in that vague sort of way that all grad students know each other, which is to say you think you might have been introduced once.
He's sort of tangentially connected to the group of students that you privately think of as the really good TAs- the ones who lead workshops and throw the best parties, the kind who always seem to be ready to drop everything and help the undergrads who inevitably stumble into disaster. There's that blonde girl who leads the GSC- always with some guy from forestry or some shit who never leaves her alone- and this gorgeous and terrifying international student who runs the Model UN team. They never seem to leave the company of that nerdy guy from journalism with the ridiculous Midwestern accent, who inexplicably seems to be BFFLs with that complete asshole from the MBA program that keeps walking in front of your car every damn morning.
You kind of hate them- you kind of get the feeling he does too- but that's mostly because you really wish you were them.
They sort of come in and out- they stop and talk to him, they pull up a chair- but mostly he's alone, doing his work.
--
You make it through one, and only one, Model UN meeting before the princess drives you crazy. You're certain she's good at foreign politics and networking, if the team's stack of awards are any indication; unfortunately, democracy doesn't seem to be her strong suit.
--
And you and the engineer go on politely ignoring each other until, like, the middle of September, and then there's this new guy.
Only, he's not really new- not to you, anyway. You went to the same school for undergrad, and though, giant SEC schools being what they are, you've never actually met him, you definitely know him. He's Booster, star quarterback when you were still taking 100 levels, whose name you've personally chanted in a football (and Evan Williams) induced frenzy. He got kicked off the team your junior year for something involving betting. It was a big damn deal when it went down- you remember watching it on SportsCenter and cussing at the TV- though you can't seem to recall what he did. After that, he just fell off the face of the earth- you think you saw him once working at the campus museum, but that's it- only to resurface in your grad school, where nobody seems to have any clue who he is.
Weird.
Anyway, Booster hangs around the engineer all the time now. At first, you think he's just messing with him- they don't exactly seem like the type to be friends- but it seems like an awful lot of effort on his part just to mess with somebody's head. And whatever it is that the engineer's- Ed? Ted? Ted sounds right- friends see in Ted, they certainly don't see it in Booster. When they look at him, their faces register anything from calm disinterest to outright disdain.
But when Booster looks at Ted, his whole face lights up.
And you don't know why no one else sees it.
--
"That thing will kill you," the guy from forestry- was it environmental science?- tells you as he sits down at your table, indicating your Nalgene. "Chemicals."
"It's got five cups of coffee and two shots of espresso in it," you reply, feeling clever but jittery and snappish (since it's already half-empty). "If I die, pour it down my throat and I'll probably hop right back up."
"Ollie," he introduces himself, laughing and offering you an apple in truce (which is exactly the thing to make it stop tasting like you've been going down on Juan Valdez all morning); as he passes it to you, you notice the wedding ring, and everything makes a whole lot more sense.
You're ten minutes into a surprisingly non-awkward conversation when he mentions something, and you realize he's that Oliver Queen, and holy shit, you didn't even know he went here. You've known who he was since back when Weekly Reader was your most trusted news source- your best friend cut out the article about his miraculous survival after the plane crash (you have it on good authority that she personally kissed his picture every night before bed- she'd shit a brick if she knew you knew though). You remember when he was the poster kid for the environmentalists, way back when everybody was up in arms over the state of the ozone layer (what ever happened to that, anyway?). It puts an inexplicably hilarious spin on the whole conversation.
"So what's the deal with Ted and Booster?" you ask when the topic swings toward his friends, leaning closer and trying to look conspiratorial.
You know you've scored a hit when his eyebrows lift in pleased surprise. "I swear you could see it from space. I mean, I don't know when Ted's going to-"
The door to the lounge opens in the middle of his sentence, dammit. His friends are here- and his wife, you realize now. "Nice talking to you," he says, polite but distant, and you realize the blonde is giving you a look. It's not much of one though, which you figure is appropriate and just a bit insulting. "Shoot me an email sometime." He does give you a wink, though, so no harm, no foul.
You've got to call Eliza. She's going to eat it up.
--
It's just Tuesday- any Tuesday- in October. Nothing special is happening; your classes are fine, your research is fine, your advisor is fine, your turkey sandwich is fine. Not interesting or great or anything, just fine.
And that's why you almost miss it.
You register when Booster leaves, but you don't glance up again for a couple more seconds. But when you do, Ted is right in your line of sight.
He's resting his forehead on his hand, looking at the door. His expression is- well, the first word that comes to your mind is "heartbreaking," followed swiftly by "like somebody just took away his teddy bear." He snaps out of it after a bit, but he still looks completely lost and forlorn- and goddamn, do you know that look.
What you really want is to go over there and give him a hug (but that would be too weird, wouldn't it?), because above all, he looks like he really needs one.
Not from you, though.
--
You're just sitting there, minding your own business, listening to Maroon 5 (cause you're five-years-ago like that), when you see the journalist- Clark- making his way towards you like a man on a mission. He makes a (totally presumptive) gesture at your earphones, and you take them off.
"I saw your Obama pin." You turned in your absentee a week ago and you're damned tired of hearing about it, but you let him talk anyway. "I'm trying to get student opinions on Proposition 8," he tells you. "Would you mind being interviewed for the paper? It won't take ten minutes."
"No offense, or anything," you say, winding your phones around your MP3 player, "but if you're looking for someone to interview, isn't there someone closer to you you should consider asking first?"
Clark rolls his eyes in a not-this-again gesture. "Listen, I'm not sure what rumors you may have heard about Bruce and me," he says, with a snappishness that doesn't suit him, "but I assure you that they're nothing but rumors. We're just very close friends, and that is it."
You blink at him in confusion. "What are you talking about?"
He just stares at you. "What are you talking about?"
"Your friend Ted," you explain. "Isn't it obvious?"
"Apparently not," he responds, still looking a little gobsmacked. "Really?"
"He didn't walk up to me and say, 'Hey, guess what, I'm gay' or anything," you reply peevishly, "but yeah, I think it's a pretty safe bet."
Clark is obviously blind if he doesn't see it, and you don't feel like arguing with him over it- but you do feel bad enough to give him the interview.
--
Booster, you've started to think, really is blind.
The thing is, Booster's just as bad about the whole lingering touches and longing looks thing as Ted is, but he doesn't seem to notice that Ted's doing it. For that matter, he also doesn't seem to notice that he's doing it. For all you know, he does it to everybody- you've only seen him be all touchy-feely with Ted, but Ted seems to be the only person he sees when he's here (which you figure is a sign in and of itself).
One Thursday, they're talking about something- you can't hear them over your music- and Ted puts his hand over Booster's. Just an innocent, meaningless gesture- except that it's totally not, and you, Ted, Booster, and half of campus must see it by now.
Booster just sits there, looking at Ted's hand, apparently- suddenly- lost for words. And Ted starts to pull back, but Booster's quick, catching Ted's hand in his. And, shit, you're going to be late to a meeting if you don't go right now- and you're going to die of shame if you're late cause you're too distracted by your own personal soap opera- but you still feel bad when they both startle as you push your chair back from the table and stand up, breaking the moment.
You're pretty hopeful it won't be their only one.
--
You accidentally on purpose sleep with the MBA- Bruce, Bruce something, starts with a W- at the GSC Holiday social.
He is just as much of an asshole as you thought.
You also start to think that maybe Clark doth protest too much.
--
And then the day comes.
It's the week before finals, and the lounge is absolutely swamped. Some undergrad is crying in the corner, but everyone but Clark is caffeinated enough to ignore it. The mood is tense, to say the very least; you personally are five pages, two sets of assignments, and at least one cup of coffee behind schedule.
And the only open seats are at Ted's table. With Ted and Booster.
Shit.
"Mind if I join you?" you ask, trying to sound casual, accidentally cutting Ted off in the middle of something scientific sounding.
"Sure," Ted says, moving a textbook out of the way so you can put down your lunch.
You start to introduce yourself, feeling more than a little like a stalker, but Booster cuts you off. "I know you. You used to write for the paper- in undergrad."
You're surprised, to say the very least. "Yeah, that's me."
"I liked your columns," he tells you, giving you a bright smile, and you start to wonder if you've gotten the wrong idea entirely. But Ted raises an eyebrow at Booster, who looks just a little bit sheepish.
You talk- not about anything interesting, really. You find out Booster's doing an MA in social work, which is not really what you expected, but it sort of works, in an unexpected kind of way. The most interesting part is watching them up close- and as it turns out, every suspicion you've had is obviously, blatantly true.
"You guys are really cute together," you tell them, impulsively, before you turn to go. Ted turns bright red, but Booster's grinning like crazy.
--
When school starts back, your schedule's changed; eleven to twelve-fifteen is now 206 (which kind of makes you want to quit your PhD and possibly jump from the top of that one skyscraper downtown that kinda looks like it has ears). It's vaguely disappointing that you can't indulge what Eliza calls your "weird gay crush," but you've all but put it out of your mind.
Except that on your very first trip to the lounge of the semester, you pass Ted and Booster on their way out. Ted is grinning like crazy, like Booster's just told the joke of the year- and holy shit, they're holding hands.
And now everybody can see it- but you don't really mind sharing.