Entry tags:

carden/chislett, tai

inawonderland: Distractions (pg; Carden/Chislett)
Distractions
by inawonderland
Carden/Chislett; pg; high school AU

Thanks so much to the lovely queensheep for being a complete doll. You're amazing.

Now Mike doesn't even bother copying homework. Instead he just slumps in his chair and ignores Mr. Larson's glare, trying to sneak glances at the blond kid out of the corner of his eye.

Distractions



Mike has never found math particularly difficult. His grades never slipped below average - so it was kind of a big deal when he started barely scraping by in pre-calc. It's not that he isn't doing well on tests; he is. Not as well as William, of course, but he's never done as well as William. It's just that he's so distracted.


After a long night of attempting to beat Siska at Halo, which had been unsuccessful, Mike had found himself listening to Jack talking to the blond kid up the back of the room about music. The guy had pretty good taste. After that Mike fell into an easy routine of giving into the distraction.


Now Mike doesn't even bother copying homework. Instead he just slumps in his chair and ignores Mr. Larson's glare, trying to sneak glances at the blond out of the corner of his eye.


-


Mike and William decide to wait for Jack to get out of his seventh period. They cut Chemistry to hang out by the soccer field. William's lounging on the bleachers sipping an iced coffee wearing a pair of oversized sunglasses that he probably stole from Pete. Mike's sprawled on the field, trying to ignore the prickle of grass against his calves - it's warm enough to wear cut-off shorts again.


Suddenly, he hears a shout and something hits him in the face.


Mike can already hear William's laughter coming down from the bleachers, half-snorted against his straw. Mike sits up and glares back at William, then looks for the offender.


"Sorry," an apologetic voice says from somewhere to his right. It takes an accent and a fading tan before Mike realizes that oh, it's the guy from math; the Australian exchange student.


On Mike's other side, William says "it's fine. I was going to have to convince him to get up sooner or later. It's nice to meet you -?"


The guy rakes his bangs away from his eyes and smiles brightly. "Michael Guy Chislett."


Mike stares a little - but then he stands and brushes grass from his knees. "Jack's waiting for us." He shoots a meaningful look at William and tries to ignore the way the corners of Michael's mouth droop.


"Yeah, probably." William waves and loops his arm around Mike's shoulders. "Bye, Michael Guy Chislett."


-


After that it's like Mike can't stop running into Michael. He's constantly bumping into him - at the tiny Mexican restaurant near Siska's house, the Starbucks where Jon works, at a show and in various bathrooms, which usually leads to awkward small talk. ("What was the homework assignment, d'you know, Mike?" "Lesson 6-8, numbers eleven through thirty-one, even." "Thanks.")


It's not that either of their habits have changed, either. It's just that Mike's more observant, more aware of his distraction. It's easy to pick out the dark blond hair over a cracked vinyl booth or the flash of a smile in the cafeteria.


-




William knows a guy who knows a guy who knows a guy - who turns out to be someone Butcher knows, which is not really that shocking because Butcher knows everyone - who's throwing a party. Somehow that all leads up to Mike drinking crappy beer out of a red plastic cup in someone's living room.


Someone breaks out the tequila and Mike loses his shirt and shoes in half an hour. Butcher is down to a pair of tiny red shorts - but he's also not here right now, probably making sure Siska doesn't hit on anyone he shouldn't, like Pete Wentz. So Mike's pretty sure that he's the most naked guy in this room. And, hey, he's totally fine with that.


He hears an exuberant "Chislett!" from William's general vicinity and decides that he should probably stick to the watery beer form here on in.


It takes a good twenty minutes before Michael's smiling at him in a bright slice of sunshine and Mike's realizing, yeah, he's pretty buzzed. "Hey, having fun?" Chislett chirps.


Mike nods and shakes the last bit of foam from his cup. He skims Michael's profile in his peripheral vision, lingers on curve of his lower lip and - "What?"


"I was just asking if you ever ended up going to that show with William and Siska?" Michael bites his lip, leans back against the wall and glances over under the line of his lashes.


And that's it.


Before he knows it, Mike's dropped his cup and stepped close enough to Michael to feel the warm brush of his breath on his cheek. He twines one hand around Michael's free wrist and has it pushed up by his head against the ugly wallpaper. He leans forward to nose along Michael's jaw. "You're so fucking distracting."


Michael hooks a leg around Mike's calf and nudges him forward, closer, and Mike's leaning in for a kiss. It's messy, a little too wet, but Michael tastes like the same crappy beer that he does and nachos, so that's definitely cool.


He's just tangling his index finger into one of Michael's belt loops when William yells across the room that they're going to the diner that makes the really good hashbrowns and he's going to leave Mike behind if he doesn't get his ass in the car right now.


Mike slides his hand from the warm denim of Michael's jeans and flips William off. He bites Michael's lower lip, lets go of the wrist he'd captured, and follows Butcher out.


It occurs to him somewhere between the second and third blueberry pancake of his shortstack that he's so gone and it's not even funny.


-


On the following Monday Mike breaks his routine and copies Susan Fletcher's homework. He ignores Michael's laugh, doesn't turn around to see why he's laughing, and doesn't acknowledge the feeling of eyes staring at the back of his head. Mr. Larson looks like he approves. Mike feels like a jerk, but it's okay. It's what he needs to do.


It works until lunch. But at 12:15, Siska's eating the nasty cafeteria pizza because "pizza's pizza, man" and Butcher's drawing on his forearm. Mike feels almost like everything's back to the way it was sophomore year, Michael Guy Chislett free, when Michael sits next to him.


It's like nothing changed; Michael eats his peanut butter sandwich and carries on a conversation about amps. Every so often he looks over at Mike like he's waiting for some comment about what happened. Instead, Mike curls up in his sweatshirt and acts like he's sleeping.


William manages to convince Mike to skip seventh period with the help of an extra-large chocolate milkshake. They're walking around by the soccer fields when Mike finally realizes what's up. At that point it's too late because Michael already is jogging towards them. He grins at William. "Thanks." Mike has been set up.


After spouting something about young love, hashbrowns and kangaroos, William pats Mike on the shoulder and walks away.


Mike and Michael are silent for a moment before Mike shrugs. "Milkshake?" He holds it out.


Michael's smile is radiant before he leans over to catch the straw, and Mike's eyes. "Mmm, chocolate."


So maybe Mike's a dick, but they can still go get nachos sometime.