Kevin's POV

I clap my hand over my mouth. There's a tense silence in the car, and I grow more anxious the longer it wears on. Damon's face changes from a look of surprise to one of confusion, and then a worn out look of relief.

"I know, Kevin. We're best friends, yeah? I love you, too." Damon smiles at me like a beam of sunshine. I'm stuck somewhere in between crying with relief and banging my head on the dash board with frustration. I want to tell him that he interpreted it wrong, but he continues speaking. "I know I was being kind of an asshole, I just... I don't want him taking advantage of you. I mean, no offense, but you're sort of small." His teasing tone comes back, sounding much less forced.

I just sigh, looking down. I feel oddly defeated, and I want to take a nap. "Yeah, I know." I open my car door and slide off of the seat. "Bye, Day."

He smiles and waves at me, pulling out of the driveway and turning off of my street to go to his house on the next street over.

I take a deep breath. I'll have to tell him at some point, I know that. Maybe on... Monday. No, Tuesday. That'll give me more time to prepare. I walk into my house and my dad instantly pounces on me.

"Kevin! How was it? Was he sweet? Did he bring you flowers? Did you kiss? What did Damon do?"

I laugh and hold up my hand. Once he's stopped asking me questions, I recount the day. After my long winded speech, he frowns. "Well that's just dumb. Why do you even like Damon?"

I shrug helplessly. "Hell if I know." I've known Damon for years, and, sure, he has his jerk moments, but don't we all? He has a sweet personality when you get to know him, and he's a loyal guy to a fault. I can't really imagine life without Damon, so it only seems naturally to see myself with him. He's also drop dead gorgeous, which is definitely a big factor.

I smile at my dad before heading up to my room. It's only three thirty, and I don't have any plans for the rest of the day, so I curl up on my bed for some quality time with Netflix.

As I settle into my covers, wrapping myself up and pulling them over my head, ready to start season two of Orange Is the New Black, my phone buzzes.

Abel's POV

To: Blue :]

Hey, I was thinking maybe you'd like to come back to Fred's coffee on Monday, except without that jerk wad Damon

MESSAGE DELETED

To: Blue :]

Hey, I was wondering, you wanna come back to the coffee shop on Monday? Sorry, I know it's repetitive, I'm just not sure what I'm doing and

MESSAGE DELETED

To: Blue :]

Okay. You, me, Fred's, Monday? I have a slam...

MESSAGE DELETED

I run my hands through my hair. I'm sat on my bed in my dorm room, surrounded by crumpled papers, attempting to ask Kevin out to a poetry slam at Fred's on Monday. It's much harder than I'd thought it would be.

I was in a fit of post-performance confidence the last time. It had been easy. Everything's easy when you're only running on adrenaline and applause, drunk on the way the lights shine off of the stage. Confident enough to write a short poem to a cute boy on his way out of the door.

I let out a frustrated growl, ready to throw my phone across the room. Why does he make me so nervous? It feels like my heart is trying to escape from my ribcage.

I take a breath, ignore the sounds of my roommate waking up, and give it another go.

To: Blue :]

Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to come to my slam on Monday? I could pick you up early and show you how things go before a show, introduce you to the guys and everything.

I'm not sure if it's what I want to say, but I go for it anyways. The response comes in moments.

From: Blue :]

Yes! That'd be awesome. I have work until two, though. Is that okay?

I grin, typing a response quickly.

To: Blue :]

That's perfect. I'll pick you up, I know the place ;)

I send it, then I face palm. Why did I add a winky face? Why? I groan at my awkwardness.

Cal, my roommate, sits up, his hair sticking up all over his head, stifling a yawn. "Bro, why are you so angry? It's only three. Too early for this, you know?"

I shrug. My phone vibrates, and I pick it up immediately.

From: Blue :]

Sounds great! See you then ;)

Cal, who somehow managed to sneak over my shoulder to read my texts, says, "You gotta date or something?"

I hide my phone from his prying eyes and morning breath. "No," I blurt. "This is my... Brother."

Cal laughs, shaking his head and showing me bright teeth. "We've gotten in trouble with campus security enough times for me to know when you're lying. Tell it straight."

I sigh, defeated. I can't really argue with him when he knows I'm lying; that'd just make him feel like I don't trust him. I don't trust him really, but I trust him more than anyone else I know. "Fine, it's maybe half of a date," I mumble.

Cal cheers. "That's so great! Can I come?" I give him a wary look, and he rolls his eyes. "Come on, Abe, you're bringing him to the backstage of a poetry slam. It's not like you'll have any privacy anyways."

Although I resent that he calls me Abe, I can't disagree with Cal on his point, so I concede with an, "Okay, only if you actually are performing something."

"Yeah, totally! I've actually been working on this original guitar piece, it's coming along." He pads to the bathroom and I hear him open his contacts case. "Come to think of it, I haven't seen you practicing anything lately. What are you gonna do?"

Cal raises one of the main concerns I'd been trying to push away-- the issue of my poetry. I haven't been able to write about anything besides Blue for the past few days, and I can't perform something like that in front of him. My room is starting to become an ocean of failed love poems.

I let out a breath I don't recall holding and say, "I don't know," because it's the honest truth.

Cal leans out from behind the half closed bathroom door, a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth, looking doubtful. "You always know what to do. Is something wrong?" He says all of this through a mouthful of foam, and it's a wonder that I'm able to understand him at all.

I gesture to the papers around me. "I can't write."

Cal pops his head back into the bathroom, holding up a finger for me to wait. The water running in the sink serves as intermission music, and he shows back up with better breath and a wet face. He picks up one of the balls of paper and reads it. I hear an, "Aww," and then a few chuckles before the ball is tossed at me.

"This one's good," he says, sifting through more paper debris.

I glance at the title, "Untitled", and instantly fold the paper up. "Not this one," I say softly. Cal is right, it is good, but there's no way I could read it to Blue. It's got too much detail, too much feeling. I don't want to scare him away by coming on too strong.

Cal whatevers me, then gets out his guitar and fiddles with it for a while, leaving me to converse with my thoughts. The poem burns in my pocket. I decide to keep it with me, just in case. After all, I haven't really got any other options.

I lay on my bed, waiting for inspiration to strike, as it always does. When my mind keeps returning to the poem, I take it out of my pocket and unfold it. Maybe I will perform it after all. What's the worst that could happen?

[X]

Kevin stands behind the counter at Wiggle's. He touches the foam ice cream cone on his hat and smiles excitedly. It's Monday, the day of Abel's poetry slam. Damon won't be coming to get him today-- Kevin lied and said that he had to work overtime.

Seymour comes in, looking a little more hospitable than usual, even venturing a smile. He ties on his apron, and looks curiously at Kevin, who normally bolts as soon as he shows up. "Expecting someone?" He asks softly.

Kevin blushes, hiding a shy smile. "Yeah, a friend's coming to pick me up, and I promised him an ice cream."

Seymour nods, pushing his dusty brown hair off of his forehead and fitting on his cap. "That's fine. I'll work register, you do the scooping."

Kevin bites his lip, nodding. He's excited, buzzing with excitement. He wants to see Abel perform again.

The shop's door bell rings, and Kevin flushes a hotter pink, adjusting his hair and pulling at his shirt. Abel walks into the shop, followed by Cal, who has fixed his hair into an afro.

He catches Seymour's eye and sends him a wink. Seymour, flustered, pretends to count the money, unused to the attention.

Abel smiles. "Hey, Blue." He leans across the counter to tweak the ice cream cone on Kevin's hat. "This is cute. It suits you, strangely enough."

Kevin looks down, trying to hide the fact that his face is bright red. "Thank you." He busies himself with fixing an ice cream. "Cookie dough, right?"

Abel, surprised yet pleased that Kevin remembered, says a soft, "Yeah, thanks."

Cal, meanwhile, is leaning against a table, maintaining seductive eye contact with a hesitant Seymour, who, despite his uncertainty, is holding his own quite well.

Cal is impressed, and decides to get a closer look.

Abel licks his ice cream spoon and lets out a pleased hum, and a tingle shoots down Kevin's spine. He tries to hide it, smiling and saying, "I'll be out in a minute."

He hurries to the back room to remove his hat and apron, grinning to himself the whole while. He's in such a rush to get back out to the front that he almost runs into a stubborn Seymour, who's refusing to give Cal his number.

Cal whines. "Oh, come on, please?" Seymour shakes his head, though he looks happy with his pleading. Cal sighs. "Fine. I'll leave my number here with you, and you can call me if you're interested, okay, cutie?"

Seymour resists the urge to blush at the nickname and hands Cal a napkin, trying to look indifferent. Cal grins, scribbles his name and digits on the paper, and runs out of the door, calling a goodbye over his shoulder.

Seymour holds the napkin for a moment, smiling to himself in the empty ice cream shop. Then he lets out an elated yell, the loudest he's been since elementary school, jumping up and down with excitement. He calms himself down, and fights a grin for the remainder of his shift.