Chapter 3 - Bobo / Fool
Bobo / Fool
Look — so there was a flaw in Dylan's plan, alright?
Turns out, it's a lot harder to avoid a guy when he’s in not one, but two of your MassComm classes; is assigned as your damn term project partner; and — oh yeah — just so happens to know where you work.
Unfortunately, the late hour meant there was almost no one else in the lab to give Dylan warning when Ashton suddenly appeared at Dylan's elbow.
Startled, he nearly dropped the toner cartridge he was struggling to reseat in the hopes that might finally clear Ahab's supremely unhelpful flashing red error light; before he too went mad attempting to get the printer back online and working again.
Instead, now he was practically hugging the machine’s hard plastic chassis, his heart racing, cartridge held in his white-knuckled grip.
"?Ah, cabrón! Don't fucking sneak up on a guy like that!" Dylan snarled at the interloper.
Ashton just looked down at the printer cartridge in Dylan's hands, brow furrowing as he frowned. "Think you got ink on your hands," he pointed out, feigning concern.
And Christ Almighty, he was right. Damned stuff was all over Dylan's left hand.
"?Me cago en tóner que mamaste del pezón de satanás!" Dylan hissed at the massive beige printer, slapping Ahab's pale ass with the palm of his — still clean — right hand.
The machine began to whir, and Dylan quickly shoved the cartridge back in with perhaps a little more force than was strictly needed. But miracle of miracles, the red light switched to green and no other reds joined it, so at least Dylan had one thing going for him tonight.
Now, to take care of problem number two…
Dylan turned to Ashton, glowering. "What do you fucking want?"
"You weren't — " Ashton swallowed back whatever he was about to say, glancing around them.
There were two students by the rear wall working on their papers together.
Not like, together-together. Just sitting next to each other, heads down, headphones in.
Over at the main desk, Paige didn't even need to check and make sure they weren't watching porn on the staff computer; their screens were visible from across the room.
Still, it was enough that Ashton dropped his voice as if he and Dylan were in some kind of spy movie.
"You weren't upstairs," Ashton tried again. “At the party.”
"Never said I'd be, did I?" Dylan shrugged. Ashton followed him like a stray dog hoping for a meal as Dylan wandered back over to the computer lab's main desk and the roll of paper towels that'd be waiting under the counter. "Said that if you went up there, you'd have your answer. So did you go?"
Ashton glared, but gave a slow nod.
"Really?" Dylan glanced over, grinning as he tried wiping the toner off. "Why?"
Geez, the guy's impression of a big confused golden retriever was unparalleled. It almost made Dylan feel bad.
Almost.
"Why? Uh, because you said — " Ashton cut himself off, scowling. "I mean, I thought we were gonna…"
"Gonna what, straight boy?" Dylan muttered, distracted as he scowled down at where the toner was stubbornly clinging to the three fingers of his left hand.
But Ashton just glanced over at Paige. She wasn't even trying to be subtle about watching them, scissors held mid-cut on more of those snowflake chains she'd been taping up around the lab most of the night.
Aw, fuck it.
"Hey, Paige — can you cover the desk for a bit? I inked myself," Dylan said, holding up his hand as proof.
She laughed, but waved him on. "Twenty minutes, then it's my lunch break. And you gotta swear to keep three feet on the floor at all time!"
"Him?" Dylan shot her a disgusted look. "Please, I have standards."
"Uh, no you don't, Dill," she countered with an unrepentant grin. "Didn't I see you disappear last week with the new guy on the janitorial staff who doesn't speak a lick of English — or Spanish — and you'd met him, what… five minutes before?"
"Um, excuse you. It was at least a half hour, and we have a connection that transcends language," Dylan informed her, tossing the stained paper towel into the trash.
"Whatever you say," she said, the laughter thick in her voice.
"I do say." Dylan gave a mock sniff. "Besides, Pavlo is hung like a horse. If you ever see it, you'll understand."
"Ah," Paige nodded sagely. "Now that I believe."
Dylan just smirked at her as he grabbed his water bottle from the desk, figuring he might as well get a refill since he was going anyway. It was a big bottle, and Paige always teased him for never letting it fall below half. But when full, it'd make a decent club in a pinch.
And once she's been running for two days in the summer heat with no water, then she can tell me how to live my life. Not before.
"C'mon, fresa." Dylan grunted at Ashton, already heading for the double doors at the back of the lab. Beyond them lay the rest of the building, and eventually, the restrooms where hopefully Pavlo had remembered to refill the damn soap this time.
Beside him, Ashton jogged to keep up. "What's that mean?
"Fresa?" Dylan asked, thinking up a lie fast. "Oh, uh… slang for tough guy."
Can't very well tell him it means I think he's a soft, snobby rich kid, can I?
"Like that anime character?" Ashton paused abruptly outside the door to the men's room, staring as if there was a big 'radioactive' symbol painted across it.
"Uh, sure," Dylan answered him without slowing down, honestly not knowing or caring if it was the truth as he called over his shoulder — "Not that one."
A long hall, two lefts, an awkward elevator ride up, a right, and another slightly shorter hallway later, and then Dylan was pleased to find there was soap today.
He continued ignoring his new shadow in favor of scrubbing at where the ink had gotten between the three fingers of his left hand, and — aw, for fuck’s sake — even across the scarring over his missing pinkie.
"Why are we all the way up here?" Ashton grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning his shoulder against the grey tile.
"Well, I am up here to get this stupid mess off my hand.
And I figured if you're going to follow me around like a lost puppy, then maybe you'd prefer the bathroom that’s always empty this time of night, instead of the lab's downstairs that's busier than Zócalo on the Day of the Dead," Dylan said, rinsing off his third attempt at soap and scouring, with frustratingly little success.
Damn. He'd gotten the worst of the actual ink off, but the stubborn stain looked as if it wasn't going anywhere, like a dark shadow soaked into his skin. Dylan scowled at it, and then at the other stubborn shadow plaguing him today; both just as sullen and silent.
"The question is," Dylan said pointedly, wedging himself into Ashton's personal space under the guise of grabbing a couple of paper towels from the dispenser. "Why are you here?"
Ashton was quiet for a long while.
"Why?" he finally asked, his voice strained.
"Yeah." Dylan rolled his eyes. "That's what I’m asking."
"No, I mean… Why'd you say all that? About — "
"About you maybe being gay?" Dylan guessed, incredulous. "Because I was messing with you, dip shit. I was bored, and stuck in that closet, and you were being an ass. You really think I care if you are or aren't? Because — Hello! Wake up! — I don't."
"Oh." Ashton's throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. "I didn't know if, like… I mean, obviously, I'm straight. But if I'm giving off a, uh — a sense…"
"Your giant 'Insert cock here' tramp stamp's a bit garish for my taste, I'll admit," Dylan shrugged. "But you aren't pinging some kind of gaydar, if that's what has your nips in such a twist."
Ashton was quiet again; not so much doing an impression of some purebred golden retriever this time, but a lost mutt who'd been left out in the rain.
Dylan sighed, absolutely not feeling anything like sympathy for the guy.
"Look," Dylan said against his better judgment. "It was just a kiss. It doesn’t have to be this serious. But are you really gonna chase me all the way up here, then try and tell me you weren't into it? I was there, güey. Your tongue was in my mouth, and it was hot."
"This is stupid," Ashton finally muttered, and Dylan could not have agreed more. "I'm not here to play games with you."
"Then stop." Dylan huffed, completely exhausted by the stunned expression on Ashton's face, and just — God above — by his entire deal. “Why are you so afraid?”
All this time Ashton was wasting, as if he needed to make up his damn mind about it all? It made Dylan want to grab him by that stupid popped collar and scream in the guy’s face.
"I don't get you, Ashton. You have everything, and it's all fucking handed to you! Why do you act as if you can’t have this too? Man, aren't you tired?"
And okay, Dylan had absolutely not meant to wade into the deep end with this guy, much less go diving headfirst. It was…
God in Heaven, but it was all way too close to those stupid stuck up idiots in the Telenovelas his abuela used to watch; swanning around in their fancy clothes and houses as if they had such problems, instead of just going for the thing they wanted.
Not that I’m much better; wasting Ashton’s time, messing with him like this…
"C'mon," Dylan said, throwing the paper towels in the trash and grabbing Ashton's hand. "Wanna show you something upstairs."
"Upstairs? But we're on the top floor," Ashton pointed out, clearly confused.
But — and this was the important bit — he didn't let go of Dylan's hand as he led them out of the men's and down the hall; those fingers fitting around Dylan’s, firm and trusting.
"Well, there's the top," Dylan conceded. "And then there's the top isn't there?"