Chapter Text
King Falls Colorado, May 2015
The shack on the mountain is old, dilapidated, falling apart, on a steady downhill slope, is sure to get condemned one of these days.
Ben’s unfazed. He doesn’t even notice the shingles falling off anymore. He trusts that the station isn’t going to betray him after all this time. It’s stayed in one piece this long enough. The station has looked like this since the first time Ben stepped foot inside, and that’s been years now. It doesn’t bother him; he’s comfortable here like he’s comfortable in his childhood bedroom.
He pulls into the station forty-five minutes early, jittery and nervous and slightly terrified for his first night producing the new big city radio guy’s show, and heads in to get the coffee going and go over the schedule he’d meticulously penned out for the night.
Sammy, on the other hand, is wary of the station when he pulls in, only fifteen minutes early, having gotten lost on the winding mountain roads. All he can see is the flaws - the dirty, smudged windows, the shingles flapping in the wind, the single lightbulb above the door flickering like something out of the first shots of a horror movie.
He doesn’t have that trust in the station that Ben does, but he pulls his jacket more tightly around himself to steel himself. He takes a deep and unsteady breath as he sits in his parked car, staring up at the building with trepidation, wishing he didn’t have to go inside.
His mind overrides his body eventually. Sammy gets out of his car, locks it, and walks up to the building, taking notice of only two other cars in the parking lot.
Chet Sebastian’s on the air, with his signature rumbling, smooth voice that matches the music he plays. Ben learned how to tune the jazz music out a long time ago, humming along to it as he sips his coffee.
It’s new to Sammy, who takes notice of Chet in the booth when he comes in, and can hear the strains of Frank Sinatra play faintly in the background.
“Hey,” Ben looks up when he sees the new guy enter. Tall, lean, long brown hair that’s long enough to curl behind the guy’s ears. He looks more lost than anything, and Ben quickly says, “You’re Sammy Stevens, right? The new host?”
“Yeah, yeah, I am,” Sammy clears his throat, straightens his shoulders. The other guy is small, young, Sammy can already tell he’s energetic by the way he’s smiling, nervous but excited. “You’re the producer here? Ben Arnold?”
“That’s me,” Ben grins, and gestures toward the coffee pot. “Um, do you want any? I brewed a pot right when I got here.”
“Yeah, sure,” Sammy says, feeling a kind of ache immediately. Someone he doesn't know doing something nice for him. It’s been awhile since that’s happened. Ben pulls a mug out of the single dilapidated cupboard above the sink. It’s not much of a break room, with the one cupboard matched by one rickety chair and one table, all paint-chipped and wooden. Sammy would be afraid to sit in the chair for fear of breaking it.
The mug says Best Small Town in America! on the side with a logo of a trio of evergreens. Sammy’s so preoccupied with taking notice of the details that he doesn’t hear Ben the first time he clears his throat.
“Um, how do you take it?” Ben asks as he pours the coffee.
“Uh, cream,” Sammy forces the awkwardness and uncomfortability out of his voice. “No sugar.”
“I’ll let you add the cream,” Ben says, his smile small but still overwhelmingly genuine in a way that Sammy can’t quite take. He even pulls the cream out of the cupboard for Sammy, and even though it’s an awful Nestle creamer, Sammy can’t not use it, it would feel rude.
“Thanks, I appreciate it,” Sammy says, his voice small in way Ben never expected from him, and moves closer to Ben to set the mug on the table and add the cream slowly.
Ben doesn’t want to be a geek in the first two minutes he knows the guy, but he can’t help but ask “So, Merv says you’re some kind of big city radio star.”
Sammy turns red, and Ben’s glad that he isn’t nearly as intimidating as Ben had been imagining as he prepared all week. Sammy seems ordinary, unassuming, just a regular guy, more humble than Ben anticipated.
“Uh, yeah, something like that,” Sammy mumbles under his breath, taking a sip of his coffee to avoid making eye contact with Ben.
“How’d you end up here?” Ben asks, because he can’t help himself. It’s not often someone new moves to town, especially someone so interesting.
“It’s a long story,” Sammy says with a slight laugh, one he hopes doesn’t sound too forced. He’s sure it’s the only true thing he’s going to say about how he ended up here, the real story feeling like a bruise that Ben’s pressing on just by asking the most innocuous of questions. “Merv sent me some info about the job, I was looking for a change, so I took it.”
Sammy swallows with some difficulty.
“I guess it’s not that long of a story,” he mutters, trying to obscure his face with the coffee cup inconspicuously. He doesn’t mention how many key details he missed. “What did Merv tell you about me?”
He wants to make sure any details line up, and it makes Sammy feel a little sick to his stomach, that he’s going to keep lying, after all this time, after all that’s happened. He still can’t get the words out. He was always supposed to have Jack next to him when the words came out.
Ben snorts and rolls his eyes. “Oh, Merv barely told me anything. You’ll learn soon enough that Merv is a name on a paycheck and an annoyed email when you do something wrong, and not much else. Never met him in person and I’ve been here for ages.”
“How’d you end up here, then?” Sammy asks, both to deflect from himself, and because he should probably know that kind of thing about his producer, even if he never imagined having a producer he didn’t already have memorized head to toe.
Ben tries not to shrink inside himself at the question. It isn’t that Ben is ashamed; he loves his hometown, its secrets and spooks and utter uniqueness. There’s nowhere else like it. But he knows how it sounds; staying in your small town years after graduation was hardly the most impressive to a literal radio star.
“This is where I’m from,” Ben says, deciding he may as well own it. “I’ve been at the radio station on and off for years, but I’ve always been in King Falls. It’s the best town in the world.”
He can’t help but get a little defensive, but Sammy just smiles at him.
“According to my mug,” Sammy says, lifting up the coffee in a faux-toast before he takes another sip. Ben sighs, relieved at the joke even as he blushes over the slightly embarrassing logo he hadn’t taken notice of before. “I guess I’ll reserve my own judgment after I’ve been in town a little longer.”
“You’ll love it,” Ben tells him, and hopes it’s true. “If you have any questions about the town or anything, just let me know. I know pretty much everything about the falls.”
“Well, you’ll have to show me the ropes,” Sammy says, and they both laugh. It’s clearly a joke; Sammy’s this radio professional who’s obviously lowering himself to take a job here, and Ben knows perfectly well he looks like he hasn’t aged a day since sixteen.
Still, it feels like a promise when Ben says “Gladly.”
King Falls Colorado, May 2005
“So, what are everybody’s summer plans?”
Ben shrinks further into his desk, playing with the strings on his hoodie and not making eye contact with Mr. Sheffield as he smiles benignly at the class, eyes bright and kind underneath his bifocals. Ben’s glad he sits in the back row as the whole class shuffles and murmurs and doesn’t answer.
“Come on, folks, who’s doing something fun ?” Mr. Sheffield says, and Ben winces when the slightest slur can be detected in his voice. Everyone already whispers in the halls about Mr. Sheffield liking alcohol a little too much, and Ben doesn’t want any of the administration to hear the whispers. Mr. Sheffield’s one of the only teachers that likes him.
Tentatively, Tori in the first row raises her hand. “Well, I mean, I’m working at the car wash, but before I start my family and I are going to California for vacation.”
“That sounds fun, Tori,” Mr. Sheffield smiles at her in praise. “Anybody else?”
A few other people pipe up with family vacation plans to places Ben can’t even dream of going, and all he can do is just stare at the desk in front of him. He doesn’t ever go on vacation. He’s only been to Denver a few times in his life, and that’s only a couple hours away.
“I’m just working,” Ben’s startled by Troy’s voice from next to him. Troy doesn’t look nearly as uncomfortable as Ben does, but there’s a self-deprecating tone to his voice even as a couple other students titter trailer trash and junkie father . “Out at the lumber yard.”
Ben can’t even feel sympathy for Troy. The lumber yard wouldn’t hire Ben, because Ben still hadn’t scraped the 5’3” mark on the ruler and couldn’t lift anything to save his life. Troy gets a couple sighs from girls even amidst the mean comments from the other guys, because Troy’s tall and strong and nice to look at. Ben just keeps shrinking.
“Me too,” Riley Bevins says from the front row. “Receptionist at Big Pine Campground.”
“I’m working Bent and Dent,” Pete pipes up like it’s something to be proud of and Ben feels something turn in his stomach. “So’s Benny Arnold, that right, Ben?”
Ben can feel too many eyes on him even though he doesn’t look up. The strings of his hoodie are white, and soft, and he runs them through his fingers.
“Yeah,” he says softly, not looking at anyone.
Someone else talks, and Ben can fade into the background again like he’s best at. It isn’t long before the bell rings, dismissing the students for summer break. There are a few scattered cheers in the classroom that Ben doesn’t take part in, instead shouldering his book bag and trying to get out of the classroom as fast as he can.
He’s not that lucky, though, and Mr. Sheffield stops him with a “Ben? Can we talk for one minute?”
Ben purses his lips, turns around from where he was about to escape out the door, and walks against the tide of swarming students to get back to Mr. Sheffield’s desk.
Mr. Sheffield smiles, and Ben know from the way his eyes aren’t quite in focus that he’s at least tipsy. Ben had plenty of practice with his dad, he knows what a drunk guy looks like, but Mr. Sheffield is kind and gentle and not anything like Ben’s father. At least Ben hopes.
“Didn’t I tell you at the beginning of the semester that you should apply to the radio station? Or Channel Three news?” Mr. Sheffield’s voice is so nice and unassuming it almost hurts, and then Ben’s the one not making eye contact. “You always talk about being a journalist someday. And I know they sometimes will let high schoolers come intern out there. It’d be a good fit for you, Benny.”
“It’s Ben,” Ben half-mutters under his breath. No one ever listens to him, but he may as well try to get rid of his childhood nickname before it’s stuck forever. Which it might be already. “And I looked into it, Mr. Sheffield.”
Ben grimaces as Mr. Sheffield looks questioningly at him. “Channel 3 didn’t accept my application. Said they only take eighteen and older. And the radio station can’t afford to pay me. They said I could help out on a volunteer basis, but. I need to save for college.”
Mr. Sheffield nods slowly, and Ben gets the uncomfortable feeling that he’s too perceptive for a man constantly on the edge of sobriety.
“Well, if you change your mind,” Mr. Sheffield says with kindness leaking into his voice that Ben appreciates, “my girl Esther just started her own show every night at six. I’m sure she’d like for you to help out if you’re off work by then. She’s got her own show, Benny! She’s doing a sewing corner.”
Mr. Sheffield sounds so proud that Ben can’t help but smile.
“I’m sure I’ll be working,” Ben says, because if there’s anything he’s sure of, it’s that Bill will create the worst possible summer schedule for him like always. “But thanks for the offer.”
“You call if you need anything this summer,” Mr. Sheffield says. “Just because we’re not in school doesn’t mean I can’t help out, alright?”
“Alright,” Ben forces a smile, already knowing he won’t call. “I hope you have a good summer, Mr. Sheffield. Maybe I’ll see you at the bass fishing tournament.”
Mr. Sheffield breaks into a wide smile. “Oh, me and Hersch have been preparing all year! You’ll have to work hard to pull one over on us!”
Ben laughs. “Wouldn’t dream of it. I’ll see you this fall.”
It’s kind of sad, Ben thinks as he gets out of the classroom and into the busy hallway, full of his classmates cheering and celebrating and socializing, that Mr. Sheffield is the closest thing he has to a friend at school. Not that he’s not grateful or anything, but it makes his chest hurt a little.
He gets to his locker, pulls out all of his books to pile into his bag. It’s the last day of school, and he’ll get blamed if the locker isn’t clean, so he takes the extra time to make sure there’s no paper scraps or eraser pieces floating around in there.
He pauses before he shuts the locker, the spray paint from that fall still visible even underneath the new paint job. No Friends Ben in bright red paint. The principal had been furious, apologized wholeheartedly to Ben, but had never figured out who’d done it, so no one was punished.
Ben thinks it was probably Pete Meyers, or else Chicken Foot Dixon snuck back into the school after graduating just to make Ben’s life worse all over again.
“Hey, Benny, how’s it going?”
Ben shuts his locker to find Troy on the other side, smiling like they’re the best of friends. Troy might also be the closest thing Ben has to a friend, but he doesn’t really count. They were friends back in middle school, that was all, and Troy was still nice to him even though they never hung out.
Troy would hang out if Ben asked, but Ben’s not going to ask. Just because he has no friends doesn’t mean he has no pride. He told Troy that their friendship was over years ago, and he’s sticking to that promise, no matter how lonely that makes him.
“Okay,” Ben says a little tentatively. “How are you?”
“I’m good,” Troy says, and Ben hates the way he leans against the lockers, practically looming over Ben. Ben always feels small, because he is, but never is it more pronounced and noticeable than with Troy. Troy’s more than a foot taller than him. Ben feels woefully inadequate in comparison. “Can I walk out with you?”
“I guess,” Ben mutters, hoisting his bag over his shoulder. It’s too heavy, but Ben’s not going to ask Troy to carry it for him, mainly because of that aforementioned pride. Troy’s blinking at him like he’s willing to offer, and Ben starts walking down the hall faster to dissuade him.
Troy doesn’t struggle to catch up. Obviously.
“So you’re working at the Bent and Dent,” Troy says. “That sounds fun.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Ben says and Troy grimaces. Ben knows what this is about now - it’s commiserating. Ben might still be on the fence about whether he can afford college, but there’s no question about it for Troy. He won’t be able to afford it, not even the community college here in town.
They make it out the front doors of the school into the bright May sunshine, and Ben shoves his hands in his pockets and heads in the direction of his house, hoping that’s the end of the conversation.
Even though Troy doesn’t live near him, he keeps walking next to Ben, shortening his strides to keep an even pace. It makes Ben unreasonably angry for absolutely no reason.
“Better than the lumber mill,” Troy tries to justify, but Ben knows he’s lying to make Ben feel better. “It’s just me and a bunch of guys who’ve already graduated. The only one I know is Tim Jensen.”
“Sounds like a better coworker than Pete,” Ben mutters under his breath and Troy half-grins at him.
“I’ll give you that, I s’pose,” Troy says as they skirt around the yellow school buses pulling out of the parking lot. “But you’ll see a lotta townsfolk. They’ll make conversation. I’ll be alone all summer.”
Ben snorts. “Yeah, conversation with all the little old church ladies who wanna pinch my cheeks. Everyone our age won’t even make eye contact.”
“You worked there for awhile, ain’t ya’?” Troy says quietly, and Ben nods.
“Every summer,” Ben says. “Sometimes during the year on the weekends if they need the help.”
“Least you’re used to it,” Troy says softly. “Well, I’m sure you’ll ring me up at some point and I promise I’ll make eye contact. Even smile.”
“Good for you,” Ben says and he knows it’s too sharp, that Troy’s just trying to be nice and Ben’s holding a grudge that should’ve expired by now. Troy gives him a hurt look, but Ben can’t find it in himself to forgive him even if he feels bad. Petty grudges are all Ben has to keep him company most of the time.
“I mean,” Ben says, figuring he can at least not be rude about it, “I hope you have a good summer, Troy.”
“You too, bud,” Troy says, and they walk in silence until Troy takes the next turn and waves goodbye to Ben as he goes.
Ben tightens the straps on his backpack and tries to think of something to look forward to this summer. He can sneak into the library and check out books about the history of King Falls. Maybe his mom will get him some books for his birthday this summer. It’s in August, so it’s a ways off, but it’ll give him something to plow forward toward.
Summer’s only fifteen weeks long. Ben’s counting down already. Not that school is much to look forward to, but at least when he’s in class Ben can pretend he has friends since he’s talking to people his own age every day. It’s going to become glaringly obvious in the next fifteen weeks that there’s not a single person Ben can call to hang out with.
Next week it’ll be fourteen weeks, Ben reminds himself as he gets closer to his house to motivate him to walk the rest of the day. It can’t be fourteen weeks until Ben gets home.
He’s surprised to see that his mom’s car already parked across the street, and when he unlocks the front door, he can hear her doing dishes in the kitchen, humming something off-key.
“Hi, Benny,” his mom calls as Ben deposits his bag on the couch. “Give me two minutes to finish up in here and then we’ll go out for lunch to celebrate! You made it through junior year!”
“I thought you had to work today,” Ben says as he enters the kitchen. His mom grins at him over her shoulder, the dishes clearly almost done, only two more plates left in the sink.
“We always get lunch on the last day of school,” she says as if it’s obvious, even though it isn’t often that Ben even sees her after school most days. She works three jobs right now, two full time and one part time, and now with Ben working full time this summer, that’s going to cut down their time together even more. “I had Dana cover my shift. I have to be at the hospital at four, but until then! Where do you wanna eat?”
“We don’t have to go out,” Ben shifts uncomfortably as he goes to sit at the kitchen table. “We can just have last night’s leftovers.”
His mom turns to frown at him, forehead creasing concernedly as she turns the sink off and removes her gloves. “What’s the matter, Benny?”
“What makes you think something’s the matter?” Ben mutters, and he knows it’s petulant sounding enough that his mom won’t be fooled.
He’s right. Betty Arnold is nothing if not predictably wonderful, and she comes to sit next to Ben, takes hand and squeezes it very gently.
“Alright, what is it?” she says, raising an eyebrow.
“We don’t need to spend any extra money,” Ben mutters and his mom sits up straighter, eyes narrowing.
“I know things are tight,” his mom says slowly. “But we can always afford to celebrate your successes, alright? And getting through another school year is a hell of a success, kid. C’mon, I guess I’m picking.”
“No,” Ben says, too quickly, and it sounds like a snap. His mom settles back into her seat, carefully examining Ben’s face but not saying anything, waiting for him to talk. She’s always been good about letting Ben come to her instead of the other way around.
And because Ben knows he can trust her, he finally relents and says, half under his breath out of shame, “I didn’t tell you this, but. The radio station told me I could be an intern there but they couldn’t pay me. I said no but - but it just sucks. It really sucks.”
“Oh, honey,” his mom reaches across the table to put an arm around him. “I’m so sorry. Did you talk to anybody about maybe getting alternative hours there? I mean, it’s radio, it goes all night long…”
“Somehow, those are the more popular shows so they’re more professional,” Ben says, laughing a little at the ridiculousness of it. “It’s alright, Mom. I don’t mind, I - I just hope getting to go to college is worth it.”
“It will be,” she promises, squeezing his shoulder tightly. “I promise you’ll get to go, Ben. No matter how many loans we have to take out, you’re gonna get to go to college. We’ll get you the help you need.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Ben says softly, knowing that she can’t promise that but appreciating it all the same.
“Don’t work too hard this summer, okay?” His mom smiles at him too gently as she lets go of him to ruffle his hair. Ben ducks, a little embarrassed at how nice the touch feels. “Spend some time with your friends, go out to parties, you know, high school stuff. Don’t grow up too fast.”
Ben nods, ignoring the sick feeling in his stomach. His mom’s not around enough on the weekends and evenings to know that Ben doesn’t have anyone who wants to spend time with him. No Friends Ben. It’s spray-painted on his locker. He had to beg the principal not to call his mom when it happened.
His mom’s sacrificed so much for him. Ben doesn’t want her to know what a failure he is.
“I will, I promise,” Ben says, and his mom grins brightly at him. He doesn’t feel too bad about the lie. He’s protecting her from the parts of him that no one needs to see.
Ben already reports to work at six the next morning, Bill looking him over with an eye roll.
“Honestly, Benny, you can take a single day,” Bill says, a little exasperated but Ben knows that it’s the only way to stay in his good graces, that soon Ben will do something to piss him off and this will be forgotten. “Go get your apron, kid. Craig’s supposed to be in too but we’ll see if that happens.”
Ben doesn’t mind Craig, and lets out a sigh of relief.
“The other summer boys are Petey, you know him,” Bill ticks off on his hand as they move around one another to get ready for opening.
“Unfortunately,” Ben mutters under his breath and Bill laughs.
“Oh, and Jacob. Do you know Jacob Williams?” Bill asks and Ben stares at him.
“The hell would you hire a Williams Boy for?” Ben asks him and Bill’s gaze gets a little sharper.
“No language in front of the customers,” Bill says. “And because I need the extra hands, Ben. Unless you wanna work overtime…”
“I can’t, can I?” Ben asks, looking out the window at the early morning sun rising over the mountaintops. He wishes he was outside instead of here. Maybe he’ll go on a hike after work. That’s something that might cheer him up. But he doesn’t have a car, so he can’t get to a trail. “I mean, I’m only sixteen.”
“Sixteen means you can work unlimited hours,” Bill reminds him. “Think about it, Benny. We could use the extra help, especially if you wanna see things done right around here. And you know Jacob Williams ain’t gonna do anything right.”
Ben knows it’s a guilt trip, and it makes him hesitate. But at the end of the day, it’s either the Bent and Dent or sitting at home in his room with bad Internet connection and X-Files reruns and wishing he was anyone but himself. At least here, he could make some money while he wished this wasn’t his life.
“Sure,” Ben agrees, but Bill’s smile doesn't make him feel any better. Ben knows perfectly well that he tries to hard to impress people he wants to like him, and he’ll let Bill talk him in to most things that he’s not comfortable with.
“You’re a good kid, Benny,” Bill says, and disappears into the back room when the cashier, Genevieve, shows up with a wave at the two of them.
“It’s Ben,” Ben corrects as he leaves, knowing perfectly well Bill can’t hear him, and even if he could, he wouldn’t listen anyway.
Minneapolis Minnesota, May 2005
Jack’s throwing up in the bathroom by the time Sammy finds him. Even drunk to the point of no return, Jack still grins at Sammy, wide and bright, when Sammy lets himself into the bathroom and shuts the door behind him.
“Hey,” Jack says, sounding too put together for a guy with his head in the toilet. “Wow, do I regret doing this tonight.”
“You don’t sound hammered,” Sammy says as he lets himself slide down against the bathroom cupboard, sitting opposite Jack. Their bathroom in their house is tiny - the two of them share the smallest one in the house, in the basement, between their bedrooms. It’s worth it not to have to share with any of the other guys. At least Jack keeps things clean and doesn’t make Sammy break out in hives at the idea of sharing space with him.
“I’m not, I don’t think,” Jack says, and Sammy looks pointedly at the toilet. Jack flushes it, and wipes his mouth. “I just think my tolerance for alcohol is going down. Already getting older…”
“You graduated college less than twelve hours ago, drama queen,” Sammy rolls his eyes. “I don’t think aging happens quite that fast.”
“You don’t know,” Jack says, argumentative just for the sake of it, but his smile gives him away.
Jack leans away from the toilet and against the opposite wall so he and Sammy are facing each other, their long legs running parallel. It wouldn’t take much physical effort for Sammy to lock their legs together, but it would take more mental effort than he’s had in his life.
“We should’ve just done something tonight, the two of us,” Jack says, glaring at the ceiling where there bass is pounding above them. “It would’ve been more fun.”
“Yeah,” Sammy says, ignoring the pang in his chest. “I’d say we could do something tomorrow, but I mean, you’re literally leaving first thing in the morning…”
The smile doesn’t leave Jack’s face, which makes Sammy feel like shit for half a second before he realizes that the smile is more mischievous than anything.
“What?” Sammy asks, propping his elbows on his knees as he stares Jack down. Jack just laughs. “Seriously, what is it?”
Jack doesn’t quite look at Sammy, though the smile still stays fixed to his face, as he says “Well, I might’ve pushed my flight to next weekend.”
Sammy blinks at him, not quite believing him for a second, but then Jack’s grin grows even wider and something expands in Sammy’s chest. “Really?”
“Really,” Jack says, eyes crinkling around the edges in the way that Sammy never fails to notice.
“I thought you needed time to move before your internship started,” Sammy says, because if he doesn’t question the logistics, something sappy is going to come out his mouth that he can’t take back.
Jack shrugs. “I can move in a day, it’s no big deal. And my parents will help me - a bonus of getting an internship back home.”
Sammy bites his lip, tries not to think about how Jack had spent the last two summers here, and pointedly doesn’t wonder what’s changed. He knows, on the surface, what’s changed - they graduated. They need to start thinking about their careers, their futures, and a job in Pasadena is probably going to get Jack more industry credibility than a job in Minneapolis.
A job in Minneapolis would help with connections here, but if Jack isn’t going to come back here, that’s not an issue.
“Do you still have things to do here, or…?” Sammy asks, because he doesn’t want to make any assumptions, and Jack immediately kicks his leg.
“Hang out with you for a week free from school and finals and work,” Jack says like it’s obvious, rolling his eyes. “You don’t start your internship ‘til the twenty-first, right? So we have plenty of time.”
“Well, it means our last hurrah isn’t going to be an awful house party, at the very least,” Sammy jokes so he doesn’t have to say anything more serious, and they both glare up at the ceiling where music is still pumping.
“We’re never getting to sleep tonight,” Jack sighs and Sammy hums in agreement. “Ricky said that his roommates are chill, so hopefully I’ll have to put up with less shit when I get down there.”
Sammy picks at the bathroom rug, spinning it around one of his fingers. Jack’s moving in with a friend of his from high school, a friend Sammy doesn’t know, a friend that isn’t Sammy, which really is the root of Sammy’s issue here.
“Well, Brad found a girl to sublet your room,” Sammy says, faux-shuddering. “I feel bad for her already, he’s gonna hit on her at any opportunity. Wish I was getting out of here, too.”
“Only three more months,” Jack says softly, and then quickly adds after a breath, “on your lease here, and then you can get out of Como and into a neighborhood with less obnoxious college bros and their nightly ragers.”
“Yeah,” Sammy says, knowing that wherever he goes, he’ll have to live with roommates, and if Jack isn’t coming back to Minnesota, none of them will be Jack. Which means he already knows they’ll pale in comparison.
“So what do you wanna do this week?” Jack says, obviously ready for a change in subject, as he grins and nudges Sammy’s foot with his own. “It’s my last week in Minnesota, so we better make it great. And the first step of making anything great is that we don’t hang out with any of our annoying as shit roommates.”
“Do you have to take your mom and dad to the airport in the morning?” Sammy asks and Jack nods.
“Yeah, my mom’s kinda pissed that I changed my flight date, but whatever,” Jack shrugs. “I’ll see her plenty this summer.”
And you won’t see me, Sammy can’t help but think, even as he tries valiantly to shut that part of his brain off. “Well, what kinda stuff do you wanna do? Tourist shit? Stuff on campus?”
“Let’s go up north,” Jack says like he’s already thought about it, and Sammy stifles a groan. A fake groan, one that Jack will easily recognize as Sammy’s don’t make me go outdoors groan. “C’mon, it’ll be on me - we’ll get a campsite, go hiking…”
“Kill your best friend by making him sleep on the ground…” Sammy says, trying to hide his grin. Jack had never been camping before he’d moved here, and Sammy very much regrets taking him camping to impress him back when they were freshmen. Well, no he doesn’t, he doesn’t regret anything with Jack, not really, even if he sometimes has to convince himself he does.
Still. Sammy and camping have never gotten along, and Sammy’s going to end up mosquito-bitten and with a sore neck.
But he can’t deny that a week up north with Jack sounds perfect. Even if that perfection makes his chest hurt since he knows he’s not going to get that feeling anytime again in the near future.
“Will you, though?” Jack asks, and he already knows the answer. Sammy can’t say no to Jack, especially when he only has one more week with him. Maybe forever.
Sammy has to block that thought out, the ramifications making him feel like he might need to take over Jack’s spot of having his head in the toilet, and tells Jack, “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do it.”
Sammy suffers through an awkward morning of getting breakfast with Jack’s parents, as Jack insisted that Sammy come along. Jack’s father ignores him while Sammy withers under the glare of Jack’s mother. He isn’t sure which is worse.
He stays in the car when Jack drops them off at the airport, and when Jack gets back it’s with a long, low sigh and a roll of his eyes as if to say that he knows, and he’s sorry he put Sammy through that.
Still, Sammy thinks it’s alright - if Jack wants him along for stuff with his parents, maybe that means that Jack’s not planning on saying a permanent goodbye at the end of the week.
“It’s a shame you can’t experience a Minnesota winter one last time,” Sammy hides a smile when they get back to their house and Jack’s piling camping stuff in the backseat of Sammy’s car. He’d borrowed a bunch of stuff from their roommates, as Sammy certainly didn’t come prepared with a tent and sleeping bag. But some of it was Jack’s that Sammy would probably inherit since Jack wouldn’t take it on the plane with him. Los Angeles wasn’t exactly outdoorsy.
“Fuck off,” Jack snipes as he throws more shit in the trunk, and Sammy laughs at the picture in his head of Jack seeing snow for the first time, giddy and excited at eighteen years old, while Sammy cursed at the sky for starting winter in October that year. “Winter and I came to an uneasy truce after four long years together.”
“What are the terms of that truce?” Sammy teases, moving around the car to help Jack cram shit in. Sammy had an extremely old and crappy Mazda that didn’t exactly have much room for camping supplies. “You leave for California four years later never to return and it doesn’t murder you?”
He doesn’t look at Jack when he says it.
“Something like that,” Jack says, a strange, quiet quality to his voice that Sammy can’t quite read. Together, they slam the trunk down.
Sammy lets Jack drive out of the city, thinking of how paranoid he’d been about Jack driving his car even two years ago. Now Sammy was more than happy to drift in and out of sleep while Jack messed with the dials on the radio and made intelligent-sounding comments about sound quality that Sammy just hummed along with.
Jack finds a campground that’s not booked up on the north shore, and Sammy lets him deal with paying while he wanders around the camp store, filling up his thermos with the free coffee they provide and grabbing a pack of marshmallows, the only good thing about camping as far as Sammy’s concerned.
“Hey, you ready?” Jack waves Sammy over to the front desk. “I bought firewood already.”
“I’ll cover the marshmallow tab, then,” Sammy says, rolling his eyes and getting out his wallet.
“Sorry if I dragged you from anything you had going on this weekend,” Jack says suddenly when they get out the doorway and start walking back to their car. Jack has a map of the campsite in one hand, and he isn’t quite looking at Sammy. “I changed my flight last minute, but I should’ve…”
“Dude, shut up, my week would’ve been boring,” Sammy rolls his eyes. “School’s done, MPR doesn’t start til Monday, and it’s not like I’m gonna go home for the week. The only thing you dragged me away from is Mario Kart. I mean, you’ve dragged me into the middle of the woods, where bears are going to eat us, so maybe I should be pissed at you ..."
Jack laughs, looking a little more carefree after that as they drive up to the far corner of the campsite.
Sammy, truth be told, would’ve spent the week in misery and adjusting the concept of being without Jack, a horrible state that Sammy only truly experienced once before, two summers ago. Christmas break wasn’t long enough to count. But Sammy was never one for truth-telling.
Sammy almost curses himself for never putting any effort into friendships outside of Jack - sure, there were people he could talk to, or go to parties with, or get a coffee with, but no one like Jack. But then again, Sammy didn’t think there could be anyone like Jack even if he’d put twenty times the work in.
The thought has to be pushed out of his head Jack forces him to help set up their tent and Sammy fucks it up at every turn. It’s worth it for Jack to help him, rolling his eyes and smiling all the while. Sammy can’t help but think this is the last time you’re ever gonna see him, at least like this .
He refrains from bringing it up until the sun’s gone down, Jack’s gotten a fire going that Sammy didn’t even kind of help with, and they’ve both had more than one s’more.
Jack’s laughing, wiping his burnt-marshmallow covered hands on his jeans, and the world seems so perfect in that moment that Sammy can’t help but ruin it.
“You think you’ll stay in LA after your internship is done?”
Sammy hates himself for asking, and can’t help but notice the slightest change in Jack’s expression, illuminated by firelight.
“I don’t know,” Jack says quietly, looking at the fire and not Sammy. “I guess it depends on who wants to hire me.”
He shrugs, self-deprecating, and Sammy hopes that that means he’s going to change the subject, but in the next second, Jack says “Do you think you’ll stay in Minneapolis after this summer?”
Sammy looks at his hands. “Well. I’m sure as hell not going back to Wisconsin.”
They both chuckle, but Sammy knows that Jack knows that this conversation is at least somewhat important.
“Well, it’ll be nice to be around family again, I guess,” Jack says, and Sammy reaches for more another marshmallow so it doesn’t look like he’s desperately clinging onto every word Jack’s saying. “But Lily’s in Chicago, and it’s most important to me to stay close to her.”
Sammy nods. Jack’s sister is an utterly terrifying human being who thinks of Sammy as a particularly annoying gnat, but Jack loves her more than anything, even if he has trouble showing it to her face.
“Lily likes Chicago a lot,” Jack says quietly, and then before Sammy can reply, he quickly says, “but it would be cool to live on the east coast. I mean, everyone dreams about ending up in New York City, right?”
“Alright, Los Angeles guy, don’t even start,” Sammy is relieved to find that he’s still got some jokes left to deflect from his real feelings. “You’re co-opting Midwest culture there. Just because you’ve lived here for four years doesn’t mean you’re one of us.”
“Remember when we met in class and I said I was from California and you looked at me like I grew another head?” Jack laughs, and even in the darkness, the fire lights up the crinkles around his eyes.
“Cause no one from California should ever want to come to school here ,” Sammy justifies himself, sticking by his guns. He still doesn’t understand how Jack ended up here - there’s a great journalism school here, Sammy! Sure Jack, whatever you say, is it worth the eight months of snow? - and thinks the universe probably played a cruel prank on him by letting Jack Wright into his life by random chance, and would probably snatch him up again any instant.
“I liked it here,” Jack declares as if it’s the final say on the matter. And really, it is, he’s leaving in five days. “I’m glad I came here. Maybe I’ll come back. I mean - you’re here, if nothing else.”
Sammy can’t look at him, can’t reply, it feels too much like a closing of a chapter, or maybe a whole book, and hearing Jack say that he’d come back to see Sammy feels wonderful and painful all at once.
“But Cali’s home,” Jack says, a little softer. “I’m glad I’m going back, even if it is just for the summer. Don’t know where I’ll end up, but I guess I know I can always go back there.”
“Well, those of us from Sconnyville can’t relate,” Sammy kicks half-heartedly at Jack’s foot that’s closest to him. "And ...for what it’s worth...I’m glad you came here, too. If only to see you absolutely incapable of walking to class in a blizzard.”
“No one should!” Jack insists. The conversation shifts from there, to more comfortable topics that make it easier for Sammy to breathe.
The week goes too fast, but Sammy knew it would. Four years went too fast. It feels like he and Jack should still be eighteen and copying each other’s notes while they sit on Sammy’s crappy dorm room bed and make fun of his perpetually sloppy roommate. They shouldn’t be adults entering the workforce on different sides of the country.
Sammy drives Jack to the airport, and unlike when they’d dropped Jack’s parents off, Sammy pays to park without saying anything, and walks in with Jack. He would usually be paranoid about how any gesture he made toward Jack was received, but if this was the end, then Sammy couldn’t bring himself to overanalyze everything.
He didn’t want it to be the end, but Sammy wasn’t stupid. You didn’t make major life decisions based on your best friend. You just - didn’t. It wasn’t something adult men with real lives and real jobs took into consideration.
No matter how much Sammy wanted to quit his internship last minute, give up all his belongings, and buy a ticket to Los Angeles here and now.
He and Jack hang out, and it’s like it always is, talking and laughing and joking and skirting around the topic of goodbye. They’re early, so Jack puts off getting into the security line so they can get coffee together, sit in a booth and pretend like they’re on campus.
“Well, we live in a post 9/11 world, otherwise I’d say you should wait at the gate with me,” Jack shrugs, so casual Sammy knows he has to be pretending, as they stand at the start of the security line. “I hope MPR’s amazing.”
“I hope California’s amazing,” Sammy says, not meaning it in his mind, but it becomes true when he says it out loud. He wants Jack to be amazing in general, whether Sammy’s around to see it or not. Jack’s the best guy he knows.
They stand awkwardly shifting, not quite looking at each other, but only for two seconds before Jack leans in to hug him. Sammy doesn’t think about how it looks, and puts his arms around Jack and wishes time could stop.
“I’ll miss you,” Sammy says without meaning to, the words spilling out of him because what if this really is the last time he ever sees Jack? He knows, logically, that he’ll certainly see Jack again, but what if it’s in three years and they’ve both changed so much they’re unrecognizable? What if Jack’s introducing Sammy to his girlfriend then? What if the next time hears from him is an invitation to Jack’s wedding?
They’ll see each other again, but Sammy doesn’t know if it’ll be as best friends who know each other inside and out, or as perfect strangers who just happened to cross paths for four years.
“I’ll miss you, too,” Jack says, and he sounds just close enough to choked up that it makes Sammy start to wobble, and he holds onto Jack for longer so that Jack doesn’t have to see his face.
“I’ll call you,” Jack says when he lets go, and Sammy already misses the contact. “I’ll call you once I’m moved in and work’s started. We both have the same first day, so - so you can tell me about MPR.”
“Okay,” Sammy says, glad of something to look forward to, no matter how small. “Good.”
“We can talk when we’re not too busy,” Jack says. “Call whenever you can, alright? The time difference is only two hours, it’s not that big of a deal.”
“Right,” Sammy says, forcing a smile, already seeing a future of missed calls and voicemail messages. “I - I guess you’d better get going, then.”
“Yeah, I - I guess,” Jack says, looking behind him at the security line that’s grown since the two of them had approached it only minutes before. “Don’t do anything crazy while I’m gone, alright?”
“You’re the crazy one here, not me,” Sammy reminds him and Jack grins. “Take care of yourself. Call - call when you can.”
Sammy stutters when he tries to speak again, and goes silent instead of continues. He’s not going to get out any of the words floating around in his head, and Jack leans in to hug him one more time before he gets in line.
Sammy can’t stay please don’t go any more than he can say please come back . Any more than he can say I love you.