Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ My Happy Ending ❯ So Much For My Happy Ending, pt. II ( Chapter 2 )

[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN STATIC OR ANY OTHER ASSOCIATED CHARAS!!




Chapter Two:
So Much For My Happy Ending, Pt. II



Ivan Evans had learned to appreciate things far too early in his life. He had learned some lessons the hard way, and had taken a few hits in the name of pride and power. While others would call him stubborn, controlling and manipulative, most didn’t take the time to look beyond that barrier to consider how he had come about that way.

He had been born to a couple that had been young, reckless and more selfish than giving. His mother was sixteen when he was born, and Adam had come along three years later. His father had been a proud dreamer in his mid-twenties, and both had thought that they’d had it all in terms of maturity. Things had gone considerably fine with welfare, Salvation Army hand-outs and an occasional community act of kindness, but money was always a problem. While the young couple worked hard–with Savannah working at a mall outlet clothing ship and Dyrell working as a cab driver–they just hadn’t had the advantage to stay ahead of bill collectors and rent. Raising two young boys put a strain on their relationship, and soon, Savannah began coming home less and less.

Ivan, being three years older than his brother, had learned at a young age to take care of his younger sibling. Helping his parents with that aspect, he was changing diapers, making and warming up bottles, hurrying off to tend to his mother’s every whiny need. When Adam didn’t want to stop crying and his parents were getting noticeably agitated at the constant sound, Ivan was there to take his brother to the other room to get him quiet. Ivan was the one to take over Adam’s needs when Savannah finally left them. He was the one doing all the babysitting when Dyrell couldn’t afford it, and began working overtime in an effort to keep them afloat. Social services came along, and it was either by luck or chance that they’d avoided being taken into the system.

But then, an unfortunate testing at the community clinic resulted in Dyrell being diagnosed with breast cancer. Shamed at obtaining a ‘woman’s disease’, Dryell disregarded the diagnosis and continued on with life. It was unfortunate when the pain kept him from working some days, and finally devastating when he passed away, curled up in bed. By this time, Ivan was nine and Adam was six, but Ivan was far more mature than his years let on. Understanding that his father was dead, that the foster system would separate them, Ivan left that apartment with a rollalong suitcase and his younger brother, determined to continue. They wandered the streets for almost a year in this fashion; he stole, took half-eaten food from dumpsters behind restaurants and even managed to snag a drug dealer’s attention, earning some money to carry drugs on his person from one place to another.

But soon the system caught up to them, and they were separated briefly while each Evans brother was forced to deal with one foster home after another. They were reunited a year later, and this time was taken into a home that had too many kids, with too many careless adults. By the time the two were teens, Ivan was already immersing himself into the comfort of gangs, and Adam was following along in his footsteps.

Their history, as damaging as it was, kept a secure hold on them both. While Adam began moving to another path, Ivan was momentarily powerless over his younger sibling. At this age, Adam began wanting to forge a different future for himself. He’d learned he was talented in music, and wanted to pursue that aspect. Despite their different outlooks, Ivan was still so closely protective and controlling over his younger brother; it was how he was raised, it had been his only setting all his life. So when Adam wanted to go his separate ways, Ivan was pretty shook up.

But he hid his feelings behind a hard edged mask, and continued living with the comfort of gangs until the Big Bang.

That had been something he’d regret, and would continue to regret throughout his life.

He had been drugging pretty hard, and was already one foot into prison with his crimes. Adam had been with him that night, trying to convince him to drop the gang, to start anew with a rehabilitation program and a better life. In his state, Ivan hadn’t been able to keep Adam from inhaling the thick gas, and he’d felt that failure as sharp as a knife in his gut. The guilt stayed with him, even as Adam realized his battle was a lost cause.

By this time, seemingly powerless all his life and startled at the power he’d suddenly gained, Ivan changed from a troubled youth to a powerful Bang Baby known as Ebon. Ebon took over where Ivan could not, and had all the power the youth lacked in his childhood.

But, as all things did, that came to an end with the arrival of Static and the cure.

After the rehab in the metahuman clinic and his time served in prison, Ivan suddenly found himself at an apex in life. All things considered, he would have returned to the streets; but he hadn’t counted on the fusion with Francis.

With that night, the two had emerged with more knowledge than they ever knew about each other. Ivan now looked at the former Bang Baby as a sort of stand-in for Adam’s absence. And Francis looked at him as family he hadn’t had.

It was something wholly unexplainable. The doctors at the rehab center had joked that they were misplaced twin brothers. Their relationship had strengthened in rehab and prison; they often sat together, muttering their conversations, already knowing what the other wanted or was thinking before it even had to be said.
Both of them reluctantly began to accept this change when they were released. They managed to score an apartment with Shiv and Dominic (formerly Kangorr), and had resigned themselves to living normal and sticking close to their parole. As time passed, their link seemed to dull just slightly enough for them to enjoy themselves without having the other interfere. Quite noticeable, it was agreed that the link was slowly ebbing away, leaving them less affiliated with each other.

And then Francis had to fall in love with Richie. Which complicated things even further.

Ivan had never considered that Francis was a poof. Never even drifted in that direction in all this life. But when Francis began showing Richie around, bringing him to their hangouts, making sick with the undoubtedly nerdy blond, Ivan had words with the redhead. Everyone had had words about it; Francis had endured a lot of ridicule and mocking words that hurt for the blond, but he was steadfast in his choice. When it became obvious that every push Ivan and the others had made to separate them–knowing that Richie’s friends and family were doing the very same thing–just drew the pair closer together, Ivan had to step back. He realized that pushing Francis away wasn’t going to help either of them. Because while he felt vehement in his decision, Francis felt even more so.

So, with much admitted reluctance and a lot of grumbling, Ivan stopped pushing and just accepted. Years ago, he wouldn’t have relented. He would have had someone take Richie permanently out of the picture.

While he recognized that he did NOT feel the same way toward Richie as Francis did, he recognized that he was attracted; retaining the powerful feelings that Francis had and somehow mingling among his own.

He was quite sullen when Francis then announced they had gotten married; Ivan felt that he’d made a really stupid decision. They’d had words, that night–but Francis proved stubborn and stuck close to his husband, who wisely chose to stay out of Ivan’s way during that time. It was severely awkward for Ivan himself to interact with someone that he’d manipulated and used during his time as Ebon. But as their relationship continued to strengthen, and Francis moved out to be with him, Ivan just had to accept what had happened, and deal with it. As he had all his life.

But that didn’t mean he had to be happy about it.

Custom Auto Shop had been the only place to accept them so soon after their stint in prison. Requiring only that the two be dedicated and willing to learn, they became apprentices to their respective fields, and became quite good at them. Ivan had learned how to install stereo systems rather than stealing them; Francis had learned how to detail eye catching designs. Both worked theirselves up the chain until they began working on their own, and earning envious salaries. It helped that their reps brought interested clients for curiosity, because that helped spread the word about the Auto Shop.

Ivan had taken another job simply because he wasn’t interested in installing stereos all day, and found some freedom in an independent music store. He made enough money to keep himself from looking frumpy, from living frumpy, and to avoid unnecessary trips down memory lane.

While he’d slowly come back from his young life’s stint down the wrong path, there was another issue that he hadn’t yet resolved; that of his relationship with his younger brother, Adam. He’d felt hurt and twisted when Adam had chosen Static over him, seemingly turning his back to him after all the hard years of raising and struggling. He’d felt cheated and horribly disrespected. While he still, on a small level, cared for his younger brother, he no longer felt he was needed in his life. They had reunited on civil terms; Ivan had reluctantly gotten to know the Hawkins’, Adam’s new family after he’d married Sharon Hawkins. Ivan had felt uncomfortable in a setting that had been a far cry from their childhood, and hadn’t taken to Adam’s new life very well. A lot of resentment, hurt and anger still mingled among them, and it had taken several severe fights until Adam realized that Ivan didn’t want any part of that life.

When that was acknowledged, the brothers parted ways once more, Ivan finding some mingle of relief with hanging out with Francis and the others. At least he could count on them for that relief. They all knew where they had come from, and what was expected of them, and didn’t have expectations that exceeded their limits.
Ivan Evans had lived a hard life; and it reflected in his personality. He wasn’t as forgiving as the others, nor was he kind-hearted or accepting. There wasn’t a miracle turn-around for him; he simply lived and spoke as he had without any of the negative actions he’d taken up til then.

The only real bad habit he kept was smoking. And perhaps a disregard toward others’ that annoyed him.

But there was one thing that Ivan privately enjoyed in this newfound life; that was security. Security of knowing that he was settled, of knowing that he had friends, of knowing that he wasn’t being hounded for some recent crime he’d committed. Security and a sense of belonging. Some of the things that a family possessed. While he wouldn’t confess that he was happy in this aspect, fearing disrespect by those that knew him, it often showed in his actions when he least expected it.

SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.

Their house had been something offered from one of Francis’ old friends, from before the first Big Bang. As long as they continued to pay rent month to month, the house would stay in their possession. Small, on the east section of Dakota near the city limits, it was a quaint blue and white trimmed house that conjured pictures of immaculate lawns and dutifully cared for flower pots.

The lawn was living, grasping at the runoff from the neighbor’s sprinkler system, and there was a flowerpot sitting outside the front porch–it was just a collection of spent cigarette butts and crushed cans of various liquids. There were a few privacy hedges lingering here and there, but they were surviving on miracles as well.
The front porch was a simple stairway and wooden walk space that creaked with every step, and groaned when more than one person crossed it. The overhang was whitewashed, sturdy, and a few supports bore cruel black spots from someone putting their cigs out on it.

The happy couple had made it their home, furnishing it with furniture that was either second hand or pieces they’d found off the streets outside the more wealthy residences of Dakota. Walking in, one immediately entered the living room, which was a rough rectangular shape with a sliding door covered by faux-wood vertical blinds on the back wall. The couch was pressed against the wall closest to the front door, with a single bookshelf on the end, the shelves surprisingly covered with house plants that fared far better than the ones outside did. The colors of the living room actually coordinated, with warm peach and cocoa accentuating the walls and furniture.

The coffee table was pretty battered–it survived numerous men wrestling on it, kicking it, slamming it around in anger, and a fall from the vehicle that had brought it over from the west side. The end tables were nothing more than hastily put together cubes from Target, with touch lamps on each side. There were comfortable floor pillows and overstuffed throw pillows laying carelessly throughout the area. The entertainment center held a proud fifty two inch television screen, and was surrounded by a stereo system, DVDs, CDs, game consoles, accompanying remotes, controllers and pictures that Richie had put together of their families and friends. Settled comfortably atop were more houseplants, their leaves and run-offs pinned and dangling here and there throughout the center.

The kitchen was a simple area–it was blocked off by a bar-style counter, the surface covered with various magazines, plants, mugs and various kitchen need-to-haves. The shelves were filled with food, the sink was immaculate, and the fridge protested continuous abuse as it was settled near the bar-style counter, and many a large body had slammed into it; either due from wrestling, clumsiness, or just plain neglect based on whatever running emotion. There was a wood door that led into the single garage and a small area reserved for the washer and dryer.

From the living room was a hall that led into the back–on the left was the guest bathroom, which was currently in need of a cleaning. But it was stocked with necessary rolls and scented candles and sprays that often ended up mysteriously ‘missing’. The door on the right led to a very small room that fit only a full sized bed, a beat-up book shelf, a corner stand that held a computer and various other various equipment that Richie felt he needed. The closet held various knick-knacks within. The master bedroom was the last door on the left. On the back wall of the hall was a line of flat mirrors that reflected the activities of the living room, and opened up the small space.

The master bedroom was large enough for a king sized bed, a large dresser fitted tightly against the back wall, and a small closet. The bed took up most of the space, and the floor was immaculate. The bathroom that led off to the side was also immaculate, this area off-limits to the moochers that dropped by. The colors were dark and warm, inviting mixtures of blue and brown. The king sized bed was set up against the window, and missed the headboard and footboard.

All in all, the small house was cozy, and it was kept as clean as was able.

When Richie had first moved in, he’d been pretty excited over having his own place. He and Francis were the types to be organized and set against messes and stereotypes. They had kept the house clean with daily rundowns here and there, but when Ivan and the others came over, all they could hope was that things were at LEAST out of the pathways.

The back yard was the place where the males enjoyed the most–it was also the more paid attention-to-places on the small lot. The lawn was lush and green, well taken care of, the privacy hedges trimmed and groomed...there was a horse-shoe pit lining the seven foot tall back wooden fence, and a barbeque pit off to the side. The deck had been furnished the year before the pair had taken over, the roof whitewashed and the railings freshly painted. There was a large mulberry tree right in the center, near the deck, and provided ample shade and noise when one wanted to escape the madness within. There were outside deck chairs fitted with overstuffed cushions, and a chaise that had taken over one corner of the deck space. The wooden stairs lead down to the lawn, but there was a rock pathway that led to the wooden gate that led out into the front.

This was one of Richie’s favorite places to be. Their neighbors were spaced comfortably away so they wouldn’t be bothered by the constant noises coming from the back yard, and there was a sense of privacy that was granted from the high wooden fence.

It was mid-morning, and Richie was enjoying the emerging warmth as he fiddled with the morning paper. Francis was still passed out on their bed (surprising, as the redhead was capable of disappearing for a full weekend), and Shiv had finally conked out on the couch. Not really caring about bothering either, Richie had busied himself with other things.

All that time, he struggled with not getting angry, or upset.

Enough time had passed so that honeymoon phase of their marriage had passed. He’d gotten used to the dwindling acts of affection, the attention and the spellbinding connection that had pulled him to the redhead. They had gotten entirely used to each other in the sense that nothing seemed or felt new, anymore. They didn’t make any efforts to surprise or shower affection on each other, and even sex had begun to feel like a job whenever they had it. It wasn’t as if he were falling out of love with him–it just seemed as if the magic had left the newness and the purity of the relationship had grown stale.

Francis spent many of his available hours away from home, and Richie often felt as if he were being avoided purposely. At the same time, he found his own ways to occupy himself, but the continuing insecurity in that Francis was losing all his interest in his young husband was enough to give him doubts and a niggling of fear.

He loved his husband; he loved being able to settle down at night knowing he was nearby; loved waking up next to him in the morning. He loved being able to hold his hand in crowded places, and loved hearing him talk about his day whenever he came home. He loved his ideals, and his simple outlooks on life.

But things had grown too comfortable, so that nothing seemed new or exciting anymore, the spark fading with a disappointing feeling of failure and confusion.

When they’d met, a couple of months after Francis’ rehab and prison stint, both had been pretty surprised that they’d clicked so easily. No questions were asked when they started hanging out together, and shock didn’t even occur when that progressed to hooking up in various, secluded areas around Dakota. They’d found much of what they felt they were missing in each other, and both admitted that physical intimacies were some of the best they’d had. When the big ‘L’ word started to be tossed here and there, things had changed from happy-merry to pretty-damn-content.

Richie had been so sure that Francis was The One; after all, they had endured a lot of ribbing from their families and friends once they found each other, and had even endured a month-long separation because Sean hadn’t liked Francis one bit, sending his son off to New York City to stay with relatives. But Francis had followed him there, and brought him back, much to Richie’s parents’ dismay.

When Sean began threatening legal action–for Francis was three years older than Richie–his son turned around and filed for emancipation. Upon realizing how serious things were getting, how out of control, Sean finally backed off. Then, barely a month after Richie had turned eighteen, they had gotten married. It had taken Sean over six months to get around to acknowledging the pair of them, and Sean still continued to dislike Francis

Richie had admitted to himself that he’d sacrifice and do what it took to stay with him. He was fully prepared to throw everything away if it meant making Francis happy.

Still, all things considered, they were still young; Richie had admitted to himself that he felt he were missing out on things. Francis was his first true love; his first everything. There were times when he’d look at another male and wonder, What If?...

He tried to not think that way.

He looked up when he heard the glass door being opened, sliding with a protest that made him wince. He watched Ivan step out, glaring sullenly at the sun. Despite the feeling of awkwardness that he still felt around this man, Richie managed to give him a sunny smile when Ivan caught sight of him.

He almost walked back inside; but Ivan was really craving a cigarette. He begrudgingly acknowledged the blond with a curt nod, and shut the door behind him.

Richie returned his attention to the paper.

He smelled the scent of Ivan’s cigarettes, and wrinkled his nose. Ivan always smoked Marlboro Golds. Richie had seen this countless of times and while he disliked the scent and the potential of danger in those things, it was something he wasn’t going to lecture into.

It felt odd sitting there in silence, and he felt forced to make conversation.

“So...did you guys have fun last night?” he asked, clearing his throat. “You guys are in pretty early.”

Ivan had his back to him, and was staring beyond the back fence, the smoke curling from the lethal cancer stick he held in one hand. Richie waited, then nervously wondered if he should repeat himself. Still not getting an answer, he shrugged.

Ivan looked back at him, his black eyes narrowing as he considered the blond’s bowed head, the worn jeans. He remembered that he’d borrowed his sweatershirt last night, and brought the cig to his mouth with a thoughtful expression.

“Francis still out?” he asked casually, disregarding the first question.

Richie blinked, then nodded before giving a verbal confirmation.

Ivan frowned, dropping the ashes over the side of the railing.

He didn’t know why Richie even bothered. What could they have to say to each other? All they had in common was Francis.

He thought about the busty brunette Francis was all over on last night.

Richie looked back up at him, frowning as he tried to think of anything more to say. “Did you get wasted?”

Ivan gave him a disgusted look, for even thinking that was possible. “No.”

Richie shrugged again, leaning back on the deck chair. Folding his hands on his lap, he frowned at Ivan as he continued to smoke.

“Did you guys stay out of trouble last night?” he then asked a few minutes later, when Ivan’s cigarette died.

Ivan gave him a considering glare. “Don’t even start to pry.”

“I’m just asking.” Richie glanced away, to reach up and play with one of the diamond studs in his ear. “Um...your clients....? Did they have fun?”

Ivan thought of the brunette that had sat on Francis’ lap all night. That when they finally left, her friends had to carry her out. “Yeah.”

“I really wish I could go. ”

Ivan tried to picture the blond at the dark, smoky club they frequented. He thought of all the regulars that attended; how many of them knew Francis personally. He had to snort. “Like you could fit in in that sorta place, anyway. Whatcha gonna do? Sit there and whine all evening?”

“...I don’t whine.”

“Shit...yeah. Whatever.”

“I–well, I try not to. But it’s not like I whine all the time.”

“If you went to a place like that, you’d do what? You ain’t dance. An’ you don’t drink. Or smoke.”

“I drink. Sometimes...occasionally...okay, fine, when he’s not around.” Richie pushed his hair out of his face, frowning as he looked back at Ivan. “What do you guys, do? I can’t picture either of you dancing. Do you just sit there and ...what?”

Ivan shrugged. “The wife’s just gotta stay out of our business.”

“I’m NOT a wife.”

“Yeah? You ain’t? They why you gotta pry?”

“I’m not prying!” Richie exclaimed. The conversation was going no where. He found himself wondering for the countless time if they were ever going to be anymore than civil to each other. “Look, I’m just trying to make conversation with you. That’s all. I’m sorry if it sounded anything more than that.”

“We don’t got anythin’ to say to each other.”

Richie shrugged a shoulder. The sliding door opened, and Francis looked out at both of them, rubbing one of his eyes.

“What you two doing?” he asked in a sleep thickened voice, walking out onto the deck.

Richie smiled at him, shifting in the chair to allow him some room. Already on his way over, Francis indicated that he move. Ivan looked away in annoyance as Francis took the seat, and Richie settled next to him. If it weren’t for his slender frame, he wouldn’t have fit. Francis’ bulk took up most of the room, but Richie made do by leaning against him, somewhat uplifted by their contact.

Francis smelled of smoke, booze, and that sleep smell that was a combination of musk, sweat and stale breath. Richie turned his head to inhale deeply of it.

“You working, today?” Francis then asked Ivan on a yawn.

“For a few hours. Later on. You?”

“Later. You wanna eat after?”

“...Here?”

“Yeah. We’ll, like, barbeque, or somethin’.” Francis looked at Richie, frowning as the blond kissed his cheek. “You gonna be here, later?”

“I’m going out with Virgil, tonight.”

“To do what?”

“I dunno. Hang out. Something.”

“You’re going to be back, right? You been spending a lot of time with him.”

“Don’t get that way. And I won’t start on the way you’ve been spending a lot of time away from home.”

“What do you guys do, anyway? He your secret kissing buddy, or something?”

“And if he was...?’

“...Don’t even go there. Don’t even start, or even joke around about that shit, Rich. I mean it.”

Richie snorted, moving to get up from the chair. Francis reached out to grab his arm before he could escape, pulling him back down so that he could look directly into his face. “You’re not messing around on me, are you?”

“No! Francis, what the hell? Who would I be–? Why would I want to?”

Ivan rolled his eyes, wanting to stab his ears out.

“I’ve been hearing things, Rich. Some things that make me wonder what you’re doing while I’m gone...”

“Oh...God...go back to bed....”

“No, I’m serious.”

“So am I!”
Ivan cleared his throat loudly. “You gonna paint over Diego’s fuck-up?”

“On the Acura? Yeah. That’s why I’m going in, tonight. Piece of shit spic can’t do shit right.”

“Danny gonna pay you? Over?”

“He better. Or I’m not going. Hey, when you come back, bring some of that stuff back. Y’know... that stuff we were talkin’ about last night?”

“...I’m going to see what Adam wants. It might be awhile.”

“Don’t get all pissed off and come over here, then. You–hey, where you going? I ain’t done talking to you!” Francis then interrupted himself, catching Richie before he could escape. “But bring it, ‘k? I wanna look it over. See what’s up.”

Ivan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He knew the redhead was talking about the brunette. He took out another cigarette, and lit it as Francis then turned his attention to Richie once more.

“Hey...whatcha wearin’?”

“Clothes. Can I borrow twenty bucks?”

“Why you wantin’ money?”

“To buy stuff...”

“You spent enough yesterday! You ain’t gettin’ anymore money!”

“Just twenty bucks! C’mon...please? I’ll pay you back. I got paid, direct deposit hit my account last night.”

“I don’t think that–”

“Fine...do you like these pants, or something?”

“...You know I like those pants on you. C’mere...”

Ivan had to wonder what it was that had Francis turning poof in the first place. Had he always been that way? Had he been checking out the guys long before meeting Richie? Or was this some magical thing that happened just as instantaneously as the love affair turned marriage?

He watched as Francis held Richie’s hips with both hands, both of them grinning at each other with some unspoken thing. First of all, Ivan had admitted that he wasn’t attracted to men. But that residue from Francis’ feelings lingered over him, forcing him to reconsider Richie in ways he’d never ever thought about, before. It made him angry, helpless, and more than resentful toward the redhead for ever daring to go this route.

If it had been a woman Francis had fallen for (seriously fallen for, not those forgetful one-night-stands he always saw him having), Ivan wouldn’t have minded. He would have enjoyed making Francis really work on that; competing and playing games with other people’s heads gave Ivan a bit of joy in his life.

Because even if he’d stopped being the criminal he had been as Ebon, he was still a game player.

But he wouldn’t have minded if Francis had settled down with a woman. Because he would have felt a lot better, and wouldn’t feel so much disgust for himself whenever he looked at Richie.

He heard Francis murmur something about pants, something that made the redhead hook his thumbs over the waistband of Richie’s worn jeans. Watching from the corner of his eye, Ivan hated the little flash of envy that struck him as another flash of annoyance hit him at the same time. How finicky the redhead was; enjoying his ‘dinner’ and professing his love for it, but enjoying the appetizers and desserts on the side without any remorse or guilt displayable.

He watched as Francis started pulling one side of those jeans down, the material sliding over lily-white skin, displaying flesh where there should have been underwear.

He hated the sharp curl his gut made as he noted that small presentation, of skin stretched over muscle and the vee of that small place where thigh met torso. Finally looked away when Richie murmured something about the bedroom, and Francis leaning over to kiss the exposed flesh.

SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.SS.

He woke Shiv up with a sharp slap of his palm against the Asian’s forehead.

“Son of a bitch!” Shiv snarled immediately, kicking out. Ivan knocked the offending foot away with a frown as the Asian realized who he’d been lashing out at. “Oh, hey, Ivan! What you doing here, so early?”

“You still here?”

“...Are you really asking me that? C’mon...you’re just as bad as I am when it comes to things,” Shiv grumbled as he kicked off his blanket, yawning. “Those two up, yet? I got some ass-kicking to do.”

“...They went back there.”

“...Ew...so, what you doing here, anyway?”

Ivan moved away from the couch to take over on the chair, staring blankly at the game that had been paused earlier that morning on the television screen. Some sort of tournament fighting game...something Budoken.

“Nothin’. They’re having a barbeque later, today. Bring something.”

“Always got room for beer! I’ll make sure Dominic doesn’t get that Light crap. Man, that stuff tastes like shit. I’ve always liked Bud. What time is it? Ah, shit. I had an interview this morning. Why didn’t anybody wake me up?” Shiv then grumbled, running a hand through his messy purple hair. He grabbed his worn controller from the floor, tossing the extra toward Ivan. “Play me.”

Ivan shoved the controller from him. “Where you gettin’ a job, at?”

“Well, I was gonna get interviewed over at that game shop over by the Piggly Wiggly? But I didn’t even make it.”

“You ever gonna get one?”

“Prolly not in this lifetime. I’m such a deadbeat.”

Ivan snorted. Both of them cringed at the muffled “Oh, God!” that managed to slip from behind the closed door down the hall.

“You’d think they would stop doing that,” Shiv muttered. “Don’tcha, when you get married, stop having sex afterward? I think if I did, I would. Cuz...I mean, the fun’s all gone. I mean, you’re hooked up with this person for your entire fuckin’ life! How boring is that?”

Ivan shrugged, and watched as Shiv turned up the volume on the television with a nearby remote. But he could still hear the muffled moans coming from behind that door down the hall. Felt an embarrassing heat tingle throughout his lower region as he realized he was straining to hear a particular set of moans that always seemed to interrupt any train of thinking he may have had.

“So...did you guys get smashed, last night?” Shiv asked, squinting at the screen.

“Little. Was kinda boring, though.”

“The Big F hook up?”

“...I think so.”

“With that Cassandra chick? Dude, she was all over him the other night. That’s nasty, man. I wouldn’t do her. I heard she likes to stick fingers up the ass.” Shiv suddenly laughed as Ivan wondered how the hell he’d managed to hear that. As fast as gossip spreads, why hadn’t Richie heard any of it? “That’s prolly why Francis wants her!”

“She was hella drunk, last night. Pukin’ outside–her little group had to carry her out. Shameful.”

“Did you get fucked up?”

“Not that much. Got this bitch’s phone number, though. I might call her up.”

“She hot?”

“Eh. She’ll do. Ain’t nothin’ that attractive around here.”

“Lemme go with you guys next time...”

“Get a job. I ain’t supporting your yellow ass.”

“Fine, fine. Shit.” Shiv winced again, shaking his head. “So...you hear about Theresa?”

Ivan refused to show any reaction to the name. Still felt himself bristle as he recalled her words out at the dock the night of the second Big Bang. “No...what?”

“Heard she’s preggers...some dude named Eustacio. Fuckin’ poofy name.”

“She all knocked up?”

“I heard that. But then again, I could’ve gotten shit mixed up. Like...Stacy been pregnant by some guy...er...named...Donny.”

Ivan tilted his head back against the chair. Tried to ignore the repeated thumps against the wall. “Shiv, you a dumb fuck, you know that?”

“Well, hell! It’s almost eleven thirty! Somebody had to remind me, somehow!” Shiv cackled suddenly, thumbs moving quickly on the controller. “I should go home and take a shower. I didn’t, like, in the last couple of days. I even turned my shirt inside out. To smell fresh, you know?”

It took him a while, but Ivan managed to turn his head to give him a disgusted look. Shiv gave him a thumbs up and a confident nod as he resettled on the couch.

Unsure of how to make it clear of what he thought about the former Bang Baby, Ivan shook his head and stared at the screen. He watched almost thoughtlessly as Shiv played, hearing the lack of noise from the hall.

Almost twenty minutes later, Richie emerged from the closed bedroom, re-dressed and looking considerably happy. He walked out into the living room, tucking a twenty dollar bill into his back pocket as Shiv argued with the screen over his recent score. Ivan looked over at the blond, noting the action he took as he found his car keys on the end table nearby.

He had to shake his head as Richie caught his glance, and grinned.

“You’re a ho,” Ivan muttered.

“But a clever one. He’ll be out later.”

“Trick.”

“You ain’t gonna stick around?” Shiv asked on a whine, gesturing at the screen.

“Go. Home. Shiv.”

“C’mon! Just one more round!”

“GO HOME!”

“Onemasu?”

Richie rolled his eyes, and slammed the front door as he left.

Shiv sighed, deflating as he resettled on the couch. “Ho.”

But Ivan had to admit, that all things considered, Richie had learned to play the game well. He wondered with some interest when Francis would ever wise up to the manipulative blond’s ways.