Work Text:
They spend two days on the island.
They spend two weeks recovering.
Not only are there the International Music Awards, but there’s also the business of getting to the International Music Awards. Airports are hard for the Seville family. And there’s getting cleaned up and presentable enough to perform, without going home first. And for the chipmunks, there’s constant rehearsal, not to mention bickering and fighting and snitching and whining and tears. And for Dave, it’s exhausting.
Plus, there’s Ian.
Dave doesn’t talk to him for a long time. They stay in the same hotel during the event, but they don’t speak. He’s busy with Zoe, and Dave is busy with his kids. It would be uncomfortable to even make eye contact. So they don’t. Not even when Ian congratulates the chipmunks after their performance, telling them how good of a job they did and how that time on the island must have really brought them closer together. They don’t have the heart to admit to Ian that it might have torn them apart.
As soon as they get home, the chipmunks fall asleep. Dave wants to as well, but he can’t. He lays in his bed, a warm Theodore curled up against his chest, and he just stares at the ceiling because it’s all he can handle. His mind is buzzing, but he’s not thinking of anything in particular, like a T.V. with static on its screen. The word “Ian” is flashing inside his brain, over and over and over, but he doesn’t know why.
Well, that’s a lie. Dave does know why. Knowing someone since college is a difficult feat, especially when that person becomes your boss, your supervisor, your friend, and your enemy, all in a relatively short span of time. Especially when before, everything was different.
Dave was a heavy partygoer in college. Ian was too, although he wouldn’t admit it now, of course. They both drank. They both drank a lot. It’s behind Dave now. He regrets it. Becoming a father has changed him, and he suspects that becoming a successful businessman has done the same for Ian. But that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t remember his past, because he does. Very deeply. And he remembers getting blackout drunk with Ian in their shared dorm, laughing so hard they’d end up on the floor, their bodies meshed together in a haze of alcohol and youth and love. He remembers the feel of Ian’s lips smashed against his, how they tasted of mint and cheap beer and cheap cigarettes. He wishes he didn’t.
And it’s times like this, where Dave stares at his ceiling and contemplates his existence, that he wonders if Ian does too. He wonders if Ian regrets it. Maybe it’s just the jet lag, or spending the night on an uninhabited island, but Dave can’t help but think—no, hope—that the memories are mutual.
Only two nights after they’ve been home, he finally can’t take it anymore. It’s a Saturday. The chipmunks are still tired. They’ve been waking up late and going to bed early, and Dave is honestly relieved. It’s slightly disturbing, though, to watch the little animals usually so full of energy be lethargic and irritable. It hurts Dave’s heart. He lets them do what they want, which is generally to just sit in front of the T.V. and watch cartoons. They eat, but very little. Dave is left to his own devices. And frankly, he’s lonely.
So maybe that’s why he picks up his phone and dials a number that he’s had burnt into his brain since he was 21 and occasionally needed a ride home after some rager.
“Hello, Ian Hawke speaking.” Ian’s voice sounds bored, distracted. Dave bites his lip, unsure if this is the right thing to do.
“Hey, Ian. It’s Dave.” What more is there to say? He keeps his voice low, trying not to let the chipmunks hear.
“Dave.” Ian sighs. “What can I do you for? I suppose it’s been a while since we took that paraglider to the IMAs; you in a cheap suit, me in a pelican costume.” His voice is dripping with sarcasm. “I can picture it right now, clear as day. That beautiful necklace that you claim was made by your—”
“Ian,” Dave says softly. “Could you come over?”
“What?”
“Right now. Please.” Dave clears his throat. “It’s just that—there’s some stuff I’ve been wanting to talk with you about, and I know we didn’t exactly end on the right foot, and…everyone over here is depressed. I need a change of pace.”
There’s silence on the other end of the line. Finally, Ian responds, his voice gruff. “What’s your address again?”
…
Dave puts on a movie for the chipmunks to watch while he waits. He doesn’t tell them that Ian is coming. They’re pretty out of it, anyway; when he asks them what they want to see, he gets no response from any of them except Alvin, who asks reluctantly for something old.
“So that I can watch it and if Simon and Theodore fall asleep, they don’t have to miss out on anything,” Alvin explains. Dave doesn’t quite get it, but he nods anyways, choosing the 1963 Lord of the Flies adaptation. It’s violent enough to keep Alvin entertained, but difficult enough to understand that they’ll probably fall asleep after a while. They already have been most of the morning.
“I’m going to lie down,” Dave tells the boys. They nod, not paying attention. He turns off the kitchen lights and goes to wait by the door. He’s full of anticipation, but he doesn’t know if it’s excitement or nerves.
Either way, his heart skips a beat when he hears footsteps on the pavement. He throws the door open so that Ian’s knock won’t alert the kids. Ian looks at him askance before stepping in.
“The chipmunks are watching something,” Dave says. “Will you come upstairs?”
If Ian is uncomfortable, he hides it well. He nods and follows Dave up to his room.
It’s tidier than usual, the maroon bedspread neat and tucked. His suitcase from the IMAs and the cruise is still unpacked, but it doesn’t take up too much space underneath the window. The laundry is all folded and put away. Dave silently congratulates himself as Ian inspects the place, seeming satisfied.
“So.” Dave takes a deep breath, sitting down on the bed and inviting Ian to do so as well. Ian does, still not saying anything. His gray eyes meet Dave’s brown ones, and they hold for a beat, the room feeling tense.
“Your job.” Dave feels like an idiot. “Not your screenwriter position, and not the cruise one either. Your office job. Where you were before.”
“Yeah,” Ian says, exhaling. “What about it?”
“I’m sorry,” Dave tells him. “For…sabotaging you. I don’t know. I didn’t think it was fair, the nosedive your career had to take. I mean…you didn’t particularly like being a pelican, did you?”
“Would you?” Ian says it lightly, a smile on his face. “It’s all right, man. I forgave you for that a long time ago. And I’m not just saying that because I have the cushy screenwriter job now,” he adds hastily. “I dug my own grave.”
“Oh,” Dave says lamely, letting the word hang in the air. “Okay.”
“Is that all you brought me here for?” Ian runs his hand across the bedspread, his fingers leaving little crease marks where they touch. “‘Cause we could have solved that over the phone, Seville.”
“No, we couldn’t have.” Dave says it with more force than he means to. “You’re…kind of an asshole on the phone, Ian. You’d have insulted my kids in the first twenty seconds, had I given you the chance, and the conversation would have gone nowhere.”
Ian looks taken aback. “I didn’t think of it like that. I just—”
“Wanted to have a little laugh, yeah,” Dave says with conviction. “I get it. You’ve always been that way. But you know, you’ve hurt me a lot. Like, a lot. And when we were on the island together, I couldn’t help but think about it.”
“You know I never mean it, Dave—”
“The song sucks, Dave. You’re obsessed with chipmunks, Dave. You’re not a father, and you never will be.” Dave swallows hard. “If you don’t mean it, then why do you say it?”
“It’s a habit! It’s nothing personal!” Ian groans, smacking his head with his hand. “Why do you have to be so sensitive all the time?”
Dave grits his teeth. “You think I’m sensitive? Me? You’re the whiniest person I’ve ever known, and the pettiest, too. You only think about yourself.”
“So do you.”
Dave recoils like he’s been slapped. “No, I don’t. Not now, now that I have the chipmunks. I never put myself first, Ian. You need to learn to do that too.”
“Sounds like you’re neglecting yourself,” Ian comments. “The dark circles under your eyes are proving my point.”
“Shut up.” Dave’s face reddens. “The boys had a really hard time on the island. I don’t even know the deal, but Simon has been acting weird, and Theo more emotional than usual, and—”
“That’s sweet. I don’t really care.” Ian swings his legs over the bed. “For a guy who claims he wants to stop starting fights, you sure aren’t stopping anytime soon.”
“Ian, no. Don’t leave.” Dave gets up, blocking the door. “I didn’t—”
“I’m a grown man, Seville.” Ian stands up, too. He may be shorter than Dave, but the glint in his eyes is like steel. “This isn’t college.”
Dave opens his mouth to say something, but no words come out. His heart feels like it’s been smashed into a million pieces. His eyes smart with tears.
“I don’t want to see it, Dave,” Ian says, pushing past him. “I’m done with your sob stories. I’m a different man than the one you thought you knew when we were roommates.” He turns to look at Dave, their eyes meeting again.
It’s a mistake. Dave’s lips tremble.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Ian says, his breath hitching. “Stop.”
Dave looks away, and Ian lets out a frustrated groan.
“You have the worst goddamn puppy-dog eyes I have ever seen, you know that?” And Ian pulls his hand from the doorknob and tilts their chins together. “Fine, damnit. Look at me.”
Dave does. Ian’s face softens. “Just because I’ve changed doesn’t mean I love you any less.” He kisses Dave gently, his hands moving up to caress the taller man’s face. Dave inhales sharply. He is crying.
“Don’t.” Ian pulls away. “You’re hurting me. Why are you upset?”
“I’m not upset,” Dave says, his voice shaking. “I’m not. I’m just…surprised.”
“Really?” Ian chuckles. “After all I’ve done to stay in your life? After I comforted you on that godforsaken island?”
“That was a ploy to get food!”
“Was it, though? Was it entirely?”
A little grin grows on Dave’s face. “Yeah.”
“Okay, maybe it was, you bastard.” Ian laughs and pulls him into another kiss. This one is different; it’s not soft, but it’s not firm, either. It’s an exploration. It’s been so many years that even though Dave knows he’s kissing Ian, it doesn’t quite feel like that. But it doesn’t feel bad. Maybe Ian is right. Maybe he has changed for the better.
He is distracted from his thoughts by Ian’s hand underneath his shirt. He pulls away from the kiss for a moment, dragging Ian towards the bed. Dave sits with his legs hanging over the bed, letting Ian clamber onto his lap. He gasps slightly as Dave’s teeth graze his lip.
“I’m sorry,” Ian whispers into Dave’s mouth. “I hope you know that I’ve never, ever meant to hurt you. Get at you, sure. I’ve been mad—furious, actually—at you for a long, long time. But it’s not because I hate you. It’s just—you were right. It’s pettiness, petty jealousy at the kids, at your life, at you. I meant it when I said I dug my own grave. The business world is cold and hard, and it’s every man for himself out there.” He kisses Dave again, and Dave makes a small noise. “But I don’t think it’s just me who’s ruined…whatever we are. Our friendship or whatever. You’ve had a pretty big hand in it too, you know.”
“I know,” Dave says, slightly breathless. “I know. I’ve been blinded by my anger. A lot. And it’s hurt me, and it’s hurt the kids. And God knows it’s hurt you too.” He shifts so that Ian’s legs can wrap around his waist. “I think rehab made me an asshole.”
Ian looks at him, really looks at him. “Why do you say that?”
“You don’t remember me having so many…issues when we were in college, do you?” Dave takes a deep breath. “I changed after we left. I didn’t have any real friends. Sure, I drank a lot while we were in school, but I drank even more after I got out. It was too much.”
“I know. I’ve heard this story,” Ian says impatiently. “But why does that make you an asshole?”
“I pushed everyone away,” Dave says simply. “I didn’t want them to see who I’d become, even while I was in treatment. I haven’t talked to my parents in years. I haven’t talked to anyone from school in probably a decade.” He thinks about that for a second. “Except you, of course.”
Ian’s lips are on his neck, his head bowed in concentration, but he nods slightly so that Dave knows he’s listening.
“And because I had no one, I was lonely.” Dave sighs. It’s hard for him to admit. “And I was angry, angry at myself for slipping into my addiction and for hurting everyone I knew.”
“I don’t think anyone is mad at you,” Ian tells him.
“But I’m mad at myself, and that’s the problem.” He’s never admitted it before. “The kids help. They help a lot. They love me, and I love them. It killed me when you tried to take them away.”
“You were always welcome to come on the tour,” Ian mutters.
“I couldn’t have, because I was sure you’d hate me.” Dave bites his lip. “I hate myself, and so I assume everyone else does too.”
“How many times do I have to say it?” Ian looks up. “I love you, David Seville. I adore you. And I always have, and no matter how many times I try and convince myself otherwise, I always will. And I want you to know that because I want you to see that for yourself.” He inhales sharply as Dave kisses his collarbone. “I’ve been hurt. I’ve hurt you. You’ve been hurt. You hurt yourself, and then you hurt me, and then we both get into ruts because we don’t really know how to…do this.” He laughs. “I can’t even say it. We don’t know how to talk about our feelings, and I kind of think we’re supposed to know by now.”
Dave smiles, holding Ian close. “I appreciate it.”
“Now say it,” Ian says, grinning wickedly. “Apologize.”
“Fuck you,” Dave says, laughing. “I’m sorry, okay? I tried to tell you earlier. And I’m not just sorry about the job thing, either. I’m sorry for everything.” He kisses the tip of Ian’s nose. “And I really do mean that, ‘cause I love you. I love you so goddamn much it’s scary. And I haven’t stopped thinking about you ever since you lifted that pelican mask up on the ship.”
Ian’s eyes are bright. He’s crying, and Dave murmurs, “Oh, baby.” Their lips meet again, crashing together more desperately than they have this whole time. Ian groans, his hands finding Dave’s waistband. Dave doesn’t push him away, and his tongue enters Ian’s mouth.
They stay there, with the door locked, for a long, long time. It’s slow and gentle, and even though they’ve done this hundreds of times, it feels different; more sacred, more special. They aren’t drunk in a dirty college dorm with band posters haphazardly plastered on the walls. They’re in Dave’s house, in the room that belongs to him, and they have all the time in the world.
Dave lies down, afterwards, exhausted but ecstatic at the same time. Ian is there, hesitant, but Dave pulls him under the covers and whispers, “Stay.” So he does, and they hold each other, their bodies warm and worn out, their minds finally quieted down.
Dave falls asleep—he hasn’t properly slept in days—but Ian stays awake, his head on Dave’s chest. He traces the shape of the room with his eyes. He doesn’t want to leave, and he thinks to himself that he probably shouldn’t. For Dave’s sake, of course. But the chipmunks are there, and he has his own life. He doesn’t know what he should do now.
Eventually, Dave stirs, kissing the top of Ian’s head. Ian rises up, folding Dave’s clothes and putting them on the dresser. Dave changes in from of him, giving Ian a pair of his own boxers. Ian gets dressed too, and he helps Dave strip the sheets and make the bed. It’s so domestic that it almost hurts to think about. But in a way, Ian realizes that he’s kind of always wanted this.
After they’ve gotten everything in order, they hear a little scratching sound at the door. Ian freezes, not sure what he should do. Dave gives him a reassuring look and opens it. Alvin is there, staring up at Dave.
“Hi, buddy,” Dave says. “What do you need?”
“Why is Ian here?” Alvin says, pushing past Dave. “Did you climb in through the window or something?”
Dave laughs. “Don’t worry. I let him in.”
“Through the window?!”
“No, Alvin. Through the door. What do you want, anyway?”
“The movie’s over. We want dinner,” Alvin says, still staring at Ian.
Dave nods. “Okay. I’ll be down in a sec. Would you guys mind if Ian stayed?”
Alvin shrugs. “It’s fine by me.”
Ian hesitates. “I should probably be going, actually. I—”
“I want you to stay,” Dave says softly. “Do you have to go do something else?”
“What do you think?” Ian rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Fine. I will.”
Alvin looks satisfied, and he leaves the room. Dave watches him walk down the hall before turning back to Ian.
“You’re sweet to him,” Ian says gruffly. “You’re a good dad.”
“I try.” Dave blushes. “That actually means a lot to me, you know.”
Ian kisses him, his hands finding Dave’s. “What does this mean for us?”
“I don’t know,” Dave says honestly. “I don’t know if it has to mean anything.”
“I want it to,” Ian tells him quietly. “I want a change.”
“So do I,” Dave says. He walks over to the window. The sun is setting. “We don’t have to figure it out right now. I just need you to know that I forgive you with my whole heart.”
“I forgive you,” Ian says.“And I love you, too.” He’s said it more these past few hours than he has in his whole life.
And they stand there, hand in hand, gazing at the sky turning pink and red and orange, and Dave thinks to himself that maybe one day, they’ll build a life together. Maybe one day they’ll figure it out. Maybe one day, it will all be okay—Dave and the chipmunks and Ian by his side.