#bc idk. i like the idea that in this universe gary didn't have to chase after him. like they were on almost equal footing

[player1064]

January 1995!!!

WIP asks but it's just the various sections of my happy (???) beville (/angsty carraville) WIP

baby! gaz! and! becks!!!!!!!! aaaaa!!!!!!!

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January, 1995.

Gary’s been flying on a high all season. Eleven senior team appearances, and there’s still half a season left to go. As much as his friends tease him about being pushed to right-back, he’s eighteen years old and he’s been playing the full 90 more often than not.

David’s only been played once, and now he’s come down from the Boss’ office with his lips pressed tightly together and tears welling up in his eyes. He shakes his head at Gary’s are you okay? look, just turns his back to the room and silently changes out of his training kit.

The out of town kids stay in digs that are walking distance from the Cliff, but for Gary (who is yet to pass his driving test) it’s two buses to get home. Becks normally walks with him and Phil to the bus stop, stays to chat with them while they wait, but today he’s hanging back while everyone filters out the dressing room. Gary shoos Phil ahead, says he’ll catch up or just see him back at home, and he goes to wordlessly sit himself down in the spot next to Becks.

When they’re finally alone, Gary bumps his shoulder against David’s and asks “What’d he say, Becks?”

“He thinks I’m not ready for the league,” says Becks, voice cracking. “Wants to put me out on loan.”

The Boss loves David, everyone knows that. He’s the golden boy, the one he hand-picked and brought all the way from London. The only reason he’s not been getting picked is because the team’s already got a number seven, and Eric’s too senior to get left out.

Nobody’s going to tell David to change position, to fall back to fill a gap in the first team like they had Gary. Because David’s not like Gary, he’s special. But he’s not Eric Cantona, not yet, and he’s not been getting enough minutes while he waits for his turn.

“Did he say which club?”

Becks nods. “Preston. Tier four.”

Preston is an hour and a half’s drive away, and Gary can’t drive.

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.” Becks drops his head into his hands. “D’you think this is it? Not everyone’s gonna make it, we know that.”

“If I can make it then you’re obviously gonna fuckin’ make it,” Gary says forcefully. “Becks, you know you’re good. You know there’s a place for you here. The Boss thinks you need to get more minutes, go out there and get more minutes. And when you come home, it’ll be me an’ you down that right hand side, yeah?”

Gary’s not very good at all this comforting stuff, but he awkwardly places an arm around David’s shoulders and gives him a squeeze.

David looks up at him with a watery little smile. “Will ya miss me?”

“Obviously.” Gary scoffs, then realises that’s probably too strong a statement, even for his best friend, so he quickly adds: “We all will.”

“I’ll miss you too, Gaz.”

“All of us?”

“Is that what I said?”

*

David’s landlady drives him up to Preston on a Saturday. For the first time in months, Gary’s not in the squad, so he takes the two buses over to go hover awkwardly in Becks’ bedroom while he stuffs the last of his things into an old backpack.

“Christ, Becks, you’ve got a lot of stuff don’t you? You’ve only lived here four years.”

Becks shrugs, looks over his shoulder to flash a grin at Gary. “I like nice things. You know, one good thing about this loan is apparently I’m gonna be gettin’ a match fee. £50, every time.”

Gary cringes internally when he does the mental maths on what he’s made from match fees so far this season. It still doesn’t make sense, feels like there’s been some kind of administrative error somewhere down the line that’s swapped his and David’s situations around.

“Becks…” he says weakly, desperately. He can’t tell him don’t go, knows he’s got no right.

David turns around to face him properly, a soft smile still on his face. “Yeah, Gaz?”

There’s nothing he can say, really, is there?

“Becks,” he repeats, and launches himself at his best friend, reaches out to cup his face in his hands and press their lips together, just for a second. It’s such a light brush, and it’s over so fast that he finds himself wondering if he even went through with it, if the last few moments were anything more than the product of an active imagination.

Except Becks is still there, warm eyes gazing into Gary’s, cheeks squashed under his hands.

He’s ready to jump back, to put his hands in the air and say it was nothing, it was just the heat of the moment, he was just thinking about missing his friend. He’s just his friend.

But then Becks says “Gaz,” like it’s something sacred, like he’s something sacred, and he closes the distance between them again, wraps his arms tight around Gary’s waist while he kisses him, kisses him, kisses him.

It’s only a few months, Gary has to remind himself on the bus ride home. Just a few months, and then he won’t ever have to leave again.