#so that he can understand gary. he probably googled 'why does my bestie get stressed at loud noises sometimes' and went from there

[player1064]

jan 2019 pleak 🙏

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

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January, 2019.

“Ugh, Carragher invited me to his birthday party.”

David looks up at Gary over his glasses, does a pretend gasp. “Your friend invited you to a party? Someone call the fuckin’ press, this sounds like the start of a national crisis.”

“Oh shush, you. D'you think I actually 'ave to go?"

"He's turning forty, ain't he? That's a big'un."

Gary hates parties. He hates Liverpool. He hates parties in Liverpool, or he will once he's actually attended one.

He remembers the Carragher convoy at international tournaments, knows they'll be out 'til the early hours of the next morning, which means that he'll have to be out 'til the early hours because he's never in his life left a party early and he's not about to start now. Which means that he won't be able to drive home at the end, which means that he'll have to stay in Liverpool overnight, and this is sounding worse and worse by the second.

"Don't suppose you fancy comin' along too?" he asks David, because why should he have to suffer alone?

David, because he is much more of a miserable bastard than people give him credit for, hums and says "can't, I'll be in London."

"I've not told you when it is yet, you twat."

"Whenever it is, I guarantee there will be very urgent business I need to attend to. In London."

"You're not very nice."

"Oi! I am delightful."

*

Just close friends and family, Jamie had said.

Gary's yet to see anyone at this fucking party that's not related to Jamie somehow. He's not sure what Jamie would qualify as a 'close friend', but it can't be too tight a group if he counts Gary among them. He'd been expecting to see Stevie, at least. Jamie's an antisocial prick who tends to rub people the wrong way but Stevie's managed to stick it out all these years, and Glasgow's not that far away.

But two hours in and there's nobody else from football there.

He'd chatted to Jamie's dad for a while, reminisced about Big Nev - a unifying power if ever there was one. Gary's not sure he's ever met someone that knew his father who hadn't loved him. He's caught up with Nicola, entertained Jamie's kids - or tried to, as much as you can with two spoilt unimpressed teenagers.

He's starting to run out of ways to pass the time, and the party's still going strong.

There's not been much opportunity to speak to Jamie, not properly. Not that he's got much to say - he'd seen him at work just a couple of days ago, and they text pretty much every day anyway. And it's not like he's brought him a present, or even a card, so he doesn't actually have a reason to pull him away from his friends.

The more he drinks, the harder it gets to parse the Scouse screeches of the other guests into recognisable words, so he grabs a can of coke and goes to hide in the bathroom for a bit, decompress.

He's checking his emails - because it's midnight on a Saturday, why wouldn't he be checking his emails? - when the door swings open, startling him. Jamie stumbles in, flushed from drinking, and when his eyes land on Gary his whole face splits into a grin.

"Gaz!" he cheers, much too loud for such a confined space. "Was wonderin' where you'd got to, I'd been startin' to think you'd flaked out on me."

Gary shrugs. "Never, Carra, you know me. Just needed a time out."

"Ah," Jamie says, nodding sagely. "Were you getting' all - " he waves his hands around his head, as if that's explanation enough. "Wassit called, again? Senses… sensory overload, innit?"

"You been talkin' to Becks?" Gary asks suspiciously, because he's the only person he can think of that uses all those weird therapy words in casual conversation. Always, at big parties, squeezing Gary's hand and saying I know it's loud, Gaz, I know it's too much. Just keep your focus on me.

"Why the fuck would I wanna talk to 'im," Jamie scoffs, and Gary feels his heart rate pick up.

Just keep your focus on me.

He thinks… he thinks there must be something wrong with him, he must've had more to drink than he thought, because -

Because he's looking at Jamie, and he finds he doesn't want to think about Becks at all. He almost wishes - and it's crazy, there has to be something wrong with him - he almost wishes there was no Becks to think about.

Jamie's looking back at him with those piercing grey eyes, and Gary's clenches his hands at his sides before they go and do something stupid like reach out to him.

He clears his throat. "Enjoyin' your party?"

The scowl fades from Jamie's face into something softer. "Yeah," he says, nodding vigorously, "it's sound."

*

It's still dark when David is woken by Gary bustling around the bedroom, but it's the middle of winter and they have blackout blinds so really it could be any time at all. He grabs his phone to glance at the time - it's not quite 6am yet, much too early for him to be waking up. Much too late for Gary to be coming to bed.

Gary comes over and pats his hair clumsily, says "sorry, Becks, din't mean to wake you. I'll go to spare room."

David's eyes are too heavy to roll them at Gary, but he huffs an exasperated sigh and wordlessly lifts up the covers for Gary to climb in next to him.

Gary climbs into bed fully clothed and immediately snuggles up to David, the way he'd never admit to liking when he's sober. He bunches his hands in the fabric of David's t-shirt and rests his head on his chest, his breath smelling like sweet wine.

"Thought you were staying over in Liverpool?" David mumbles into Gary's hair.

"Called a cab," Gary replies vaguely. "Was missin' you."

"'s only been a few hours, weirdo."

Gary whines unhappily, so he adds "I missed you too. Will you let me get back to sleep now?"