a/n: okay so it's been over a year and honestly i have no excuse, but here's new content for anyone interested. it's short, it's sweet, but we're getting somewhere plotwise so that something..

"Would you say it to me?
Hollywood, how I love you
Would you say it to me?
If I could, I would kiss you
Believe me"

~hollywood:quietdrive

Ch 13: Hollywood

I'm tense and ready for at least some awkward confrontation.

But Brock barely acknowledges us on his way out the door.

"Oh hey, ya'll," he says quietly, as though he's loath to interrupt. "Just gonna go toss a frisbee with Lenox at the park," And he practically jogs out and away, Lenox padding excitedly behind him, all leashed and harnessed like a good boy. I feel a pinch of disappointment weigh me down, but I'm not sure if it's over Brock not reacting, or Brock stealing my baby boy so easily.

Leslie shrugs down at me cutely, and when I hear Brock's truck pull out, I surge up to kiss her fiercely, grabbing her hips on either side and moving against her.

She quickly matches my pace and her teeth catch my bottom lip, and we're both noisy, and so is her taste in the back of my mind, setting off alarms, and I've got no idea why but I think she might be dying?

She spurs me on with small, needy sounds and I oblige her, hands scoping out new territory beneath her shirt and all over her thighs.

Of course, it's still my overcrowded house in the end.

Voices filled with laughter drift in from outside, heralding the arrival of my brother and the band.

We just have enough time to scramble away from each other before the door bangs open, but no time to look any less disheveled. I cringe at the feel of my brother's knowing stare.

"WHAT."

Brooklyn is so loud. Leslie and I only look at our knees, sitting two feet apart on the sofa.

Of course he saunters over and takes the opportunity to plant himself between us. Smacking his lips over his teeth obnoxiously.

"So when did this happen?"

I exchange a glance with Leslie.

"When did what happen?" she asks innocently at the same time as I say, "Don't know what you mean."

He looks over the back of the couch at his amused band mates and whispers conspiratorially with his hands cupped around his mouth, "They've been pining for each other all their lives."

"SHUT UP, BROOKLYN!" we both say slapping him on either shoulder, Leslie turning red, and me definitely not blushing, because I'm too manly.

He's laughing as he launches himself from the couch cushions.

"Relax, I'm happy for you guys," he says, beaming over his shoulder at us.

"It certainly took them long enough," my mom says from the doorway.

"Mom!" I shout, shooting up off the couch. "You're home early!"

"Yes," she acknowledges easily, shuffling all the way into the house and shutting the door. "Leslie, dear, are you staying for dinner?"

Leslie's expression becomes very conflicted at that, and she looks at me apologetically before answering, "Actually, I'm feeling a little sick to my stomach. I should probably go home."

"I'll take you!" I say quickly, feeling overcrowded and strangely lonely at once.

"Thanks, Chris," Leslie sighs, sounding relieved.

My mom smiles sweetly, "Are you pregnant?"

I blanch, "Mom, we're not even-I mean, we haven't-"

Mackenna and Eli are smirking the most infuriating smirks at me and I can't think straight. I'm focusing on the horrified expression on Leslie's face; she really does look sick now.

After I take Leslie home in Manny's car, I take the long way home, passing by Park Lake Clearwater.

I know what you're thinking, but I only did it for the view.

Of the park.

The sun is low over the lake, tinting the sky a vibrant peach, reflected in the mirror-like surface.

I park and get out, wanting to move closer and feel the peace I felt so many nights ago, tossing a stupid flying disc around in the pitch dark like an imbecile.

Just as I think of it, a frisbee nearly grazes the tip of my nose, almost bringing a smile to my face, and following it up: the weight of a thousand worlds, concentrated into paws the size of mangos, comes soaring into my side, knocking me to the ground, and knocking all of the air in me somewhere else entirely.

I sit up gasping and spitting grass, and shove the dumb mutt away.

Brock Foster is laughing, the bastard.

When I can finally breathe again, I look for signs of remorse in Lenox' furry, golden face. There's none to be had, only that dumb smile he's had since he was a tiny puppy, the doofus.

I reach out and pet him on his goofy head.

Brock's amusement fades, and he smiles fondly down at us, or really at Lenox, but part of me wants that smile to be for me, too.

That part of me is the dumbest part, don't listen to it.

He crouches down, rocking a bit on the balls of his feet, meeting my eyes up close.

"Miss me, or something?"

I scoff, "I just wanted to check on my dog. You have clearly been teaching him bad boy habits." My hand absently strokes Lenox' ear as I speak.

Brock mimics it, but with a thumb caressing the shell of my ear gently, "You think I'm a bad boy?"

If my face is changing color, it's a trick of the light.

I break eye contact to look at my dog.

"I have a girlfriend, Brock," maybe it sounds sullen, but it's because I keep getting interrupted when I'm with her.

His hand slides down, suddenly rough, gripping my chin to make me look at him. A shock of heat thrills down my spine when I'm forced to meet his eyes, bright blue as a flame.

His face is calmer than his hand feels, his demeanor soft on the outside, but filled with bitter shards of glass within.

He's fiery death in a cold, pretty package.

"What makes you think bad boys give a fuck?" his voice dips low and dangerous, and it's magical and terrifying at once.

Lenox' ear dips from under my hand and I hear a sound I'm never quite prepared for rumbling through the tension like building thunder, one I can never quite source until his teeth are bared and he's snarling outright.

Brock hears it too and retracts his hand. I still feel the pressure where his thumb dug into my cheek as my giant goofball retriever crouches low between us, still the threat of a growl, and hackles high. I reach out to smooth them, to soothe him.

Brock sighs and stands up, towering over us now, but that's no concern to Lenox.

"Relax, Lenox. I know when I'm not wanted."

He leaves it unspoken that he never feels wanted, I can tell. I don't want him to feel that.

"It's okay, good boy," I tell him, rubbing between his shoulders and neck to calm him, "We were playing."

"You do an awful lot of playing," Foster mutters sourly. He pulls his keys out of his pocket and walks a few feet away to pick up the frisbee.

Lenox grumbles in response, still wary but no longer threatened.

"I'm an athlete and so are you," I snark back, "We play."

Lenox rides back with me and I hide us away in my room.

It's weird to sit on my bed for some reason and with a jolt I realized that it's too spacious.

My twin bed.

Feels too big.

As if on cue, I hear Brock's heavy footsteps thunking up the stair. The door opens to reveal him looking first sad and exhausted and then surprised to see me in my room.

He looks hurriedly around as though he expects his things to be packed up and ready for him to git.

"I'm not kicking you out," I explain, because he is sometimes an open book.

Like Gary was.

Shut up, Hollywood.

"My mom came home early, so.." I fiddle with the neckline of my shirt agitatedly, and I wonder if he's listening when his eyes track the motion. "We, uh. Have to share. Again."

"Okay," his voice sounds hoarse. He kicks his shoes off and seems to inch into the room, cautiously, watching Lenox like some strange creature he's never seen before. When he makes it to the bed where I'm sitting, he sits at the bottom end, across from me, leaning back against the cast iron footboard and stretching out his legs in front of him.

His toe brushes the arch of my bare foot and I flex automatically into the touch. It surprises him, his tanned cheeks turning faintly pink.

Dammit. I want him to cuddle me, why?

Ugh.

"I'm sorry," he tells me, "for being a dick earlier. I just don't know what I did to make you go to her."

"You didn't do anything," I inform him, annoyed and shifting forward to crawl beside him. Our shoulders touch as I settle back and I ignore how warm and right it feels.

He looks up questioningly, "Then why did you take off that day?"

"I'm in love with her. It has nothing to do with you."

If anything, that seems to make him feel worse.

"You're not in love with her!" he snaps. "You don't even know her, really."

"But soon I will," I seethe, furious at my transparency, "and I don't need you or Gary to do it. Because she loves me too."

"I love you," he blurts and I can tell he regrets saying it, but he repeats it like he's only just realized it himself. " I love you, Hollywood."

My name on his tongue irks me into responding viciously.

"You don't even know me, really," I spit it like poison, out of spite to the one who cradled me when I was all but abandoned by my friends. My eyes well at the memory.

Gary, why?

"You know that's not true," he replies, sweet and soft, arms reaching to hold me again. He moves me to the center of the bed, limp as a ragdoll and definitely not crying. And then he's braced half over me, scrutinizing me. "I can't stand to see you with her."

I whimper. I want to comfort him, tell him sweet things, but that would only lead to physical comfort. Can't betray Leslie.

He only offers me his softest evil smile, huffing out what might be a laugh.

"We should-" he starts to say something, but the worry that's been building in me all day pours out all over him in a single question.

"Is Leslie dying?" my voice cracks on the last word in tribute to my desperation and helplessness.

"We're all dying, Hollywood," he sighs, flopping down behind me and pulling me close. He nuzzles the back of my neck sleepily and I do my best to let that ring platonic in my mind.

"No, I mean does she have cancer or something?" I press him. "Is that the big secret?"

"She has you. I thought that was the big secret."

"Are you being obtuse on purpose?" the heat is drained from the question, just like everything is drained from me, and now I'm comparing myself to a cancer.

He mumbles something about it being too late at night for words like 'obtuse,' and I find myself agreeing with him, slipping heavily into a nightmare of this trifecta of could-be lovers. Gary lays dead, Leslie lays dead, but Brock is still beside me, and when I wake up he still is, and it shakes me to my core.

I rest uneasily beside him after that, and we fall into a routine of avoiding each other over the week. At least during the day, Brock is usually out and I'm at home. Leslie's extended family is in town for Thanksgiving and she's too busy to answer her phone.

By 3:00 am Thursday, I'm attention-starved and debating calling Gary up for a broly Thanksgiving chat and hopefully a rekindling of our friendship. I'm confused about how it's gotten to this point, to be honest.

Am I so weak to a petty jibe at my height and weight that I'll let it ruin a nearly life-long relationship? But then again.. coming from Gary who knows this weakness like it's his own, isn't it that much worse? In addition to that, hasn't he been manipulating this complex of mine for years to keep me and Leslie apart? My heart flares like the sun and latches to my ribs and lungs, clenching tightly at my incoming thoughts.

Because of jealousy.

Because for all these years, if I had bothered to pay the attention to him that he pays to me, wouldn't I have realized? Am I so fucking self-centered that my best friend suffered in silence, pining endlessly after an ignorant, undeserving fool?

Shit. Shit.

I was enough of a friend to Brock fucking Foster that he felt comfortable coming out to me, but to my favorite and brightest smiling Gary, I was this unattainable, uncaring creature, not someone he could trust. While he constantly was looking after me, I was constantly focused elsewhere.

Well fuck, I'm crying again. Happy Thanksgiving, Hollywood, you sack of shit.

And then like a hairy, helicopter mom, Lenox bounds up onto the bed where he seems to think he can make himself at home of late, and starts licking my salty, wet face.

Maybe you think that's cute and that he's such a cute boy and such a good boy, but let me assure you, Lenox is never happier than when he has the opportunity to consume my bitter tears. They fuel his evil ways.

But.

Yeah, also it's fucking cute, so I hug him and cry harder, feeling small and relieved like the end of "Homeward Bound."

My phone startles me out of my therapeutic doggie lovin', vibrating angrily under my knee where I abandoned it.

I pick it up and see the all caps: AMBER ALERT on my notification screen. Weird. I jump when the phone then starts ringing in my hand, showing a number I don't recognize before I can even skim the details on the alert. I almost don't pick up.

Almost.

The only reason I can give for answering the unknown number, despite my normal habits, is a feeling of strange anticipation at the base of my abdomen. Writhing and tugging and furiously anxious. A dream I can barely remember comes back to me in a flash: my best friend dead, my girlfriend dead.

"Hello?" I say uncertainly.

The voice on the other end is familiar, accent vaguely apparent in his short response, "Hey, is this Leslie's boyfriend?"

"Uh," I forget momentarily that, yes, I am, "I'm.. what is it?"

"Well it's me, Freddy," he answers matter-of-factly.

I sigh in frustration, hand clutching at my forehead through my bangs. "No, I know who you are, why are you calling me?"

Why did I even pick up?

"Thought you should know," he pauses, seems to be eating on the other end, "she's in hospital."

"WHAT?"

-end chapter-

a/n: so to those of you patiently awaiting a tearful/sexy reunion with gary, buckle up and prepare for more drama in between. everyone's favorite geek will be abound in chapters to come but this chapter was a turning point in a way and hollywood is becoming more perceptive to those around him. this is going to impact him heavily and you can anticipate him becoming less starry-eyed. (he doesn't think he is, but he totally is) but bright side: the secrets will all be laid bare sort of in the next chapter (the ones i'm hearing everyone is currently concerned with at least) keep in mind, my writing of this has spanned nearly 10 years at this point and there may be loose ends from older chapters that i left unresolved (i never outlined anything in high school so even i don't know where i was going entirely), so feel free to hint at any of them in the comments.

continuing chapters will ALL have trigger warnings; please heed them. this story is kind of me hashing out my own high school experiences, and i've unsettled even myself, outlining them. in all honesty, it's taken me this long because the experiences of hollywood are sometimes my own (with embellishment and whatnot, also i'm not a dude) and my emotional attachment is higher because of it. side note: hollywoods frequency of showers and frequency of passing out are the same as mine. (but my passing out was from tiny seizures how fun) so now you know a little about me horray. feel free to comment, and as always pray for me to update! :D