Part 3 of Kavinsky/Adam College AU (Part 2)
The frat house wasn’t far from the dining hall but Dan’s continuous bragging made the walk seem unbearably long. Finally, they arrived at an ostentatious yellow mansion adorned with garishly white columns and a similarly white concrete baluster balcony. Adam was reminded of Gansey’s childhood home.
He’d long since cleaned the red Henrietta dirt off his shoes; his title of scholarship student was no longer a slur, and Adam liked to believe that he’d changed just as much as Kavinsky had since leaving Virginia. But, there were still some old habits he couldn’t shake. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to rid himself of the instant anger he felt at the sight of gaudy shows of wealth.
In fact, that would have been a deal-breaker between him and Kavinsky had it not been glaringly obvious that wealth was more toxic to Kavinsky than poverty had been to Adam. It was easy to let go of his jealousy when he realized that Kavinsky was trying to fill a void even bigger than the one Adam had been fighting to fill in himself.
They didn’t acknowledge it, but Adam wouldn’t have given Kavinsky the time of day had he not pitied him. Adam knew pity was an ugly feeling to hold for anyone, but he hadn’t cared for Kavinsky, and it felt disgustingly nice to be the giver of pity rather than the recipient. Emotions sufficiently cycled through, Adam followed Kavinsky and Dan to the door, feeling nothing but the exhaustion that came from knowing that an upcoming event was going to be exhausting.
The door was wide open and they were greeted with a make-shift bouncer. It seemed like the frat had simply taken the most muscular member and plopped them down in front of the door in the hopes of deterring the uninvited, and those not willing to pay the entrance fee. Apparently, the rules didn’t apply to guests of the frat members and they were able to enter without pausing to chat.
As soon as they walked in they were greeted with the scent of booze and smoke and the sound of exceedingly loud music. Adam had been to exactly zero frat parties and, since Kavinsky cut down on his extra-curriculars soon after they got together, approximately zero Kavinsky-parties. He didn’t have the experience necessary to compare the two brands of parties, but he knew Kavinsky well enough to know that they were more different than similar. Kavinsky’s expression of judgmental disgust was evidence enough that Adam has been right.
They had only just breached the foyer and already Kavinsky had assessed and dismissed the party. Disappointed by the caliber of the activities, Kavinsky decided to get straight to the point. He spun around and faced Dan with a grin so smarmy it basically begged to be punched away before saying, “You gonna stand there like a piece of shit or are you gonna take us to the booze?”
Dan, apparently no longer happy-go-lucky roommate Adam had come to know and put up with, rolled his eyes, but led the way to the kitchen. The granite island that occupied most of the space in the room was covered in bottles of various types and brands of alcohol, but Kavinsky was unimpressed. He simply walked up to the table, scanned all the labels before scoffing and leaning against the table. He tisked and quirked an eyebrow at Dan. “What’s up with this pussy shit, Danielle?”
Dan, as most who didn’t know Kavinsky often did, had expected him to be more impressed by the display. “You’re all talk, man. I’ll drink you under the table.”
Had Kavinsky’s eyes been filled with anything but pure competitiveness and malice, Adam would have worried the banter was flirtatious. As it was, Kavinsky seemed to be vibrating out of his skin, dying to begin the game. Adam didn’t try to stop him. He knew Kavinsky’s competitiveness, as dangerous and volatile as it was, was nothing more than a subconscious attempt to prove his worth in whatever way he could, so he let it be.
Kavinsky cackled at Dan’s statement. “Aright then. Pick your poison.”
Dan’s narrowed eyes showed that he didn’t miss the power play Kavinsky was making by offering Dan his own liquor. He didn’t mention it though and simply shoved Kavinsky aside and looked appraisingly at his choices. He looked at Kavinsky and Adam arrogantly as he selected a blue capped clear bottle and held it up in his fist. He held it out to for inspection, which he then rendered pointless by explaining it. “Smirnoff. 100 proof.”
If Kavinsky had been cackling before he was downright choking now, doubled over in maniacal laughter. He stood and wiped imaginary tears of his cheeks as he faced Dan’s only slightly faltering expression.
Dan, not really understanding why Kavinsky had been laughing (or even that he was laughing and not dying), said, “If it’s too much for you, that’s cool, we can call it quits right now.”
Kavinsky, eternally dramatic, feigned concern. “I think I’ll get through it somehow.”
Adam coughed to cover a laugh; he would never admit it, but he loved to see Kavinsky like this. More aptly, Adam loved knowing that he knew more about Kavinsky than most anyone else. Case in point, he knew from one of Kavinsky’s many stories of the time he and Proko finished off a bottle of some 192 proof Polish vodka before setting the nearest church on fire. Adam would have thought he was embellishing had he not seen Kavinsky drink vodka like it was water.
Adam’s barely concealed laughter seemed to signal the end of the shit talking portion of the evening. Dan went to the cupboard, grabbed two shot glasses, and led them to a shitty plastic table with matching lawn chairs. He sat down gracelessly and gestured for them to do the same.
Before Adam had even sat down, Dan had opened the bottle and started pouring. He seemed to remember Adam at the last minute and looked over at him sheepishly as he said, “Adam dude, I’m sorry, I can go grab you a cup if you want.” Adam just shook his head and, thankfully, that was all it took to drop the non-issue.
Drumming his fingers on the table Kavinsky stared at Dan with his trademark smirk. “What’re the stakes?”
Dan shook his head, “No stakes man. Wouldn’t be fair.”
He knew Dan meant it would be unfair for him, but Kavinsky willfully misinterpreted his statement. “You’re right. Besides, you don’t have shit I want.” Kavinsky quickly prevented Dan from replying by downing one of the shots. He turned to Adam and said, “Hey, keep score.”
It was then that Adam realized that, regardless of how quickly he ‘won’, Kavinsky was planning on getting absolutely plastered. Adam sighed, but nodded his acquiescence, hoping he wouldn’t have to keep track for too long.
Dan hadn’t been exaggerating as much as Adam had expected but, by the fourth shot he was taking longer to pour the drinks and seemed slightly tipsy. Kavinsky on the other hand seemed unaffected and took over doling out the rounds when he grew impatient. After the eighth shot Dan tapped out and stumbled off to find a bathroom.
When he returned, he saw Kavinsky emptying the rest of the bottle into a red cup he’d somehow acquired. Even after eight shots, Kavinsky was only moderately affected. His eyelids were heavier and he held himself more loosely, but other than that he didn’t seem bothered by the amount of vodka he’d just ingested. Dan looked like he couldn’t decide whether to be impressed or disgusted by Kavinsky’s tolerance. Adam felt the same.
After a few minutes of amiable silence, Adam was about to start trying to convince Kavinsky to leave, when someone walked up to their table purposefully. The stranger, closer in size and build to Dan than either Kavinsky or Adam, was wearing a Delta Gamma Phi muscle tee and matching snapback. He either didn’t know or didn’t care that he looked like a stereotypical fraternity brother. Adam could have sworn his blonde, over gelled hair, and football-player physique were a cheap imitation of the generic 90s movie heartthrob.
Dan and the stranger exchanged some sort of convoluted hand-shake, invented purely to remind observers that they were unfortunate outsiders of a very exclusive club. Adam was surprised Dan had the coordination to stay sitting up, let alone preform a multi-step greeting – he could only assume that the handshake had been designed specifically for the inebriated. The strange thing was that the stranger, ‘Freddy’ if Dan’s slurred exclamation was to be believed, seemed stone cold sober.
Stranger still was the fact that he didn’t disappear after his exchange with Dan and instead turned to consider Adam and Kavinsky. His blue eyes were unexpectedly sharp, especially when juxtaposed with his frat-boy persona. His voice was low and relaxed as he addressed them, “Joey”.
Before then, Adam had been too preoccupied with watching Freddy and Dan to check in on Kavinsky, but when he looked he grew worried. Kavinsky looked nonchalantly disinterested, but Adam knew that when Kavinsky was unconcerned with a situation he looked smarmy and arrogant, but when he looked passive and calm he was panicking. It wasn’t a common occurrence, but it had become more frequent after Kavinsky had dropped his more unsavory habits.
The whole situation was unsettling but before Adam could learn more, Dan spoke up drunkenly, “Nah man. ‘hat’s Kavin – Kevin – Kev’sky. Ad’m’s boyfriend.”
Freddy chuckled. Adam had only a moment to consider how unpleasant that laugh was before Freddy spoke. “Yeah Dan. Joseph Kavinsky.” Dan was too drunk to continue participating in any conversation, so Freddy continued without a response. “And Adam.” His cordiality was quite obviously a farce but when he stuck out his hand Adam couldn’t come up with a reason to not reciprocate. He did however manage to glance back at Kavinsky with an expression that begged for an explanation.
Adam’s expression was understood but ignored by Kavinsky who was too busy staring at Freddy. It was difficult to tell whether Kavinsky was more afraid or angry, but Adam figured it didn’t matter; with Kavinsky one inevitably led to the other. Frankly, Adam was just surprised Kavinsky hadn’t spoken up yet.
Freddy seemed to revel in Kavinsky’s silence; his decision to remain standing was a lousy show of dominance, as was Kavinsky’s decision to remain seated. Most people thought Kavinsky couldn’t hold his tongue – why else would someone say the shit he did – they couldn’t have been more wrong. Kavinsky was very adept at holding his tongue, he simply chose not to most of the time.
None of this mattered when Freddy resumed speaking. “What a pleasant surprise. How long’s it been? Two years? How old were you when you left Jersey?” His voice was a disgusting type of slick. Where Kavinsky’s slick, but clearly articulated, voice reminded Adam of a jungle cat, his reminded Adam of the slimy mold that formed on outdated produce.
In the time since Freddy had apparated at their table Kavinsky had regained his composure. His voice betrayed nothing but his eyes were filled with a cold fury Adam hadn’t seen before. “Frederica. You’re mother’s pussy still crusty?” It wasn’t his best but it did its job. Freddy slipped and his displeasure was visible in the tightening of the corners of his mouth.
Much like Kavinsky, however, he refused to give ground. He instead laughed like he hadn’t just been insulted. No one asked why he was laughing, but Freddy explained anyway. “Sorry. I just find it ironic. Flaming f*g like you still pretending to like pussy.”
He then turned to Adam in another power play, “Isn’t it funny?”
Adam was pissed for Kavinsky but refused to be a pawn in their game. “Leave me out of it.”
Freddy then shoved Adam playfully, as if Adam’s comment was facetious, but turned back to Kavinsky.
If Kavinsky didn’t pride himself in being able to get into people’s heads and under their skin, he probably would’ve just punched him right then and there. Adam could tell it took restraint, but even drunk, Kavinsky’s mind was often a deadlier tool than his fists. “Aww. It’s not my fault your girlfriend begged for my cock”
“It’s cool, I’m over it ‘cause now you’re the one doing the begging.” Under the table Kavinsky dug his nails into his palms and Freddy continued. “Or – wait – You’re used to begging aren’t you?”
Kavinsky put his hands flat on the table and dropped the façade, “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
This only served to fuel Freddy’s smugness. “Oh, don’t I?” He paused only long enough to make it seem like Kavinsky had been given a chance to reply and had simply missed out. “Your daddy touched you and now your gay.” He laughed. “This is priceless. The boys are gonna eat that shit up.”
In a move that shouldn’t have been possible considering how much he’d had had to drink, Kavinsky had stood up, grabbed Freddy by the collar, and pushed him against the wall. At first, Adam didn’t understand how Kavinsky had successfully pinned someone who significantly outweighed him, but then he saw the knife. Somehow Kavinsky had managed to grab a black hilted bowie knife, the length of his forearm, and had it pressed against the softest part of Freddy’s throat.
Adam was conflicted; he refused to date someone whose only solution to conflict was to stab someone but he also had an overwhelming urge to maim the prick for what he’d said. Freddy’s reaction helped end Adam’s dilemma. He didn’t seem intimidated, and while he wasn’t moving, he had an infuriatingly smug smile on his face, as if Kavinsky’s violent reaction proved his point. Adam decided he agreed with Kavinsky’s decision. He only hoped it didn’t go any further
