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amfiguree[American Idol] [David Archuleta/David Cook] [G]
So there's this story, right? You've probably heard of it if you're into CWRPS. It's based on the movie the Wedding Date, and it's only one of my most favourite stories in the world. I was inspired by a bit of both the story and the movie, so this is the beginning of the unfinished product. It's been sitting on my hard drive for a while, and I thought I should get off my butt and start on it in honor of it being the last day of the Idol tour. *sadface* Special thanks must go out to the awesome, encouraging![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
boomingvoice. My love for her has no limits. Also, this is very, very much an AU.
Just an Ordinary Love Story (that's what we are)
Prologue
David's really happy for Jazzy. She's a little young, maybe, and okay, it might be a little weird that she's going to be married before he is, but still. David's really, really happy for her. "Unless, uh," he says, when she calls personally to invite him to the wedding (it makes David feel bad because obviously she needs to actually hear him say yes, yes he's coming, to believe it; he's almost had to cancel on them twice already), "He's not - I mean, you are happy, right?"
"Davey," she laughs. "Yes, duh. I've only been with Jeff for, like, ever."
"Oh, good," David nods. Because, well, because if she wasn't, he'd possibly have to hit Jeff, or - or, like, have words with him, or some other over-protective big brother-y routine stuff, and--and David's just really glad he isn't going to have to. "Good," he repeats. "I'm really happy for you, Jazz."
"Thanks, Davey," she says, so warm and genuine that for a second David would give anything to be back home in Salt Lake with them. Gosh, the planning must be crazy. Then Jazz adds, "oh, and, uh, AuntEm'sgonnabehere, okaygreatloveyoubye!" and hangs up before David can protest.
He spends the next couple of minutes squawking indignantly at the dial tone, anyway.
It doesn't take as long as it should for David to decide on what to do after that. The thing is, Aunt Em still terrifies him. Every time he's seen her in the past two years she's pinched his cheeks and hugged him so tight his ribs still creak in protest. "How is my widdle Archiekins?" she'll coo. "I don't understand why you don't have a girlfriend yet. What do girls these days expect? Don't you worry, my darling, we'll find you someone you like, yes we will."
And, well, okay, he doesn't like it, but that, David can deal with - his friends at school ask him the same question all the time - only then Aunt Em starts dragging him everywhere with her, introducing him to every girl at every table, even the ones he doesn't recognize.
"This is my nephew, David," she likes to say, as she ruffles his hair and beams. "Isn't he adorable? He's got a full scholarship at that fancy singing university, and he's going to be famous, you know. He's got a real talent, this boy. Davey, why don't you show these nice girls what you can do?"
It always makes David want to hide under a table till everyone leaves. He still remembers the time with that lady who'd tried to put her hand, like, up his thigh during the chorus of I Will Always Love You, oh my gosh. Just the thought makes David's skin prickle uncomfortably.
And no one will help him because apparently his parents think that letting Aunt Em matchmake him with girls he doesn't even know is a good idea. And Daniel's just worried that Aunt Em will start on him, too, which is a totally valid concern, probably, but it doesn't improve David's chances at all.
Which is why, half an hour later, David's locked the door to his dorm room, and sat himself down at his desk with his roommate's phone book spread out in front of him, dialing the number of one of the ads circled in thick, red marker. He only flails a little bit when someone picks up on the other end.
"Hello," he says, eventually. He even manages to steady his voice when he adds, "Um, there's this wedding I have to go for, and I'm - I think I'm maybe going to need an, uh, an escort."
Technology is actually pretty awesome, David thinks. He's only just gotten off the phone with the agency and already he's gotten a soft copy of the legal stuff he has to sign in his inbox. There's another document attached, which is full of all kinds of weird questions like, which movie star would you like to date? and what would you do if you were stranded on a desert island? and do you have any allergies?, to which David answers um, I don't know, that's kind of weird, isn't it? and I guess I'd try to build a tent? Although I hope there are fruits on the island because I don't really swim and metal bracelets, respectively. It's a long story.
Anyway, there's also this whole clause talking about how he is totally not allowed to pay his escort to, um, do other stuff. Besides escort him.
"Oh my gosh," David says, relieved, because he hadn't even thought about that, and wow, what if he'd been expected to -- well, that would have been awkward.
He's just about done filling up the forms when there's a sharp series of knocks on the door. "Yo, Dave. What are you doing in there?"
David's fingers skitter across the keyboard. "Uh," he calls back, as he shoves the phone directory under his roommate's bed. "Just - just a second!" It takes two tries for him to manage to hit the 'send' button, and he almost trips over his chair in his haste to get to the door. Jason's standing on the other side, eyebrow quirked, and David waves a hand nervously, very narrowly missing flicking one of Jason's dreads. "I, um. I had to--"
"Yeeeeah," Jason says, and shoots David an amused little grin as he comes into the room. "Whatever, man. As long as you stayed on your side of the room."
David flushes. It's really hard to misunderstand what Jason means. "Oh, but," he protests, weakly. "I wasn't--"
"Sure, man," Jason replies easily, and claps a hand over David's shoulder. "Oh, hey, you haven't seen my stash anywhere, have you?"
It feels like forever till the weekend before spring break finally arrives, and David's so jittery (re: scared) about finally meeting his escort - the agency sent him a letter of confirmation about a week ago - that he kind of, sort of insists Jason leaves for the airport early, because if his roommate ever finds out that he's hired an escort... oh, gosh.
David spends the rest of the afternoon trying to work on the song he's been stuck on for the past seventy hundred weeks, and not, like, surreptitiously checking the clock every five minutes or anything, and - and he actually really gets into it. He even manages to compose another couple of bars instead of just tweaking what he's already gotten down, but by five o'clock it seems kind of pointless to keep pretending that he's going to get any real writing done.
Pacing the room is much more productive, so he does that instead.
But David isn't sure what he's expecting, as he wrings his hands nervously and watches the clock counting down the minutes till there's a knock on his door. "Oh," he says, when it finally comes and he goes to answer it. Because David may not have had any idea what to expect, but David Cook is quite possibly the furthest thing from it.
On to Part One.
So there's this story, right? You've probably heard of it if you're into CWRPS. It's based on the movie the Wedding Date, and it's only one of my most favourite stories in the world. I was inspired by a bit of both the story and the movie, so this is the beginning of the unfinished product. It's been sitting on my hard drive for a while, and I thought I should get off my butt and start on it in honor of it being the last day of the Idol tour. *sadface* Special thanks must go out to the awesome, encouraging
boomingvoice. My love for her has no limits. Also, this is very, very much an AU.Just an Ordinary Love Story (that's what we are)
Prologue
David's really happy for Jazzy. She's a little young, maybe, and okay, it might be a little weird that she's going to be married before he is, but still. David's really, really happy for her. "Unless, uh," he says, when she calls personally to invite him to the wedding (it makes David feel bad because obviously she needs to actually hear him say yes, yes he's coming, to believe it; he's almost had to cancel on them twice already), "He's not - I mean, you are happy, right?"
"Davey," she laughs. "Yes, duh. I've only been with Jeff for, like, ever."
"Oh, good," David nods. Because, well, because if she wasn't, he'd possibly have to hit Jeff, or - or, like, have words with him, or some other over-protective big brother-y routine stuff, and--and David's just really glad he isn't going to have to. "Good," he repeats. "I'm really happy for you, Jazz."
"Thanks, Davey," she says, so warm and genuine that for a second David would give anything to be back home in Salt Lake with them. Gosh, the planning must be crazy. Then Jazz adds, "oh, and, uh, AuntEm'sgonnabehere, okaygreatloveyoubye!" and hangs up before David can protest.
He spends the next couple of minutes squawking indignantly at the dial tone, anyway.
It doesn't take as long as it should for David to decide on what to do after that. The thing is, Aunt Em still terrifies him. Every time he's seen her in the past two years she's pinched his cheeks and hugged him so tight his ribs still creak in protest. "How is my widdle Archiekins?" she'll coo. "I don't understand why you don't have a girlfriend yet. What do girls these days expect? Don't you worry, my darling, we'll find you someone you like, yes we will."
And, well, okay, he doesn't like it, but that, David can deal with - his friends at school ask him the same question all the time - only then Aunt Em starts dragging him everywhere with her, introducing him to every girl at every table, even the ones he doesn't recognize.
"This is my nephew, David," she likes to say, as she ruffles his hair and beams. "Isn't he adorable? He's got a full scholarship at that fancy singing university, and he's going to be famous, you know. He's got a real talent, this boy. Davey, why don't you show these nice girls what you can do?"
It always makes David want to hide under a table till everyone leaves. He still remembers the time with that lady who'd tried to put her hand, like, up his thigh during the chorus of I Will Always Love You, oh my gosh. Just the thought makes David's skin prickle uncomfortably.
And no one will help him because apparently his parents think that letting Aunt Em matchmake him with girls he doesn't even know is a good idea. And Daniel's just worried that Aunt Em will start on him, too, which is a totally valid concern, probably, but it doesn't improve David's chances at all.
Which is why, half an hour later, David's locked the door to his dorm room, and sat himself down at his desk with his roommate's phone book spread out in front of him, dialing the number of one of the ads circled in thick, red marker. He only flails a little bit when someone picks up on the other end.
"Hello," he says, eventually. He even manages to steady his voice when he adds, "Um, there's this wedding I have to go for, and I'm - I think I'm maybe going to need an, uh, an escort."
Technology is actually pretty awesome, David thinks. He's only just gotten off the phone with the agency and already he's gotten a soft copy of the legal stuff he has to sign in his inbox. There's another document attached, which is full of all kinds of weird questions like, which movie star would you like to date? and what would you do if you were stranded on a desert island? and do you have any allergies?, to which David answers um, I don't know, that's kind of weird, isn't it? and I guess I'd try to build a tent? Although I hope there are fruits on the island because I don't really swim and metal bracelets, respectively. It's a long story.
Anyway, there's also this whole clause talking about how he is totally not allowed to pay his escort to, um, do other stuff. Besides escort him.
"Oh my gosh," David says, relieved, because he hadn't even thought about that, and wow, what if he'd been expected to -- well, that would have been awkward.
He's just about done filling up the forms when there's a sharp series of knocks on the door. "Yo, Dave. What are you doing in there?"
David's fingers skitter across the keyboard. "Uh," he calls back, as he shoves the phone directory under his roommate's bed. "Just - just a second!" It takes two tries for him to manage to hit the 'send' button, and he almost trips over his chair in his haste to get to the door. Jason's standing on the other side, eyebrow quirked, and David waves a hand nervously, very narrowly missing flicking one of Jason's dreads. "I, um. I had to--"
"Yeeeeah," Jason says, and shoots David an amused little grin as he comes into the room. "Whatever, man. As long as you stayed on your side of the room."
David flushes. It's really hard to misunderstand what Jason means. "Oh, but," he protests, weakly. "I wasn't--"
"Sure, man," Jason replies easily, and claps a hand over David's shoulder. "Oh, hey, you haven't seen my stash anywhere, have you?"
It feels like forever till the weekend before spring break finally arrives, and David's so jittery (re: scared) about finally meeting his escort - the agency sent him a letter of confirmation about a week ago - that he kind of, sort of insists Jason leaves for the airport early, because if his roommate ever finds out that he's hired an escort... oh, gosh.
David spends the rest of the afternoon trying to work on the song he's been stuck on for the past seventy hundred weeks, and not, like, surreptitiously checking the clock every five minutes or anything, and - and he actually really gets into it. He even manages to compose another couple of bars instead of just tweaking what he's already gotten down, but by five o'clock it seems kind of pointless to keep pretending that he's going to get any real writing done.
Pacing the room is much more productive, so he does that instead.
But David isn't sure what he's expecting, as he wrings his hands nervously and watches the clock counting down the minutes till there's a knock on his door. "Oh," he says, when it finally comes and he goes to answer it. Because David may not have had any idea what to expect, but David Cook is quite possibly the furthest thing from it.
On to Part One.
