Chapter Text
EARLY FEBRUARY, 1977
POINT PLACE, MICHIGAN
THE HUB
Kelso hits the side of the pinball machine so hard a few of the paper hearts hung from the rafters fall onto the sticky linoleum, and Eric toes at one with his sneaker to have something to do.
“You’ve still got a ball left,” He helpfully points out. Kelso grimaces and glances back out towards the street.
“Jackie’s late. Again ,” Kelso says. He looks close to hitting the machine again, so Eric decides to steer him in a less destructive direction.
“I’ll help you with your bio report if you buy me a Coke.” Kelso looks up and squares his face. He nods once, solemn. Eric keeps a steady arm on his shoulder sleeve, just in case he decides to jump back in for another round.
Eric takes a seat towards the back of The Hub. He tries hard not to grimace at the gaudy centerpiece cherub decorations or accidentally knock against the flowers on the wall behind him, which seem precarious without the aid of his noodle arms. Kelso reappears after a moment. His fists have been tamed by the power of two carbonated beauties.
“Show me the damage,” Eric demands. Kelso begins to root through his backpack, which is questioningly empty considering how heavy Eric’s always is. Eric uncaps his soda and decides not to think about it. Kelso tosses his crumbled lab report, five pages less than it should be and written despite Mrs. Westbrook demanding typed, onto the stained plastic tabletop.
“I don’t know the difference between mitosis and meiosis,” Kelso bemoans, rubbing a hand down the side of his face and taking a swig from his own Coke bottle. His fingers, covered in condensation, leave a sort of slime-esque trail along his cheekbone. “Jackie told me she’d help.”
“Kelso, I don’t think Jackie knows anything about biology.” Kelso looks indignant on his girlfriend’s behalf.
“Sure she does. She knows about the biology that matters,” He grins as he says this, gripping the table with one hand to lean onto the back legs of his chair. Eric frowns and then it clicks; he rolls his eyes fondly.
“King of the idiots,” Eric mutters under his breath, shifting through the report. “Kelso, did you even write your name down?”
“It’s on there somewhere,” Kelso says, waving absently. He keeps glancing back towards The Hub’s open entryway, as if some Jackie-shaped entity is going to appear there if he watches long enough.
“Why are you so preoccupied with her? I thought you guys were on the outs,” Eric says, not meaning anything by it. But when he looks up from the report after scribbling down a note in the margins, Kelso’s puppy-dog eyes are on full display.
“I had this whole - this whole thing set up today,” He says, clearly annoyed. “I was gonna ask her to be my valentine. I put a lot of work into it, and she was gonna love it!”
“Did she tell you to do that?” Kelso’s hasty scoff is an answer in itself.
“I do all this work for her and she totally blows me off! How fucked up is that?” Kelso continues, shaking his head. He glances back towards the door, but the person entering isn’t Jackie - it’s Hyde. Eric could identify those worn brown boots anywhere. Hyde hits the back of Kelso’s head in greeting, scooping up one of the loose lab papers as he tosses himself into the seat beside Eric. He lets out a low whistle as he reads. “Ah, shut up, Hyde, you don’t know shit yourself.”
“I’m not whistling at what you wrote,” Hyde laughs, setting down the paper and pushing his sunglasses down to the tip of his nose. “It’s how you wrote it, man. It’s totally unreadable. It’s, like, caveman quality.” Kelso flushes an angry red.
“Cut him some slack,” Eric chides half-heartedly, leaning back against the booth in defeat as Kelso swipes the report from the table and shoves it down into the black hole he calls a backpack. “Jackie’s a no-show.”
“ Jackie ?” Hyde crows, laughing harder. “No way, man. That girl keeps a separate calendar just for your dates!”
“I dunno what to tell you,” Kelso says, folding his arms across his chest and scrunching up his face. “I told her to be here. She’s not here. I guess - I guess she’s not my valentine.” Eric and Hyde exchange an incredulous expression.
“You say that like it’s something serious,” Hyde says.
“Isn’t that a little harsh?” Eric says, at the same time. They look at each other again. Hyde seems on the verge of laughing - as he always does.
“It is serious!” Kelso protests. “Jackie really cares about that stuff.”
“Yeah, ‘Jackie’ really cares about it,” Hyde says, rolling his eyes. “And you’re totally unaffected.”
“I don’t think she’d skip out on you on purpose,” Eric tries. “I mean. I can’t believe I’m defending Jackie, but. I don’t think she’d do that to you.”
“Come on, man, aren’t you gonna take the out?” Hyde asks, raising an eyebrow. “Who cares about Valentine’s Day anyway?”
Kelso purses his lips. His face is a suspicious shade of red.
“I knew it,” Hyde says, triumphant.
“Hyde, it’s not that weird,” Eric tries. “I mean, out of the three of us, Kelso’s the only one with a proper reason to actually look forward to the holiday.”
“Look forward to the one day a year he is legally obligated to spend money on a girl?” Hyde snorts. “No way. Especially when it’s decorated like this. ” He gestures to The Hub as proof. Eric has no retort for that; the interior design is horrific.
“You’re just jealous I’ve actually got a valentine,” Kelso grumbles into his drink.
“Technically, you don’t,” Hyde retorts. As Kelso’s eyes narrow, Eric is quick to play mediator.
“None of us have valentines, then,” He laughs uneasily, resisting the urge to swipe a hand down to cut off their staring contest. “So it doesn’t matter. It’s just a name, right?”
“It’s a tradition,” Kelso corrects.
“It’s yet another government restriction,” Hyde counters.
“I think you’re both blowing this way out of proportion,” Eric replies, resigned to his Coke and the hours long argument no doubt about to ensue.
As his eyes drift away from the table and back towards the front half of The Hub, a familiar shade of black hair catches his attention. Eric suddenly sits up a little straighter, reaches out to pat down a piece of particularly stubborn hair, wipes a sweater sleeve on his mouth in case of excess soda.
Buddy Morgan stands outside The Hub, hands tucked into his typical brown jacket. Underneath he wears an atypical pink turtleneck. Perhaps he thought it was more in season. The color goes well with the way the cold stains his cheeks and the tip of his nose, making his face look awash with a sunset as he steps off the street and out of Eric’s dream.
That was a cheesy line. Eric rubs his mouth again, then curses himself for the potential of making his lips look all rubbed and raw.
“Jackie!” Kelso says loudly, interrupting Hyde’s spiel about the ethics of federal holidays. It’s only then Eric realizes Buddy didn’t arrive alone - Jackie is beside him, stood waiting for her food and checking her nails. When Kelso calls her name, she looks up immediately. Her face drops in a sudden guilt.
“Michael!” She replies. Behind her, Buddy gives a little wave with only three of his fingers. Eric waves back, desperately wishing (and almost sure) it was meant only for him.
“Jackie!” Kelso again. For a moment, Eric thinks they’re just going to continue calling out each other’s names back and forth. But then she picks up her fries and walks over in her tiny flats, face growing increasingly upset with every step closer to her boyfriend. Buddy, on the other hand, lingers by the counter and waits for his own batch. Eric leans out of the way of Jackie’s shadow to keep an eye on him. Buddy looks up as he plays with a loose thread on his jacket sleeve and catches his eye. He smiles; Eric’s skin is set on fire.
“You stood me up,” Kelso says, as Jackie begins to pour out a:
“Michael, I’m so sorry, I completely forgot we’d decided to meet today, I met up with Buddy in the parking lot for my English tutoring and we stayed at the library for an hour after school got out and then decided to get food here and that’s when I saw you -”
“Can you guys do this somewhere else?” Hyde asks over the rims of his sunglasses, huffing a little into his jacket when Jackie shoots him a fiery look for interrupting her.
“You blew me off to go hang out with some other guy?” Kelso asks, voice raised. Jackie opens her mouth and closes it.
“Yes,” She allows after a brief consideration. “But the other guy was Buddy. He doesn’t count.”
“What do you mean, ‘he doesn’t count’?” Kelso asks, incredulous.
“She’s not my type,” Buddy smoothly cuts in, appearing out of nowhere and instantly making Eric focus back in on the conversation. He examines his seating options - either on Hyde’s side or the seat beside Kelso. Neither look appealing. Eric shuffles so close to Hyde their thighs touch, nodding with an awkward head for Buddy to sit down bedside him in the booth. “Thanks, Eric.”
“Who said you could sit with us - traitor!” Kelso accuses, letting out perhaps the most dramatic gasp Eric’s ever heard. Which is saying a lot, considering Kelso’s track record.
“Yeah, I’m not Buddy’s type,” Jackie quickly affirms. She and Buddy exchange a look that Kelso conveniently doesn’t see - but Eric does. Almost as if the phrase was some sort of inside joke. Jackie looks on the verge of laughter. Buddy bites down a smile and eats a fry instead. He nudges the basket with his elbow so that it’s closer to Eric silently. “Anyway, Michael. I’m here now.”
“Well, it’s too late now ,” Kelso mumbles, but he lets Jackie take a dainty seat down beside him. Hyde doesn’t look too happy to be sitting across from her, at least not at first. His eyes follow the way her hands move to grab onto Kelso’s upper arm affectionately. “You get English tutoring?”
“Buddy works in the library,” Jackie explains. She steals a fry from Hyde, who seems about ready to explode - for one reason or another, Eric can’t figure it out. “So he’s been helping me with my essay for The Great Gatsby. ”
“I remember that one,” Eric says. “Scott Fitzgerald, right?”
“Right,” Buddy says, and while Eric isn’t particularly happy he sounds so surprised Eric remembers, the praise flutters his heart nonetheless. “‘So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.’”
Eric is embarrassed to figure out just how hot it is that Buddy has so many quotes memorized. Hyde seems less than impressed.
“Who the fuck is this guy?” He asks to no one in particular, except maybe God (or Red, if he was here).
“I don’t think I read that book last year,” Kelso says, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
“That’s ‘cause I read it for you,” Eric explains, and Kelso nods in understanding. Buddy laughs.
“So what, you wrote his essay for him, too?” Eric shrugs.
“Guaranteed him a C where he’d get an F otherwise.”
“A C?” Buddy repeats, eyebrows raised. “You wrote bad enough to get a C in sophomore English?”
“I think I misunderstood the whole green light thing,” Eric admits sheepishly. Buddy laughs again. It’s the best sound Eric’s ever heard and he never wants to hear anything else.
“I think Daisy is the most relatable character I’ve ever read about,” Jackie says. Her grating voice was definitely not on the very short list of things Eric wanted to hear. The majority of that list contained all varieties of Buddy’s laugh. “She’s beautiful and rich and smart and she’s got two great guys who want her.”
“And she murdered somebody,” Eric adds onto the end, emphasis on the ‘murder’ part. “Wait - two great guys who want her?”
“I forgot to turn off my oven this morning,” Hyde cuts in, standing up and tossing a dollar on the table as tip.
“You know how to use an oven?” Eric asks.
“You have an oven?” Kelso adds.
“My house is probably on fire,” Hyde finishes, and as he walks away Eric tries to consider the possibility that he was blushing. A hundred to one, maybe.
“Shuffle down?” Buddy asks, nodding with his head towards the rest of the booth. Eric blinks. And then - idiot - laughs awkwardly.
“Right, right.” He moves. Buddy moves with him and, although there’s enough space to leave a few inches between, their thighs stay pressed together. Buddy is radiating with warmth. He hums like a furnace, all bouncy leg and pink turtleneck. Eric catches a glimpse of blush that spreads out on the side of his neck, from the tip of his ear to underneath his sweater. Wonder how far down that goes . No, Eric please, don’t get horny in The Hub. That shit’s so embarrassing and sad.
“Why’d you want to hang out today so badly, anyway?” Jackie asks, hand pressed to Kelso’s chest as if she doesn’t already know every detail of the plan.
“Jackie, I, um. I was wondering,” Kelso stops himself, clears his throat. He looks at her now, arm slung across her shoulders. “I, uh. Do you want to be my valentine?”
“Michael!” Jackie squeals. She swoons a bit as she tosses her arms around his neck and pulls him close for a kiss way too intimate for a public setting like this.
“Isn’t it ‘would you be my valentine’?” Eric says, a question that falls on deaf ears. Or - it would, if he was unlucky enough to have no Buddy in his life.
“So now you’re all about English,” Buddy replies. When Eric manages to tear his eyes away from Kelso and Jackie (it’s like a car wreck, you can’t look away from it) he sees Buddy is grinning the same smile he always wears. His white teeth go nicely with his pink, wind-stained cheeks. Eric suddenly forgets how to breathe.
“I’m just a sucker for tradition,” Eric replies. Buddy raises a questioning eyebrow.
“Really?” He asks. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a Valentine’s guy.”
“What can I say?” Eric laughs, a little nervously. All of a sudden his mind has become completely overtaken, no doubt poisoned by the decor and the wonderful background noise of Kelso and Jackie’s wet lips smacking together. He has to physically stop himself from leaning forwards and asking Buddy the dreaded question, although the connotation of the word ‘valentine’ he hardly understands himself. Does Buddy even like roses? “Do you like roses?” Smooth, Forman. Real fuckin’ smooth. His inner voice has switched from less Red to a concerning amount of Hyde.
Buddy shrugs. “I haven’t really thought about it.”
Eric is quick to nod, which perhaps make him look a little like he’s having a seizure.
“Understandable. I, for one, have no idea what my opinion on roses is,” Eric agrees. Buddy’s still giving him that raised eyebrow look, like he’s trying to figure out what’s going on - as if Eric is some sort of stubborn rubix cube he can’t quite solve. Eric isn’t sure how to feel about being under that look, but as long as Buddy’s eyes are on him he can’t find it in himself to complain.
“I think they’re a little cliche,” Buddy allows after a moment of careful examination.
“Things are cliche for a reason,” Eric counters, and steals one of Buddy’s fries for emphasis. Buddy hums noncommittally.
“I’m curious: what’d you think the green light was?”
“Just a dock light,” Eric says, laughing self-deprecatingly. “I’m not super good with metaphor. I can’t read between the lines - even if something’s right in front of me.”
“So I’ve noticed,” Buddy mutters, moving past the comment so fast Eric briefly wonders if he misheard. “You need an English tutor, too?” Eric laughs and rubs a hand against his chin.
“I’m fine, for now,” Eric says. “Thanks, though.”
“You’d better work on your poetry skills,” Buddy says, “if you’re looking for a valentine.” At Eric’s furrowed expression, he sighs fondly. “You know: roses are red, violets are blue… ”
“Oh,” Eric says, nodding in understanding.
“Maybe you’re not so down with tradition,” Buddy muses teasingly, and there’s some sort of double-meaning in between those beautiful lips. Eric can’t be bothered to pick it out, too focused on the way the light reflects off his upper lip. He nods absently. Buddy’s grin grows. His tongue flicks out to tap his bottom lip and Eric falls through the floor of The Hub. His heart catches on fire. The only solution is to rip himself away from looking before he embarasses himself further and flick a fry or two at Jackie and Kelso, who are still subjecting the entire Hub to their grotesque displays of affection, across from them.
ERIC FOREMAN’S BASEMENT
“Who is this Valentine?” Fez asks from his spot on the couch, legs spread to let a patient Donna sit in between his knees and have him braid up her long, beautiful hair. “And why does he get so many women?”
“No, Fez,” Donna laughs, bright and easy. “People are each other’s valentines. It’s like - a term of endearment. But holiday-themed.”
“I think there is some historical bullcrap behind it, though,” Hyde says from his spot in his usual chair, focused on whatever daytime network the set’s playing. Eric snaps his fingers from where he’s sprawled out on the couch, legs over the end of the chair and head against the cushion beside Fez’s leg.
“Valentine was a saint,” Eric says.
“Eric, your mother would be so proud to hear you actually paid attention in church,” Donna says, and dodges his responding arm slap with a giggle.
“If you move like that, I’m gonna pull out your hair,” Fez warns, fingers expertly tying her hair in some abstract knot Eric’s never seen before.
“Fez, how do you know how to do that?” Hyde asks the question all were wondering. Fez shrugs.
“I grew up around all my cousins, and most of them are girls,” He says. “And since I’m one of the oldest, I usually helped them get ready for school in the mornings.”
“Fez,” Donna says, tilting her head back to look at him upside-down. “That’s really sweet.” Fez smiles back, proud of himself.
“Donna, do you have a valentine?” Eric finds himself asking, although he’s already cursing the decision when he hears Hyde start to laugh.
“You know we broke up, right?” Donna asks, laughing along with him.
“I wasn’t - I didn’t mean, like, I was asking you,” Eric protests, flushing a harsh scarlet.
“I know,” Donna says, chuckling. “Besides, I think Valentine’s is kinda lame, anyway.”
“Thank you!” Hyde unnecessarily shouts, tossing an arm over at her as if to say see, I’m not crazy to Eric. Eric holds out his own hands in a ‘surrender’ motion.
“Why are you acting like I’ve been singing its praises?”
“”Cause you won’t shut up about it!”
“Eric, are you feeling left out?” Donna teases, reaching over to pinch at his cheek. Eric wriggles out the way, but her thumb still swipes his cheek.
“I’m feeling a little left out,” Fez admits. She pats his knee for comfort and it seems to nullify him enough to resume the braiding.
“I’m not feeling left out,” Eric protests, a little burned by the topic of conversation. His traitorous mind recalls the feeling of Buddy’s soft turtleneck beneath his finger,s the heat of his Buddy’s thigh against his own. “I’m just asking a question.”
“I think I know who you want to be your valentine,” Hyde snickers, and the expression on his face has Eric’s stomach dropping straight to Hell.
“Hyde,” Eric says, very careful, very measured. He can feel the urge to murder his best friend grow stronger by the second. Hyde continues to laugh. “Hyde.”
“What, Foreplay?”
“Ooh, I think I know who Eric wants to ask, too!” Donna cuts in, successfully stopping Eric’s hands from their slow descent around Hyde’s unassuming neck.
“Who does Eric want to ask?” Fez asks, distracted. When Donna turns to grin that dazzling smile up at Eric, red hair following in encouragement, he has to physically stop himself from puking all over that stupid couch and coffee table.
“Eric doesn’t want to ask anybody,” Eric promises, face a little green.
“I think you’d have better luck than you think,” Donna sing-songs, giving him a little shimmy and a wink that will be featuring in Eric’s nightmares the next six months to come. He rests a clammy hand to his forehead and turns in to face the back of the couch. Hyde just keeps cackling. When he works himself into a coughing fit, Eric allows himself a little smug smile. Just a small one.
POINT PLACE HIGH’S LIBRARY
Eric realizes too late he’s been staring at Buddy for longer than normal. As he comes back into focus, having spent the past ten minutes watching Buddy stack damaged books for the recycling with his tan, long fingers, he notices with a crashing wave of embarrassment that Buddy is staring back.
“Is there something on my face?” Buddy asks, scrunching up his nose in a way that makes Eric’s heart leap from his throat and lie flopping on the library carpet. He wipes at his left cheek absently.
“No, um. I was just,” Eric desperately searches for a proper excuse, floundering at Buddy’s clear disbelief, “I was looking at the poster behind you. It’s, uh, right by your head. Yeah.”
“The poster?” Buddy asks, turning around. The poster in question is a handmade one produced by Place High’s intense student government body. It is a colored-paper and glue monstrosity, all pinks and purples and little baby faces that make Eric’s stomach twist up. “That poster?” Eric wants to sink into the floor. He wants to launch himself over the rattling metal tray between the two of them and do something unspeakable. A voice that sounds like Donna rings loud in his head: I told you so.
“That poster,” Eric agrees weakly. Buddy laughs, perfect eyebrows raised.
“The one advertising the Valentine’s Day dance.”
“The one - uh. Yep.” At this point, there’s nothing left to do but double down.
“You really do like Valentine’s Day, don’t you,” Buddy says, a little mystified. Eric doesn’t, not at all, but if saying he does keeps Buddy looking at him like that, he doesn’t mind this reputation-destroying rumor all that much. It’s not surprising Buddy is a romantic - somebody who obsesses over silent generation literature, with the green lights and the French streets and the wine, must like love at least a little bit.
“Don’t you?”
Buddy shrugs, but it’s clear he’s downplaying when he looks bashfully up at Eric through his eyelashes. Just his eyes make Eric’s lungs lose all air.
“I like parts of Valentine’s. I like seeing people happy, and the colors,” Buddy says, gesturing to his turtleneck with uncharacteristic awkwardness. “I, um. I’ve just never had a Valentine - so I don’t really get to celebrate most of it.”
Eric nods, heart pounding in his throat. Buddy looks away and starts to push the cart forward. It’s a given now that Eric will hang off the end like an overexcited child.
“So, what are you gonna get Donna?”
Eric’s head whips up from where he had gotten refocused on Buddy’s tapping fingers, surprised.
“What do you mean?” Buddy’s face is suspiciously red. There’s something murky and a little disappointed in his face.
“Well, ‘cause she’s your girlfriend.”
Oh, god.
Oh, GOD.
“No,” Eric cuts in abruptly, voice about two octaves higher than normal. Buddy’s face shifts into pleased confusion. “No, she’s not. I’m not - she’s not my girlfriend. I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Oh,” Buddy says, and it’s like the world has started spinning again. He’s got a little smile playing on his lips. He keeps biting his bottom lip like he doesn’t want Eric to see the full extent of the grin. “Good. I mean - not good. Fine?”
“Good,” Eric agrees, smiling tentatively. Buddy looks at him and nearly crashes the cart into the nearest bookcase. “Oh, shit! Sorry, I’m being distracting.”
“You’re fine,” Buddy rushes to tell him, reaching out with placating hands. “I mean, my shifts are dull, anyway. Don’t run out.”
“I’m not running,” Eric reassures, and suddenly he’s whispering despite them being in a near empty library. They’ve ducked into a small alcove on the first floor in between the historical fiction and fantasy section. It feels like another planet - especially when Buddy looks at him like that.
“If you don’t have a girlfriend…” Buddy drifts off, fingers tracing the absent spines of the books in front of him. “Then why are you so excited about the dance? Going stag probably sucks.”
“I’m not excited ,” Eric says. “And is it really so bad?”
“Yes. I went stag last year,” Buddy says, rolling his eyes. “‘Cause my friends, they all had boyfriends - and it sucked ass. I spent the whole night against the wall, watching them suck face on the dance floor.”
“Are you planning on going this year?”
Buddy’s face turns contemplative. There’s something sparkling in his deep cow eyes. Eric wants to jump into them and soak himself in Buddy. He feels himself leaning unconsciously forward on the opposite end of the tray.
“I wasn’t planning on it,” Buddy says, toeing at the carpet with his shoe. “I mean. If somebody asks…” Eric’s breath catches in his throat. He feels like there’s something he should say. Some stupid, impulsive part of him is tripping to ask Buddy the same question that was on his tongue in The Hub, that’s always lingering whenever Buddy smiles or looks at him or simply steps in his general vicinity.
“Buddy, um. Would you-”
“ Buddy! ” Jackie’s shrill voice cuts through the silence of the library like that dude from Texas Chainsaw . Eric slumps over onto the book-covered tray, dramatically defeated. Buddy seems just as annoyed, clearing his throat and stepping back a comfortable distance from Eric as Jackie rounds the bookshelf. Her face is beet red and screwed up tight, angry in the way she tends to be.
“What’s wrong, Jackie?” Buddy’s sympathetic tone is something Eric envies. The battle for Buddy’s wonderful attention has been lost before it even really began.
“Kelso hasn’t asked me to the dance,” Jackie all but moans, pushing Eric off the tray so that she can sprawl in his place. Buddy catches Eric’s eye over Jackie and shrugs, a little knowing smile on his face.
“I thought he did,” Eric says, frustration leaking into his voice. “At The Hub - I was there, I watched the words come out of his mouth.”
“Asking me to be his valentine and asking me to the dance are two separate things, Eric, duh, ” Jackie replies, not even bothering to look his way as she says this.
“I’m sorry, Jackie,” Buddy says, genuine as he rests a reassuring hand on Jackie’s upper arm. Eric can’t help but feel a surge of irrational jealousy and then a similar wave of heated embarrassment over said jealousy. “Kelso’s an idiot.”
“Yeah,” Jackie agrees, clearly miserable. Buddy pulls her into a comforting hug. He sends Eric that same little smile again and it makes every injustice Eric has ever suffered through undoubtedly worth it. “It’s just - it’s in three days!”
“I know it’s not the same, Jackie, but - I’ll go with you,” Buddy offers cautiously, pulling back and wiping at a loose, bubbly tear underneath her eye. “It’d definitely make Kelso jealous.”
“It shouldn’t,” Jackie says, mumbling. But she nods anyway, tears giving way to the familiar mischievous glint in her eyes. “But yeah. Maybe that’s a good idea - he’ll go crazy.”
“I’ll pick you up at eight, okay?” Buddy says.
“You have to help me pick out my dress!” Jackie says, urgent. “We have to match or I’ll die. Why are you hanging around here, anyway? School let out, like, an hour ago!”
“We were just hanging out,” Eric says, all a rush. Jackie sends him a furrowed look.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” She says.
“Okay, we’ll leave now,” Buddy reassures, if only to stop a Jackie volcanic explosion. She looks nullified by this. “Eric - see you tomorrow?” His face is so perfect and pink and wonderful and even if Eric’s heart is shattering into a thousand pieces, he still manages to smile back.
“Of course,” Eric says, like the dope he is. When the last bit of Buddy’s ruffled black hair and turtleneck disappears behind the bookshelf, Eric lets himself drop onto the return tray, feeling like a deflated version of one of those blow-up guys in discount car lots.
DONNA PINICOTTI’S BEDROOM
It takes a good three dramatic groans for Donna to look up from her magazine. Eric is sprawled out on her bedroom floor, facedown against the carpet, and doesn’t appear to be getting up anytime soon.
“Eric, you’re the most dramatic person I’ve ever met,” Donna says. “And I know Jackie.”
“Even above Kelso?” Eric says, muffled by the floor. Donna’s lack of a response speaks volumes. “I can’t help it. I’m in mourning.”
“Mourning over what?” He isn’t even sure how to explain - or even approach explaining. Donna might be the only person on the planet he’d be willing to talk to about this but still. Eric replays the conversation for the hundredth time in his head, still as stunned at himself as he was the first time; had he seriously been about to ask out Buddy? To the fucking dance ? That level of confidence astounds him. He must’ve been temporarily replaced by a cyborg clone, because Eric has reached a new low. He lets out another groan and can feel it rumble back up through the fringe carpet.
“Eric.” Donna’s quickly approaching her limit of Eric Time and he can tell, so he scrambles to a sitting position and comes to the edge of her bed. Donna sets the magazine down beside her on the bed and waits impatiently for an explanation.
“I think I was about to ask Buddy out,” Eric admits all in one breath, and it comes out mostly through his nose. Donna, on her part, seems to have understood about half of the sentence - but she gets the picture. A fierce, painful grin spreads across her face.
“You what?” Donna asks. “You were going to do what?”
“You heard me,” Eric says, miserable. Donna shoves her face against his, cheek to cheek, and he can feel her red hair tickling the back of his neck. Her laughter is metaphysical.
“You know what I’m gonna say, right?” Eric sighs, and says it with her: “I told you so!”
“I know, I know.”
“Eric Foreman…” Donna laughs, tongue pressed to the back of her teeth. “What do you mean ‘ about ’?”
“I’m pathetic.”
Donna snorts and rolls her eyes; that’s a given. He flops face first onto her comforter and she lets him, still perched up by an elbow beside him.
“What’d you do this time?” Donna asks.
“I was halfway through asking him to the dance,” Eric begins his morose story, “and then Jackie stormed in and completely interrupted me.”
“When was this?”
“Wednesday, so…two days ago,” Eric says. Donna levels him with a look that would kill anybody else less familiar with her.
“And you hadn’t tried again?”
“He’s going with Jackie,” Eric protests weakly, “to make Kelso jealous.”
“Why would he be jealous?”
“Because it’s Kelso!” Eric says, the unspoken and he’s a dumbass resting easily in the space between them. Donna passes him her pillow, speckled with strawberry sheets. Eric takes it gratefully and screams so long and loud into the fabric, his voice is hoarse afterward. Donna watches him throughout the tantrum, lovingly annoyed and forever wonderful.
“Just because he’s not your date doesn’t mean you can’t go,” Donna says, slowly. “Or talk to him. Or even dance with him, although I’m not sure of the logistics of that. It was pretty bold to ask him out anyway, even if he is the gayest person I’ve ever fucking seen. ”
“He’s not that gay,” Eric says, the back of his neck heating up. “And I’m not going to the dance by myself, no way. That’s humiliating!”
“I know,” Donna says, jokingly sympathetic. “All the other girls will giggle about you behind your back.” His arm bats her side pathetically, too upset to do any real damage.
After a moment, her hand comes down to rest on his back and rubs little circles into his shirt. She says: “I’ll be your date.” Eric peeks an eye over at her, confused.
“Wouldn’t that be -?” Weird? Awkward? Potentially-friendship-ruining?
“Contrary to popular belief, Foreman, you weren’t the great love of my life,” Donna says, laughing through her teeth. “Best friends go to the dance all the time. That’s literally what Jackie and Buddy are doing.”
Eric pillows his head on his arms, considers it deeply for a moment. Thinks of what Buddy might look like in a tux, underneath red and pink lights, smiling that smile and dancing with his angular shoulders and bony legs. He looks up at Donna, his guardian angel, his best friend, and nods.
They, of course, shake on it.
POINT PLACE HIGH GYMNASIUM
The gym is surprisingly packed, but unsurprisingly the majority of attendees are sprawled out in various poses straight out of Kama Sutra along the paint-faded bleachers. Donna leaves him five minutes in to say hello to some girls from her biology class, drifting off with her purple shawl clasped to her back and hands open for offers of punch. He has no doubt he won’t see her again until the end of the night - but at least he didn’t have to walk in alone.
He doesn’t recognize the song the DJ is playing. Even if he did, he wouldn’t be dancing. Eric just does what he normally does: shoves his hands down the front pockets of his tan dress pants and rocks back on his heels, a ball of anxiety close to supernova-ing.
“Eric!” The voice sends a shock of metaphorical ice water down his already sweat-stained shirt. He turns to greet Buddy full on, who’s bounded over with his typical stunning grin and hair slightly pushed back by the heat. His simple tuxedo, a dark gray, has a matching pink undershirt that no doubt goes perfectly with Jackie’s dress.
“You look, um,” Eric has no fucking idea what to say. He goes with his gut. “You look good.”
“Thank you.” It’s the gym or the low lights, that must be why Buddy’s blushing so hard. “Jackie was pretty intense about our color scheme. Wasn’t really worth it, since she’s already off making out with Kelso.”
“And he’s wearing what, jeans and a t-shirt?” Eric says. Evidently, it was the right thing to say, because Buddy laughs. And suddenly it’s just them in the gym, no music or people or stupid friends, just him and Buddy by the bottom of the bleachers smiling at each other. He wants to smile like a fool at Buddy forever.
“Did you go stag after all?” Buddy asks, eyebrows knitted and voice pitched up to be heard over the music. Eric shakes his head.
“Donna and I are here,” He shouts, unnecessarily loud to compensate for his clammy hands. “As friends, I mean. We’re just friends.”
“I believe you,” Buddy says, lips quirking up a little. It feels like he never stops smiling. Eric never wants him to.
“And you, you know,” Eric says. He realizes he’s been trying to gesture with his hands still shoved in his pockets and takes them out awkwardly. “You and Jackie?” Buddy stares at him for a moment, blinks long and slow. Then he lets out a burst of laughter - no, a snort. His hand comes up to cover the bottom half of his face as Eric stares at him, wide-open eyes. Buddy Morgan snorts when he laughs.
Oh, I am soo fucked.
“Sorry,” Buddy says, “sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh.”
“It’s fine,” Eric says, voice an octave higher than normal. The sound of Buddy’s laugh replays in his head like a broken record. Do you think the DJ takes requests? “I just thought I’d ask.”
“Jackie and I have never been…a thing,” Buddy reassures. “And we never will be.”
“‘Cause she’s…” Eric remembers Buddy’s wording from that day in the Hub, “‘not your type?’” Buddy’s smile is crooked, mischievous.
“No, she’s not.” Eric is suddenly desperate to know who is.
“Who is?” He asks, because he can’t resist sticking a foot in his mouth. Buddy startles and the smile slips off his face. For the first time since Eric’s known him, there isn’t a semblance of a smile there - only slight surprise, a bit of fear. It makes his stomach twist up in uncomfortable knots.
“Do you really want to know?” Buddy asks, eyebrow raised, and not for the first time Eric senses he’s asking a completely different question. But for the first time - Eric kind of understands what the conversation’s really about.
“Yeah,” Eric says, so soft he’s sure Buddy didn’t hear. So soft to let Buddy have an out, if he wants to take it. Buddy looks away, towards the crowd. Within it dances Jackie and Kelso; jealousy he’s never felt before flames up in his chest. They don’t even know how lucky they are to get to dance like that. And he couldn’t give a shit about dancing. He couldn’t give a shit about Valentine’s Day, about any of it. But Eric cares so much about Buddy, so much he can feel his throat closing up now with the intensity of it.
Buddy’s eyes find his again. In the dark underlights of the gym, where nobody even sees them standing there, two sweaty fingers bump against Eric’s slack knuckles.
“I think you know,” Buddy says, barely a whisper. Eric is just reading his lips at this point. Two fingers become five and Eric opens his palm. It feels like he hasn’t taken a breath in minutes. It feels like he’s drowning.
Buddy’s hand wraps around his own, both sweaty and nervous and overjoyed. Eric buries his grin inside his suit jacket. Buddy, typical for him, does nothing of the short. His smile burns, burns, burns. And contrary to his sophomore self, hyperventilating as Buddy accidentally sets their entire experiment (and the bottom sleeve of his shirt) on fire, Eric is realizing he doesn’t mind getting burnt.