“Eddie,” Andrew said slowly. “If that’s you ‘screwing around’, then I’m pretty darn keen on hearing what you can do if you put your mind to it.”

Toying with the soft lining of the case, Eddie narrowed his eyes and bit his lip. Andrew lifted himself up far enough to fall onto Johnny’s bed, bringing him nearly level with Eddie.

“You’re good, Edward. Really, really good. And I think you’d be wise to stop trying to convince me otherwise.”

Eddie slowly closed the lid of the guitar case and straightened up. He toyed aimlessly with his hands, looking down at his open laptop without really seeing it. “I haven’t really ever played for anyone except my mother.” The corners of his mouth quirked up. “She used to have me play along with the radio. Said I’d be able to hear the music better if I knew where it was coming from.”

“And did it work?” Andrew asked. Eddie glanced up at him.

“I’m not sure. I don’t know any different.” He blinked, snapping out of his reverie and pressing a hand to the back of his laptop screen. It closed with a gentle snick. “Okay, I’m not getting any more work done on this effing paper night. You want to grab a burger or something across the walk?”

Andrew smirked. “Nice deflecting.” He stood up and ran a hand through his hair. “Let’s go get you fed.”

Eddie grabbed his keys and wallet from the bed and led the way towards the door. Just before they stepped into the hallway, Andrew put a hand against Eddie’s upper arm, making him pause and turn back. He gave him a level look.

“And don’t think you’re off the hook. I’ve heard you play now, I’ll be coming back for an encore before long.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “We’ll see about that.”

He already knew that case wouldn’t stay shut for long.

| | |

There was only one week to the Thanksgiving holiday, and the air on the third floor was full of it. The weekend would mark their first proper break from college, the chance to head back home and recount to their families how hard they’re working in their classes and how interesting the lectures are and how so completely seriously they’re taking their studies.

Mostly, though, it meant someone else doing their laundry and a short reprieve from college food.

Conversations slowly began to turn towards what everyone’s plans were. The majority of the boys were heading home, with the exception of a handful who would be tagging along with someone else to spend the holiday at their house. Nixon was going home with Dick because for all the grandeur of his family’s celebratory dinners, nothing could beat Mama Winters’ apricot stuffing and pumpkin pie. There had been a drawn-out and overtly-public ‘discussion’ between Webster and Liebgott in which it was decided that they would be going to San Francisco to properly introduce Web to the Liebgott clan, something Joe had been threatening him with for weeks. Nate’s mother had all but insisted that they stay with Brad’s family, as she’d ‘already had the pleasure of seeing them try and suppress their relationship around company, the show needs to be put on for everyone involved’. In other words, she wanted Brad’s family to be able to see that they were happy together, as she had been given the chance to see it first-hand already.

The level of commitment to school work reached dangerous new lows as the end of the week began to approach. Textbooks were left in random places (usually where someone would later trip over them), looseleaf note pages became coasters and paper airplanes, and attendance at lectures dropped dramatically. They were ready for a break.

Sledge was no exception. As much as he loved Toccoa Hall, he was looking forward to the chance to head back to Mobile and see his parents. They had been notably vocal against his decision to attend a college thousands of miles from home, but once his acceptance letter had come through they had only been able to bite their tongues and try to support him. He knew that they loved him, it was just that they worried.

He had a heart murmur. It was something he’d had his entire life, something that his father, a prominent physician, had kept a close eye on as his son grew older. It wasn’t a life-threatening ailment or anything, but the knowledge that something was slightly off about his heart had kept him from joining sports or leagues as a child. He didn’t go around sharing the information with everyone, mostly because people automatically assumed that it meant he was likely to keel over at any moment. Sid knew, but that was only because they’d been attached at the hip growing up and it was difficult to hide the fact that your father was doing weekly check-ups on you. Choosing a school so far from home, it had been his parents’ first worry: that if something were to go wrong, they wouldn’t be there.

But Sledge had been keeping his weekly appointments with the campus doctor, with everything remaining the same as ever. If any of the other boys noticed that he disappeared for an hour each week, they didn’t mention it.

The thought of getting to see his family and friends back home for the first time in months had him feeling giddy and excited. The Tuesday before he was due to fly home, he tossed his bookbag into his suite, not caring where (or on who) it landed, and swung across the hall into 305, waving to Skip and Hoosier, who seemed to be scraping what looked like broccoli off of a charred pan while Liebgott propped himself up against the fridge, watching them with a smirk.

“Snaf!” He practically jumped into the bedroom, smiling as he saw Snafu sprawled bonelessly across his bed. From what little he could wring from Snafu, it sounded like Andrew was the perfect roommate: quiet, considerate, and not there half the time. He’d been there for a week, and he fit easily into the working dynamic of the floor.

Eyes flicking slowly to the door, Snafu raised an eyebrow. “Hell, Skippy, you full’a beans today or somethin’?”

“Aw, c’mon, we’ve got, like, one day of class left before the holiday.” He dropped onto Snafu’s bed, nearly crushing his friend’s foot in the process. “You can’t tell me you aren’t even a little bit excited?”

“You ever see me get excited, Sledgehammuh?” Snafu let his eyes fall back to the magazine in front of him. Sledge chuckled.

“True.” He gave an exaggerated sigh and gazed off into the middle distance. “Thanksgiving. My mother pulls out all the stops for dinner, you know. Cranberry sauce and potatoes and stuffing and the biggest goddamn turkey in all of Alabama.”

Snafu looked back up to him, casually turning the page. “You gon’ have to watch your figure, else we’ll have to roll you to class.”

“Shut up,” Sledge said, shoving Snafu’s shoulder playfully and grinning. He looked curiously down to the page Snafu was reading. “I bet there’s nothing like a Cajun Thanksgiving, though, huh?”

Turning his attention back to his magazine, Snafu pursed his lips. “Imagine there ain’t.”

Sledge went on. “I heard Gene telling Liebgott about all different dishes his mama makes for special occasions. Had all of us practically drooling right there in the common room!” He nudged a knee against Snafu’s ribcage. “You got any meals unique to Mama Shelton?”

Slowly slipping a finger underneath the glossy page, Snafu raised an eyebrow. “You’d have t’ask her yourself.”

Pausing for a moment, the frown on Sledge’s face disappeared as realization sunk in. “Oh ... Snaf, look, I’m real sorry -”

“Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry about, boy,” Snafu said, reaching the end of his magazine and standing to toss it back onto Andrew’s bed, where he’d found it in the first place. “That woman don’t want to see her own child grow up, tha’s her choice. I ain’t about t’hunt her down for a turkey dinner.”

Sledge felt a tiny twang of guilt in his chest. He knew Snafu would rather scrape his own eye out with a broken spoon before he gave any indication to anyone that he felt anything less than decided disinterest in the world around him, but something in the way he brushed the topic off raised a warning flag for Sledge. Tucking away the worry for a later time, he tried to put a smile back on his face.

“I bet you booked the first flight out of California, huh? Can’t look too eager to say goodbye to everyone for the weekend.” He shifted to the side to make room for Snafu, who dropped beside him on the bed and slung his legs out in front of him. “What time are you leaving?”

“Well,” Snafu drawled, eyes lidded as he watched his foot swing back and forth off the end of the bed, a slow smirk crawling across his face, “I imagine they’ll boot me outta here by th’time Christmas Eve rolls around. ‘M paying my bills, though, so I’m gon’ stay as long as I can.”

Sledge’s face pinched in confusion. He leaned forward to look Snafu in the face. “What the hell are you talking about?” He narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Snaf ... You’re going home for Thanksgiving, right? I mean, your dad still lives in New Orleans, don’t he?”

Snafu’s eyebrows inched up in emphasis, though his eyes remained fixed on his feet. “Last I saw of my pops, he was passed out dead t’the world in the livin’ room. Didn’ even hear the cab honk when I left.”

“But ...” Sledge folded his legs in front of him to fully face Snafu. “You aren’t staying here for Thanksgiving.”

“Hell I am, Sledgehammuh. Gon’ get some peace an’ quiet round here for a change.” He glanced up to Sledge, who was staring at him in disbelief. “Don’ you go gettin’ all weepy-eyed on me, now, we got enough estrogen in this dorm from Webster’s bitchin’, las’ thing we need is more.”

Sledge opened his mouth to say something, but it died in this throat. For all that he liked to think of Snafu as his closest friend at Oceanside (apart from Sid, who had thrown himself so completely into his schoolwork that Sledge was luck to see him once every couple of weeks), he knew very, very little about who he had been before he got on that plane from New Orleans and flew out to the west coast. Getting him to talk at all was always an uphill battle, but wringing even a drop of personal information from him was out of the question.

Thinking back, where the other guys all got some form of care package from home, Snafu had always been the one to pilfer snacks from them. Sledge had never seen him with a letter, or an email, or even a photograph to indicate what his family was like. Now that he was getting this first glimpse into what sounded an awful lot like a miserable childhood, Sledge found himself feeling guilty for all the times he’d complained about his older brother’s nagging emails or his mother’s frantic phone calls late on Saturday afternoons to inquire about his wellbeing. For all of those times, Snafu had just given him that lazy Cajun smirk of his and told him to ‘shut the fuck up with yo’ whining”.

He felt like the worst friend in the world.

“No.” Sledge straightened his back, eyes trained on Snafu’s neutral expression. “I ain’t about to let you spend Thanksgiving in a college dorm by yourself.”

“Don’ think your mama’d be too keen on you missin’ out on her turkey dinner,” Snafu said edgily. “I’m a big boy, Eugene, ‘m capable of lookin’ after myself ‘till you boys come back all plump an’ rosy-cheeked.”

“Fuck off, Shelton, you’re coming back home with me.” Sledge grinned widely at the blank expression that erased the careful disinterest Snafu constantly showed. He pressed on. “My mom always makes enough to feed three families, an’ we’ve got a couple of spare guest rooms that I know are gonna be empty. My brother’s bringing his wife along, and I’m pretty sure my aunt Laura and uncle Rob are coming, and my cousins Bree and Brian -”

“Hey.” Snafu pointed a finger at Sledge, eyes serious. “I don’t do no big ol’ family dinners. Leave me outta this.”

Sledge just shook his head, unable to keep the grin off his face. “I’m bookin’ you a plane ticket right now. You’ve got no say in this, Snaf, you’re having a Sledge Family Thanksgiving whether you like it or not.”

“Don’t -” Snafu broke off as Sledge bounced off the bed and bolted for the open door. “Sledge!”

“Can’t change my mind, Merriell!” Sledge wound his way through the suite and back into his own, barely sparing a glance for where Skip was cautiously tasting a floret of broccoli from the pan, face pinched in trepidation, as Hoosier watched him in interest and Liebgott watched him in horror. Snafu stormed past them.

“You’s playin’ the devil’s advocate here, Sledgehammuh!” he hollered, louder than anyone could remember him being. Sledge’s voice came out muffled and gleeful through the closed door.

“Eleven a.m. on Thursday! Pack your bag or else I’m doing it for you!”

Snafu stood in the hallway, glaring at the door in front of him. Walt and Babe walked up to it, throwing him confused looks as they slowly pushed the door open and glanced inside, almost as if they were expecting to find something unpleasant on the other side. Snafu didn’t follow them, just stood there.

He had just been given an invitation to his first Thanksgiving dinner. He didn’t know whether to be pissed or nervous.

A beat passed before he came to his senses. He didn’t do nervous. Pissed would have to do.

He didn’t spare a thought for the cautious butterflies that rested in his stomach.