Chapter Text
Booster misses football.
In spite of everything, he really does miss it. So even though he knows that it’s masochistic to watch games on television and dream about what might have been, he keeps doing it. He knows he’ll never get to play again, at least nothing more than a touch football game at the park, but that hasn’t stopped his love for the sport. Still, it’s a little easier to watch the games with a crowd, where he can blend in with other enthusiasts, getting caught up in the energy. He can pretend he’s just an average fan, that he never blew his shot at playing in the NFL.
That’s why he’s at the bar today, nursing a beer and cursing irritably when the Gotham Knights fumble another play.
“Awful game, huh?” says the man sitting next to him at the bar, and Booster casts him a disinterested glance. The guy must be a workaholic or something, because he looks like he just came from the office- even though it’s a Sunday afternoon.
“The worst,” Booster agrees amiably, pushing his mostly empty bottle restlessly between his hands on the bar’s surface. The bar is pretty dead today, probably because there isn’t a local game playing.
“What’s a Knights fan doing in Metropolis?” Businessman asks, clearly meaning to engage Booster in a conversation. He gestures to Booster’s Gotham Knights hoodie. “Isn’t that sort of like wearing a ‘Kick Me’ sign around here?”
“Not much worse than wearing a full piece suit and tie to a sports bar,” Booster shoots back. “Shouldn’t you be at some airport, drinking martinis in the business lounge?” Now that he’s giving Businessman a second look, he’s actually younger than Booster had thought. Maybe only a few years older than himself, lightly freckled, dark reddish-brown curly hair, and bags under his eyes that make him look like he’s pulled three all-nighters in a row. Definitely a workaholic.
“Touché,” Businessman says wryly. “You new in town?”
“Not so much,” Booster says. “Two years. Enough time for me to start to lose my Gotham accent.”
“I’m Ted,” Businessman says, actually offering his hand out for Booster to shake it. “Nice to meet you.”
“You can call me Booster,” Booster responds a little hesitantly and shakes the guy’s hand. He’s still not gotten used to the way people in Metropolis are so… friendly. Gotham citizens know to keep their heads down and not make eye contact with strangers. That’s not the case here.
“Well, Booster buddy,” Ted says, giving him a light punch on the shoulder, “let’s see if the Gotham Knights can salvage this game.”
The Gotham Knights, as it turns out, are utterly incapable of making a single successful play for the rest of the game, but Booster is absolutely astonished to find that he doesn’t actually care. Ted is an entertaining viewing companion, cracking jokes at the commercials onscreen and doing a spot-on impression of the announcers that makes Booster almost fall off his bar stool laughing. He hasn’t laughed this much in years, not since- Well, not since he moved to Metropolis. It feels liberating, like the shadow of his mistakes is just a little less imposing and present on his shoulders.
When the game is over, they move to a booth and order a couple more beers and hors d'oeuvres. They talk for a long time, not about any one thing in particular. About TV shows and local restaurants. Sports. Movies. Just light chitchat, but it’s more than Booster’s had in years. It’s like stretching muscles that haven’t been used in a long time.
Booster gnaws on a soft pretzel stick and eyes Ted curiously, trying to figure the guy out.
“Something on my face?” Ted asks, giving Booster a crooked smile.
“Just wondering why someone as fun as you would be at the office on a Sunday,” Booster responds honestly, before he can catch himself. “You don’t seem like the workaholic type.”
“How did you know I was at the office?” Ted starts to ask, before slouching a little and resting his chin on his hand. “Is it that obvious that I have no life?”
“Just a good hunch, I guess,” Booster says, not having intended to insult Ted. “It’s a little hard to believe that you don’t have a life, though. I’m sure you have friends.”
“I have friends,” Ted agrees. “I just haven’t felt like seeing them much. Or at all.” He munches on some nachos. “To be honest, this is the first time I’ve gotten out in months.”
“Ah,” Booster says knowingly. “Bad break-up, then?”
“Enough about me,” Ted says, utterly failing to smoothly change the subject. “What about you? What’s a Gotham kid doing in Metropolis?”
“I’m not a kid,” Booster protests. “I’m twenty-four.”
“Ha,” Ted says smugly. “I’m five years older than you. I can call you a kid if I want to. Answer the question, boyo.”
“Okay, old man,” Booster says wearily, throwing his hands up. “I moved out here because I needed something different. You don’t get much more different than Metropolis, when it comes to Gotham.”
“Gotham’s a nice place, though,” Ted muses. “I’ve been there before. Nice museums.” Booster tries not to react at the mention of museums. “Ritzy restaurants. Good underground music scene.”
“Somehow,” Booster says, “I can’t exactly imagine you in the ‘underground music scene’.”
“You’d be wrong,” Ted says, grinning. “I’ve seen the Sirens, B.C., and Bats. Live.”
“Bullshit,” Booster says, leaning forward. “No one sees Bats. His shows are completely unadvertised. I went to The Cave every night for a solid year. Never saw him there.”
“I saw him at a Crime Alley coffeehouse,” Ted says. “He only played at The Cave the first few years. Then people started talking about him and he switched things up. He makes a rule of never showing up where you expect him to be.” He smiles and takes a drink of his beer. “It was an incredible show, though. It had to have been, what? Two in the morning? The crowd was just hypnotized.”
“Which singer was he with then?” Booster asks, in spite of himself. He’s so jealous that it hurts.
“Not the first one,” Ted says, frowning. “The guy who split off and started Titans, Nightwing? This was a little while after he left. It was some other kid. Short, really rough around the edges. Harsher voice than Nightwing, but same crazy energy. I don’t think he was with Bats for very long.”
“I hate you,” Booster says miserably. Ted chuckles and finishes off his beer.
“So what do you do?” Ted asks Booster. “Job-wise, I mean.”
Booster always lies about this. Part of it is embarrassment, but another part is just plain habit. Lies just seem to fall out of his mouth nowadays. Especially when he’s just trying to get laid with someone he’ll never see again, which is about the extent of his social interactions as of late.
He’s surprised when the truth comes out instead.
“I’m a security guard at a museum in the city,” he says. “I work the night shift. It’s dull, but it pays the rent.”
Ted, thankfully, doesn’t crack any jokes about that. Just nods and flags the waitress down to bring him the bill.
“I used to be a scientist,” Ted says. “Electrical engineering and that kind of thing. But now, I guess I do management.” Booster tries to imagine Ted in a lab coat, but his mind wanders back to the Bats show. Ted couldn’t have gone to that in a suit and tie. To fit in with the Gotham scene, he would have had to dress way down. Maybe in a leather jacket, although that doesn’t seem Ted’s style. “Anyway,” Ted says, waking Booster from his thoughts, “I guess I should probably catch a cab back home.”
Booster checks his watch, stunned to find that it’s already seven.
“Oh,” Booster says. “Yeah, I guess… I guess I should too.”
“Wanna share a cab?” Ted offers, and Booster should really say no, because he actually lives close enough to walk home, but-
“Yeah,” he agrees, confusing himself for the third time that night.
“Actually,” Ted says suddenly, when they’re standing on the curb and waiting for their taxi, “I do have some bootleg recordings of the Bats show I went to. You wanna come over and check it out?”
Booster pulls his coat a little tighter around himself and nods. Ted grins back at him, and Booster is beginning to wonder what the hell is happening to him tonight.
The overwhelming confusion only intensifies when Ted opens his apartment door, and his place is huge. It has big windows overlooking the city, which twinkles in a way that Gotham fog never allowed for. There’s a huge L-shaped sofa that looks so soft Booster thinks he might never get up if he sits down. An entertainment system with surround speakers. Framed art on the wall that is definitely the real deal, not just some poster from the store.
Ted takes Booster’s coat, oblivious to his shock, and leaves to hang their coats up in the coat closet. Booster stands numbly in the living room and only just remembers to slap on a confident smile when Ted returns and asks Booster if he wants something to drink.
“Do you have tea?” Booster asks, because that sounds like something sophisticated, right?
Ted frowns and wanders off to his kitchen, which is actually in a separate room because his apartment has separate rooms and isn’t a tiny studio like Booster’s. He pokes his head out a few minutes later, brow furrowed.
“I have beer, water, instant coffee, and grape juice,” Ted admits. “No tea.” Booster snorts, and Ted grins apologetically at him.
“Definitely grape juice,” Booster says, feeling a tiny bit better.
Ted brings it to him in a large pink mug that reads “Science is Sexy”.
“It was the only clean cup I could find,” he says, defensive, when Booster doubles over laughing.
“God,” Booster says, practically crying. “You are definitely a bachelor, Ted.” He takes the mug from Ted and gulps down some of the juice. It tastes like childhood: reminds him of when he was ten and his mother had dragged him and his sister to church to take their first communion.
“Shut up,” Ted says, turning pink.
“How long has it been, anyway?” Booster says, smirking over his mug. “A couple months?”
“How long has it been?” Ted echoes. “Since what?”
“Since you last got laid,” Booster says, rolling his eyes and walking over to look at the books on Ted’s shelf. There are a few books he recognizes, but mostly it’s textbooks on electrical wiring and physics. A worn out copy of Hitchhikers’ Guide. Some books in what looks to be Russian?
Booster gets that niggling feeling in his stomach again, like he’s stumbled into a place he really doesn’t belong.
“I guess it’s been almost two years?” Ted says, behind him, and Booster nearly spits out his juice.
“Two years,” he repeats, raising his eyebrows. “You’re kidding me, Ted. Two years?”
“I don’t get out much,” Ted says, crossing his arms. “It’s not a big deal.”
To Booster, who has spent the last two years of his life hopping from one-night stand to one-night stand, it is kind of a huge deal.
Booster takes one more look at his surroundings: the view, the books, the kind of life he’s never had. He makes a decision.
“So, we should sleep together,” he announces.