Don't Play Cupid if You Can't Handle Being Shot in the Butt

Three

"Thanks for helping me, Frankie." Donut said, beaming at his friend.

"Of course, it's no problem," mumbled Doc, who was sat cross-legged on Donut's bed consulting the Party Planning Bible with a furrowed brow.

"How's the playlist coming?"

"Oh um," Doc fiddled with his glasses and pulled out the relevant piece of paper from the mess surrounding him, "I think it's done, just let me know what you think and I'll download it all." Donut sagely considered the list, proud, and rather surprised, at Doc's knowledge of trashy pop music.

"It's good, do you think we should add a few romantic tracks though?" he asked nonchalantly, unwrapping another piece of candy from the pile the two had bundled upstairs with them.

"Romantic tracks? Like for slow-dancing?"

"Well, maybe. Just a bit more mushy, maybe towards the end of the playlist."

"Okay..." Doc hesitated, "Not that I don't trust your judgment, Frank, but Church, Tex, Carolina and York aren't really the types to slow-dance. At least not in public," he finished. Even imagining them felt weird to Doc, like it was too intimate for them to see.

"Nah, they'll be in the mood! And maybe some other people..." Donut mumbled, turning half away. For one moment Doc had the wild thought that Donut was asking him to dance, but then he remembered he was speaking to his friend. His expression immediately creased into a glare.

"What does that mean?" he asked, voice getting louder. His friend whipped back around, his ears turning lightish red.

"Nothing!" he squawked, shaking his hands in Doc's direction.

"You promised, asshole! No Grif and Simmons matchmaking stuff, that was the whole point of the party!" he threw one of Donut's many cushions towards his friend, desperation creeping into his voice.

"What if it wasn't Grif and Simmons," asked Donut slyly, eyes alight "Also we're calling them Grimmons now this is non-negotiable."

Doc rolled his eyes at the last part before replying, he continued to glare in the face of his friend's obvious enthusiasm, but quickly caved in the atmosphere of gossip-telling. There was something so tempting about Donut offering up his vast wealth of knowledge for him, and it wasn't a privilege Doc wished to give up. He made a gesture of defeat, leaning backwards, softening his expression and opening his arms, inviting Donut to share whatever it was he suspected. Donut squealed and sat down on the bed next to him.

"Okay, hear me out," Donut said, wriggling happily.

Doc listened patiently as Donut explained his hypothesis and he had to admit, he might have a point.

"So you want me to help you match make at the party?" he sighed.

"You don't have to! I just-" Donut solemnly took one of Doc's hands in his own, "Want your blessing. I know I'm breaking a promise and I totally won't do it if you don't want me to."

Doc was surprised at Donut's genuine seriousness. It felt good that his friend would respect his wishes, and Doc was momentarily distracted by affection for him, smiling warmly and unthinkingly putting his other hand on top of Donut's. There was a moment where they just looked at each other; Donut's serious expression melting away into something else that Doc couldn't place.

He noticed too late that he hadn't replied to Donut's request, and was suddenly much too aware of how close they were sitting. He snatched his hands away and tore his gaze from his friends', seeing Donut jerk slightly at the loss of contact and his expression change again, eyes downturned and mouth clamped shut. He looked sad, but Doc couldn't figure out why, being far too preoccupied with his own bright red face and racing heart.

"O-of course you have my blessing, asshole, you know I couldn't stop you if I wanted too, anyway." He laughed nervously, turning to see Donut nod, still looking down, "I, um," Doc jumped up from the bed, anxiously rubbing the back of his head and grabbing his bag, "I'll see you tomorrow, yeah?" Donut replied quietly, adding to Doc's concern. But something in him was urging him to run, so he gave in to his instincts and took off with a hurried goodbye, trying to avoid thinking about why he felt so bad.

The next day at school, everything went back to normal. Doc and Donut saw each other in history class, but after an awkward hello they passed the time passing notes and giggling at pictures in their textbooks as usual. Then they split up for the next lesson, both of them feeling significantly happier and more comfortable then they had before. The day went by without incident, at lunch Wash, Maine and Connie had been missing, doing an extra project for their English class, which Donut, and now Doc, had noticed to have an effect on Tucker's mood.

Mostly, the conversation focused on the party the following evening, and Donut was entirely swept up in the excitement. Doc had offered to come over early and set up, but York piped up and insisted that Wash had wanted Doc to give him a ride to the party because he lived over the other side of town. Donut assured him that it was fine, and noticed the almost relieved look that passed between York and Carolina. He guessed they were glad Wash didn't have an excuse to back out, but Donut wasn't offended. He knew when Wash was down he preferred to be alone, but his own private plans would ensure Wash would have the time of his life.

Donut spent the rest of the day making his plans for the next day. Whilst not the neatest or most organized person on the planet, was very particular when it came to his parties. He had resolved to spend that evening after school cleaning his house from top to bottom, then doing a refresher Saturday afternoon before he did set-up. Decorating and preparation for food and booze would happen in the afternoon as well as setting up music.

And, of course, there was mischief to be had, integrated at every step. Hopefully this time he wouldn't have to resort to hanging mistletoe in doorways, especially seeing as it seemed the others suspected the same as he did. Hell, even Doc had agreed it looked as if Tucker and Wash really were pining for each other. So maybe it would only take a little push. He would keep the spare bedroom free and clean, just in case.

He sat in his room that evening, going over final plans. As it always was, he had to resist the urge to begin preparation too early, because it only stressed him out more trying to fix every detail. Instead, he forced himself to go to bed after shooting off one final text to Doc (which read "AAAAAAHHHHH TOMORROW!! :D"), and eventually went to sleep.