Chapter Text
Chekov gets plenty of second looks as he makes his way toward his dormitory carrying a box of books, his overstuffed duffel strapped across his back. He tries to be friendly, like his aunt told him he should, and he smiles at the young men and women who stare at him as if he should be wandering through the aisles of a toy store, not walking unaccompanied through the halls of the Academy's newest dormitory. The typical age of a person enrolling in the Academy is eighteen, and Chekov is only fourteen, already finished with secondary school and ready for more of a challenge. The Starfleet recruiters warned him that his biggest challenge might be fitting in with his classmates, but Chekov hopes that the other students at the Academy are open-minded enough to accept him better than the older boys at his high school did. He still has a bruise on his neck from the last of his regular beatings.
He arrives at his room and pushes inside, wearing a nervous smile for his new roommate, but the room is empty. Chekov's heart sinks a little as he deposits his books onto one of the two bare mattresses in the room. He hopes they don't expect him to room alone; he's already having trouble imagining how he'll make friends. He never really got the hang of it at home and wants to start over fresh here, where no one thinks of him as a tiresome, overachieving brat who was put on Earth to make them feel bad about themselves. He knows, of course, that it's possible that people at the Academy will see him the exact same way.
He puts his books on the shelves that are built into the wall near the bed he's chosen, the sight of their familiar titles making him feel a little less anxious. He puts the sheets his aunt packed for him on the bed, his clothes in the closet, careful to keep them all on the left side so that his roommate won't feel that Chekov is trying to take over the room. He has a few other things that he brought from his room at home: a picture of his parents, which is more familiar to him than any actual memories of them, a little stone owl that used to belong to his mother and a postcard of San Francisco that he always kept taped up in his locker at school, to remind himself of his goals, and that someday he would be far away from the dreary halls where his education began. He sits on the bed and stares up at the postcard, then turns to the window, where he can see the actual Golden Gate bridge stretching out in the distance. For some reason, the sight makes him feel sad. He wishes he had someone to go visit it with, someone who would take pictures of him in front of the bridge so that he could send one home to his aunt. Outside in the halls he can hear the laughter and cheerful talk of the other new recruits, and his heart pounds when he considers walking out to try to introduce himself. Maybe later.
The door opens, and Chekov scrambles up from the bed, slapping his arms to his sides as if the person who is entering might be a commanding officer. Instead, he's a young man with sunglasses pushed up onto his head, turning back to laugh at something that someone is shouting to him from down the hall. He's wearing a t-shirt and jeans, and Chekov feels suddenly ridiculous in his pressed Oxford and khaki pants. He hurriedly untucks his shirt as the man with the sunglasses rolls a suitcase into the room. The man looks up with a grin and his face falls into open surprise when he sees Chekov standing stiffly at attention.
"Hey," the man says, frowning. "Is – what –?"
"Hello!" Chekov says, throwing his hand out. "I am Pavel Chekov, this is my first year at the Academy, very pleased to meet you!"
He's aware of the fact that he sounds like an idiot, and his face burns as he realizes that it's inevitable: he's going to turn into that same boy he was in high school here. Everyone will look at him like this man is now, as if he's out of place and slightly irritating.
"Hikaru Sulu," he says, shaking Chekov's hand. "Um – did you say – you're a student here?"
"Yes, sir – I mean, yes, I am a student, yes, I –" Somehow he doesn't know how to continue, and he stands there will this mouth hanging open, his cheeks burning hotter.
"Okay," Sulu says slowly, setting a shoulder bag he'd been carrying down on the opposite bed. "You, um. How old are you?"
"Fourteen years old, sir."
"You don't have to call me sir." Sulu looks disappointed. Chekov is sure he was hoping for a roommate his own age who would drink beer with him and tell stories about girls.
"Sorry," Chekov says, looking down at Sulu's feet, and then the door swings open again. Chekov recognizes the man who walks in as the dormitory administrator, Owen; Chekov was introduced to him when he picked up his room assignment.
"Hey, good, you're both here!" Owen says. He shoots a nervous glance at Sulu and then smiles at Chekov. "I just wanted to see how you were settling in."
"Fine, sir," Chekov says, and almost curses himself out loud for the 'sir.' Except that Owen actually does rank higher than Chekov, so he should call him sir, and maybe Sulu, too.
"Owen," Sulu says tightly. "Can I talk to you?"
"Sure, sure," Owen says, sighing as if he anticipated this. He gives Chekov another smile and steps out into the hall. Sulu follows, taking a look back at Chekov as if he needs to double check, making sure that his disbelief is warranted.
Chekov sneaks over to the door to listen to their hushed conversation, folding his arms over his chest and beginning to feel a little sick to his stomach with nerves and humiliation.
"What the hell?" Sulu says to Owen.
"I know, I know," Owen says. "But somebody has to watch out for the kid, he's a minor, and apparently the recruiters are pretty excited about him, he's like a genius or something –"
"Oh, great, that'll make living with a toddler even more fun," Sulu says, snorting.
"Hey, don't be like that, man. I didn't know who else to recommend. You're like, responsible and shit."
"So, what, I'm actually expected to babysit him?"
"No! Well, yes. Kind of. Dolby asked me to tell you that the department would really appreciate it if you like, took him to meals and stuff, made sure he knows his way around."
"Fuck, are you serious? Like I'm not going to have enough to do this semester?"
"Look, I'm sorry, but if this gets you in good with Dolby and them maybe it's a blessing in disguise!"
"Yeah, great," Sulu mutters.
Chekov hurries away from the door, chewing the tip of his tongue to try to hold in his pathetic, childish tears. He walks over to the window and stares out at the Golden Gate Bridge. The sight is like a taunt now; what was he thinking, that he could really change his life? He'll always be the weirdo, an object of resentment. Even if he becomes the Captain of a ship someday, people will treat him with begrudging distance at best.
He hears the door open and close behind him and wipes at his eyes, turning toward his bed with his back to Sulu so that he won't see him crying. Sulu sighs, and Chekov hears his mattress bounce as he falls to a seat on it.
"So what are you majoring in?" Sulu asks.
"Theoretical physics," Chekov says, pretending to be looking for a book. He leaves off the Advanced in the title of his major so that he won't sound snotty.
"Oh, cool. I'm doing astrophysics, so. I guess we'll have all our classes in the same building."
Chekov says nothing, toying with the spine of one of his books. He wonders if he should tell Sulu that he doesn't have to pretend to be nice to him.
"Are you okay?" Sulu asks.
"Yes," Chekov says, trying to keep his voice steady. He would be able to stop crying if he weren't so fucking embarrassed, if Sulu would just leave the room for awhile.
"Is this – your first time away from home?" Sulu asks, and Chekov can hear the bed squeak as he stands.
"Yes," he says. He hopes that Sulu won't make him turn around; his eyes are still watery and he can imagine Sulu going back to Owen to complain that the toddler he's been asked to babysit has been crying.
"Are you – Russian?"
"Yes," Chekov says. "You're American," he says, because Sulu's accent is obvious, too.
"Yeah, I actually grew up in San Francisco, always wanted to go here," Sulu says. He's still standing behind Chekov, hovering as if he isn't sure if Chekov needs medical attention or not. "This is my second year, so, if you have any questions, you know, hopefully I'll be able to help."
"You don't have to," Chekov says sharply, trying his best to seem very annoyed by the offer.
"I don't mind," Sulu says, and Chekov knows that's a lie. "I was going to go say hi to some people and then get some lunch, do you want to come?"
"No thank you, I'm not hungry," Chekov says, though he's starving and really wants nothing more. But he doesn't want to be dragged along as an obligation to Sulu's superiors, and he can imagine the annoyed looks on the faces of Sulu's friends when they realize that they'll have a child along with them to spoil their fun.
"Okay," Sulu says, after a pause that was a little too long. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, I am sure, thank you."
"Alright, um. Well. I guess I'll see you later, then."
Chekov waits until he hears the door open and shut and then winces with the sob he was holding in.
"Stupid," he mutters to himself, wiping his face. He lets out his breath and turns to look at Sulu's things. His suitcase is lying on the floor, his shoulder bag tossed onto the bed. Feeling bold, Chekov flips the bag open and looks inside. Books, notepads, folders, everything brand new for the start of the school year. Chekov pulls out Sulu's PADD and flips it on. He feels a little evil, snooping, but he's angry, and anyway, he's got nothing else to do. He opens up a file called "Pictures" and flips through Sulu's personal photographs, a collection of sunny images of Sulu hanging out with people his own age – nineteen or so, presumably. In the photographs they are drinking beer and laughing around crowded restaurant tables, lounging on the beach. Chekov sits down and lingers over a picture of Sulu in board shorts, his tanned skin shining in the sun, a surfboard lying in the sand beside him. Sulu's knees are bent and his arms are draped over them while he smiles for the camera. He has that thing that Chekov has never had: he seems cool, comfortable with himself. Chekov flips to the next picture, and Sulu is in almost the same pose on the beach, but now there is a pretty Asian girl sitting behind him and kissing his face while he laughs.
Chekov turns the PADD off and puts it away, feeling guilty. He walks to the window and stares out at the Golden Gate Bridge. The fact that his new roommate has a girlfriend somehow only makes him feel more dejected. He sighs and sits on the windowsill, tips his forehead against the glass and counts the hours until his classes start.
*
Most of the time, Chekov avoids his roommate. Sulu asks him again and again to have dinner with him, or to go to free concerts on campus, but Chekov knows that he's asking only out of obligation, so he says 'no, thank you' to every request. He throws himself into his coursework and it is quite absorbing, comprising the most interesting and difficult assignments he's ever been given; his days are filled very fully by theory and calculation, and he finds all of his lectures fascinating. But there are certain hours, down time, when he finds himself with nothing to do and feels like a failure. These are usually the hours when Sulu is out with friends, and when he comes back to the room very late, trying to keep quiet as he takes off his clothes and drops into bed, Chekov burns with resentment that he has no name or reason for.
He has a few acquaintances in his classes, mostly older girls who think he's adorable and want to mother him. He hasn't made any real friends, and Sulu's attempts to integrate Chekov into his own circle of friends are so phony that Chekov sometimes wants to boil over and tell Sulu that he knows what he really thinks of him. Still, he tries to be pleasant, and sometimes Sulu's invitations seem so sincere that Chekov actually feels guilty turning him down. Mostly he tries to ignore Sulu as best he can. He's resigned to the fact that Sulu will be pleased with this arrangement, until Sulu starts cursing over his school books.
They have desks on opposite sides of the room, adjacent to their beds. When Sulu gets frustrated with his course work, Chekov pretends not to notice, but he was brought up to help people who are cursing in agony, and eventually he can't help turning from his own work to ask Sulu what's troubling him.
"It's this fucking chapter on Boltzmann and Saha equations," Sulu says, muttering. "I'm so sick of this shit, I swear."
"Oh, Boltzmann? Saha? Let me see." Chekov regrets this as soon as he's said it. Back in high school, when he offered to help his peers with their work, they were either ready to openly take advantage of him or pummel him for daring to correct them, but Sulu only looks appreciative as Chekov crosses the room and leans down to look at his problem set.
"I don't know, it's just this boundary conditions shit, it doesn't make any sense to me," Sulu says when Chekov pulls up a chair to sit beside him. He sounds embarrassed, and Chekov tries to enjoy it as revenge, but mostly he feels bad for Sulu, who has never been unkind to him, at least not to his face.
"Here, look at this," Chekov says, erasing half of Sulu's calculations. "You're not – you've got to account for the thermal de Broglie wavelength."
"Oh – shit – I knew that –"
"Right, but you hadn't done it, and see, it balances the equation, you just have to remember the rules."
Chekov looks up at Sulu, who is staring at him in either awe or annoyance, maybe both, and Chekov's face turns red. He looks down at the notepad he's been scribbling on.
"You have really neat handwriting," Sulu says, and Chekov waits to feel insulted by the observation, but Sulu's words didn't sound cruel.
"I just –" Chekov says, setting Sulu's mechanical pencil down. "This is the one thing I can do."
"Oh, I bet you can do other things," Sulu says, grinning as he picks up his pencil. Chekov glances at him, waiting for the punchline, but Sulu is just filling in the de Broglie numbers, completing the equation according to Chekov's advice.
"I – I can run," Chekov stutters, not sure if Sulu is listening. Sulu is biting down on the tip of his tongue, concentrating. "A little bit, anyway."
"Running?" Sulu says, still scribbling numbers. "That's cool. I do some fencing, my dad was really into it when I was a kid, so. He taught me."
"Fencing." Chekov doesn't know this word in English, but he'll look it up later. "That's – cool." Sulu is always saying That's cool, and as much as Chekov hates to admit it, he has begun to imitate Sulu, almost unconsciously. He's gotten himself some Starfleet t-shirts like the faded ones Sulu is always wearing, and some blue jeans that are just a little too big. He bought some board shorts, too, but he still hasn't been to the beach.
"Well, thanks," Sulu says, staring at Chekov, and Chekov realizes he's lingering, lost in his thoughts and enjoying the closeness of another person. He shakes his head and apologizes – in Russian, without thinking – and hurries back to his side of the room. When he's back at his desk he looks over his shoulder to make sure Sulu isn't watching, and pulls his English to Russian dictionary from the shelf over his desk. He looks up fencing and reads the definitions in Russian, deciding that Sulu probably didn't mean skillful repartee or wire used in building barriers – so Sulu likes to fight people with swords for sport. Chekov grins down at the dictionary, imagining Sulu with a saber, in his t-shirt and jeans, slashing his opponent's sword out of his hands. Chekov has heard of this actual sport, of course, it involves white costumes and swords as narrow as needles, but he still spends the next ten minutes daydreaming about Sulu holding a giant sword and laughing as he vanquishes his enemies. Then he imagines himself beside Sulu, expertly wielding a phaser, blasting away hostile aliens on some rocky planet, he and Sulu both wearing Starfleet uniforms.
"Hey," Sulu says, clamping a hand on Chekov's shoulder and making him jump. Chekov throws his arms over the English to Russian dictionary as if it's a drawing he sketched of him and Sulu fighting aliens together. Sulu raises his eyebrows and laughs, and Chekov hates him all over again, for looking at him like that, like he's a geek and a kid and a hopeless bundle of nerves.
"Thanks again," Sulu says. "For your help with that stuff." He ruffles Chekov's hair before walking back to his side of the room, and Chekov sits there with red cheeks, trying to decide if that gesture has infuriated him further or placated him a bit.
*
Their first semester at the Academy passes quickly, and soon it's time for finals. Both of them are very serious students, so they lock themselves into their room for several days in preparation for their tests, with a portable replicator Sulu borrowed from a friend so they don't even have to leave to eat. Chekov is a little worried that Sulu will want to listen to music or take breaks for things other than sleep and eating, but their study-hibernation is surprisingly organic, and they don't even need to come up with a system for whose turn it is to replicate another pot of coffee, they just switch off without a word. When Sulu needs help with his physics Chekov is quick to his side, his only thrill in the midst of all his hard work the occasional slap on the back from Sulu in thanks. Sulu helps Chekov with his exobiology work, explaining spontaneous transfer pollination better than Chekov's professor did in class and quizzing him on the varieties of known alien plant life with flashcards. When Chekov falls asleep with his head in a book on the night before finals, Sulu wakes him so that he won't have neck cramps during his tests.
"Thank you," Chekov mutters as he crawls into his bed. He was dreaming in equations when he woke up to the feeling of Sulu squeezing his shoulder.
"No problem," Sulu says. "And hey, Pavel?"
"Hmm?" Chekov turns on his pillow, toward Sulu's bed. He's lying on his side and staring at Chekov, looking serious and a little sad.
"Listen, um. Thanks for being such a good study partner. Or whatever you want to call it. Especially in the past couple of days – my roommate last year drove me crazy during finals week, trying to throw finals week parties and all this dumb shit. We'd gotten along great all year, but I – well. Anyway, I just wanted to thank you. You're a cool guy."
Chekov is stunned into silence for a moment, then he grins, because it seems like Sulu actually means it, and maybe he feels a little guilty now for underestimating Chekov at the beginning of the year.
"Thank you," Chekov says. "You are cool as well."
Sulu laughs and throws a pillow at Chekov, who catches it in one hand and throws it back, grinning.
"Why did you do that?" Chekov asks, a bright, hot feeling blooming in his chest.
"You're hilarious," Sulu says, as if that's an explanation. "G'night."
They both get up with the alarm the next morning, springing out of bed like firemen, and they dress in somber silence before wishing each other good luck and hurrying to their classrooms. Sulu, like Chekov, is the type who is always fifteen minutes early for appointments. Thinking of this makes Chekov smile as he waits outside of the locked room where his first final will be held. He's still a bit high from what Sulu said to him last night. You're a cool guy. Maybe they can be friends after all.
Chekov's finals go well, and he's relieved at the end of the day, feeling ten pounds lighter without the weight of his exams resting on his shoulders. He's walking out of the Physics building when he sees Sulu up ahead, coming out of an emptying classroom. Chekov hurries toward him, unable to keep a grin from breaking onto his face. Maybe he will finally take Sulu up on an invitation to dinner, and they'll talk about their exams, and their plans for the two week winter break, despite Chekov having none, but maybe –
Before Chekov can reach Sulu, two guys follow him out of the classroom and flank him, talking fast and gesturing, making pained faces while Sulu laughs. Chekov hangs back, his mood darkening instantly as Sulu walks ahead with his friends, slapping their shoulders, probably on the way out for a long night of drinking, which Chekov wouldn't be able to participate in even if he were invited. He ducks around a corner and watches them walk out of the building together, crushed by the sight of Sulu's back as he gets farther and farther away.
Chekov goes back to his room alone, the dormitory already emptying out as everyone hurries away, their arms loaded with duffel bags and suitcases, off to be with their families or friends during the break. Soon the whole building has gone silent, the last happy shouts of relieved cadets who have finished their exams dying off. Chekov lies on his back in bed, his hopes that Sulu will return to the room soon slowly fading away. Already the victory he felt after completing his finals seems meaningless. He wants to celebrate with someone, with Sulu. He thinks of calling his aunt, but that just makes him feel more pathetic.
He drifts into an unhappy sleep and wakes up after dark, when he hears Sulu punching in his code for the door. He looks down at himself, embarrassed to be lying on top of the blankets, fully dressed, and he quickly shoves his legs under the blankets and turns onto his side, pretending to still be asleep. Sulu comes in quietly, as usual, and Chekov listens to the familiar sound of Sulu's PADD being shoved into its charger on the tall, skinny bureau on his side of the room. When he hears Sulu's shoes drop to the floor he's oddly comforted; at least Sulu will be staying here with him tonight, in this dorm that feels like a ghost town.
"Pavel?" Sulu whispers, too loud, and Chekov can tell that Sulu is drunk. Chekov makes a show of moaning and rolling over onto his back to blink at Sulu, pretending to be groggy with sleep.
"What is it?" he asks, and his stomach flips over when Sulu sits down heavily on his bed, grinning down at him.
"Hey," Sulu whispers, as if there is someone else sleeping here whom he doesn't want to wake. "How did your exams go?"
"Exams went fine," Chekov says, not wanting to brag. He's pretty sure he got a perfect score on all of them. "Yours?"
"They were good, really good," Sulu says. He looks so happy about something – the end of the term, probably.
"When are you going home to Russia?" Sulu asks.
"Oh – I am not going," Chekov says.
"What? Why not?"
"My aunt, she does not celebrate holidays. She is – how do you call it – an intellectual. She believes those things are frivolous."
"Your aunt?" Sulu says. He seems to wind up to ask about Chekov's parents, but then understands that he shouldn't. "Well – don't you at least want to visit her, or your other family over there?"
"I have no other family," Chekov says. "And she – she has a boyfriend there who I do not like so much."
"I see," Sulu says, nodding. "Yeah, my parents live ten minutes from here, and I'll be there for Christmas – they're so corny, they still do a big dinner and stuff – but I'm going to stay in the dorm. The house is always packed with family around the holidays and it's a little too much noise for me."
"I'm sorry," Chekov says. "You were probably hoping you would have this room to yourself."
"No way," Sulu says, and his smile seems so sincere, Chekov has to believe it's real. "I'm glad you'll be here. We'll have fun."
Chekov feels like his smile is going to give something away, like the lights in the room are suddenly going to come on at full power. Sulu pats Chekov's stomach and gets up from the bed, and Chekov watches through the open bathroom door while Sulu brushes his teeth and splashes some water on his face, then shuts his eyes quickly when Sulu turns back for the bedroom. Chekov's heart is pounding, and suddenly he's thinking about that girl who was kissing Sulu in the picture on the beach, and why she hasn't been around at all this semester. Maybe they broke up. Sulu climbs into his bed and sighs as he's getting comfortable, and Chekov, who is also an intellectual and doesn't believe in any silly ideas about God, says a quick prayer to nobody that he will be able to sleep in the same room with Hikaru Sulu for the rest of his life, just for that sigh. It's all he needs at the end of every day.
*
The following week is blissful for Chekov, with Sulu's attention focused solely on him, no classes to study for or friends showing up to invite him out. The campus is quiet and it feels like it belongs only to them, especially in the early mornings when Chekov makes Sulu take runs with him, cheerfully encouraging him as he runs circles around Sulu, who pants and tells Chekov that he's the fastest boy in the world. Chekov asks Sulu to teach him how to fence, but Sulu is nervous during the lesson, as if he's afraid he'll hurt Chekov, and Chekov can't really bring himself to swing a sword at Sulu, either, even when he's wearing armor. Mostly they eat and talk and watch movies together on the video screen in their dorm room. Sulu looks at Chekov like he's broken his heart when Chekov tells him he's never seen Ghostbusters.
"It's an American classic!" Sulu says. They're having lunch together at an Indian restaurant that Sulu loves; Chekov is not a big fan of Indian food but he still hasn't learned how to say no to Sulu, or offer any contrary opinions that don't involve theoretical physics.
"Then I would like to see it," Chekov says, and Sulu grins.
"Yep," Sulu says. "I'm dialing it up as soon as we get back."
Just walking across campus with Sulu is a joy for Chekov after feeling so lonely during the semester. He admits to himself that more than any other friends it is really Sulu's admiration and company he's been longing for, ever since that first day when he heard Sulu disparaging his room assignment. He feels honored to have Sulu introduce him to things: Ghostbusters, Spanish guitar music, even Indian food. Every story Sulu tells about his life is fascinating to Chekov, and he collects the details like sea shells: Sulu has three sisters, he played short stop for a little league baseball team and couldn't hit, he's allergic to walnuts. Chekov knows his stories aren't as interesting, but Sulu is always willing to listen to them anyway, smiling and pretending not to notice when Chekov's face gets red or when he stumbles over the pronunciation of an English word. He doesn't even get mad when Chekov falls asleep during Ghostbusters, which he can't really get into, because the special effects are just silly.
"Hey," Sulu says, shaking him gently awake, and Chekov blinks up at him, the same warm feeling he always gets when he wakes up to Sulu's touch pooling in his stomach.
"You want to go get dinner?" Sulu asks, and Chekov nods sleepily as he sits up, yawning. He wishes life could always be like this, drowsy and comfortable, Sulu attending to him and waking him from naps. The winter in San Francisco is so mild, and the city finally feels like Chekov hoped it would, like a new, kinder beginning to his real, adult life.
"So tomorrow's Christmas," Sulu says as they walk across campus toward the city, headed to a Korean barbecue place Sulu wants Chekov to try. Chekov still hasn't tried American barbecue, and he's having a hard time picturing what his meal will be like, but as long as Sulu is sitting across from him, his stories getting a little louder and more enthusiastic with every glass of beer, Chekov doesn't mind what kind of food they're served.
"Christmas, yes," Chekov says. He's been dreading this day, because Sulu will be with his family, and though it's only been a week, Chekov already can't imagine what his life would be like without Sulu's constant company.
"I've told my parents about you," Sulu says, and Chekov's heart nearly bursts. He's told his aunt about Sulu, of course, extensively, in letters. "And they're more than happy to have you over for dinner if you want to come."
"Oh, I don't know," Chekov says, afraid that he would feel awkward and out of place among Sulu's family, like a charity case. "I would not want to intrude."
"Don't be crazy, the place will be packed full of people who'll be telling me I should have been a doctor or a lawyer instead of a 'spaceman,' and I'll need an ally."
Chekov grins, looking down at the ground as they walk. Sulu actually wants him to come. He stuffs down the urge to blurt, Are we friends now? He doesn't really need to ask. He feels it, and though he's never had a real friend before, this hot, achy longing in him must be what friendship is like.
That night, Chekov lies in bed staring at the dark ceiling and trying to come up with an idea for a Christmas present for Sulu. Anything he could get out of the replicator seems cheap and too easy, so he settles on sneaking over to his desk and drawing something for him in the moonlight. It's a cartoon of Sulu with his fencing sword, fighting off an alien that looks like some kind of bird-lion-snake hybrid. Chekov decides it's not good enough it and hides it in one of his physics books, sighing. He pulls a copy of War and Peace down from his bookshelf and writes a quick inscription on the title page:
Dear Hikaru,
I hope you have not yet read this. Marry Christmas.
Your devoted friend,
Pavel A. Chekov
He regrets the 'devoted,' because maybe that's a bit much, but he made the mistake of writing in pen and now if he scratches out the word Sulu will just wonder what it was. Sighing, he uses a spare black shoelace to tie a sloppy bow around the book and sets it on Sulu's desk chair before going to sleep. He dreams about Sulu on the beach with his surf board, watching the horizon. He can't remember the last time every thought he had wasn't bookended with Sulu's name.
Chekov wakes up late, and when he sits up with a groan he sees Sulu at his desk, sitting in his chair and smiling down at Chekov's Christmas present, the shoelace untied and lying across his lap. When he sees that Chekov has woken up he looks over at him and laughs.
"Thanks for the book," he says. "And the matrimonial advice."
"The – what?" Chekov asks, digging the sleep from his eyes.
"Marry Christmas." Sulu's grin widens. "It's customarily spelled with an 'e,' you know. This sounds like you're telling me to marry someone named Christmas."
"Oh." Chekov is mortified, and the thought of Sulu marrying anyone is horrible. "Sorry."
"Sorry! Don't be, this is really thoughtful, and that gave me a laugh. Here, I got you a present, too." Sulu goes to the little cabinet under his desk and opens it, removing a small package wrapped in red paper. Chekov is still too embarrassed to really appreciate the fact that Sulu got him a gift. Sulu sits on Chekov's bed and watches him open it. Inside is a white box, and when Chekov removes the lid he finds a PADD data chip inside.
"It's just some songs I like," Sulu says. "You can play it on your PADD – you've got headphones for it, right?"
"Yes," Chekov says, though he actually doesn't. He'll get some, though, and he's almost so anxious to listen to the songs Sulu chose for him that he's sorry he's not alone, but when Sulu smiles and squeezes his shoulder that regret is long gone.
That afternoon, he and Sulu take the train into the suburbs, and though Chekov is nervous about meeting Sulu's family they all make him feel welcome, nobody even remarking about his age; Sulu must have warned them not to. He is introduced to a thousand people and doesn't remember any of their names, until Sulu introduces him to Sandra, his youngest sister, who is the girl who was kissing Sulu in the picture Chekov saw on his PADD. Chekov shakes her hand the most enthusiastically, so happy to know that she's Sulu's sister and not his girlfriend that his cheeks burn, as if she'll know this.
At dinner, he sits between Sulu and his elderly grandfather and cleans his plate. Apparently Sulu's mother is a purist who won't cook with replicated ingredients. Chekov appreciates the difference in quality, thinking guiltily about what his aunt would say about such culinary snobbery. When he's stuffed he sits back and listens to Sulu's sisters tell stories about him as a boy. Sulu drinks wine and then eggnog with whiskey, and Chekov does, too, surreptitiously and at Sulu's encouragement.
"We used to dress him up like he was our little doll," Sandra says, smiling at Sulu across the table. "Grandma accused us of turning him into a girl."
"Okay, so my fucking prom date was a guy," Sulu says, slurring a little. "Doesn't make me a girl."
"Hikaru, your language!" his grandmother says. "And I never said that, Sandra, don't tell lies."
Sandra looks at Chekov and rolls her eyes, mouthing 'she did.' Chekov glances at Sulu with empathetic embarrassment, but Sulu doesn't seem humiliated. Chekov spends the rest of the evening thinking about Sulu and his prom date – are they still friends? Do they still have feelings for each other? Was he Sulu's boyfriend, or just a date? Did they have sex? Has Sulu had sex at all, with a man? With women? Chekov's cheeks burn and he begins to get drunk, squished onto the couch between Sulu and Sandra while Christmas cartoons play on television. Sulu pokes Chekov in the side and smiles crookedly at him, making Chekov's heart drop down into his stomach.
"Hey," Sulu says. "You tired?"
Chekov nods. Most of Sulu's relatives have disappeared into the house's various guest rooms, and it's after midnight. Eating and drinking so much has made Chekov feel heavy and exhausted, and when Sulu stands from the couch he happily allows himself to be pulled up, too.
"Where are you two going?" Sandra mutters, her eyes half-closed as she begins to drift to sleep against the arm of the couch.
"To bed," Sulu says, still holding Chekov's hand as he leads him from the couch, and something surges in Chekov, a massive wave of terrified hope, and it breaks against him, making him shudder. To bed. He wants to get into bed with Sulu, and, oh, God. He wants to hold onto him while he sleeps. Maybe he's just drunk.
Sulu takes him down to the basement rec room, and Chekov stands and watches as Sulu pulls the couch bed out and messily fits it with sheets. He brings in some extra quilts and piles them at the end of the bed.
"In case we get cold," he says. Chekov nods slowly, fighting the waves that are still crashing through him, pushing him closer and closer to some horrible realization. But he's not in love with Hikaru Sulu. No, no. This is just the way things are between friends. Anyone who has this much respect for a superior officer must want never to leave his side, and even to sleep with him, in the same bed, and to clutch at his arm, maybe.
Sulu gets into bed first, groaning with the effort of collapsing onto the pillows he's laid out. Chekov takes off his shoes, his hands shaking, and wonders if he should remove his trousers, but decides to leave them on. Sulu is fully clothed, his eyes already shut. Chekov climbs into the bed with exceptional care, not wanting to wake Sulu if he's already fallen asleep. When he settles onto the pillow beside Sulu's, he holds his breath, watching Sulu's calm, handsome face settle into sleep. He jumps a little when Sulu suddenly opens his eyes.
"Pavel," he says, and just the sound of his name on Sulu's lips makes Chekov go tense with surging happiness. "That picture. In our room. Are they – your parents?"
Chekov didn't expect that, and he tenses up further, pulling his legs to his chest. He nods, and the softness of Sulu's eyes actually makes him angry, because he's never told anyone this story before, and he can already feel it forming on his tongue.
"Where are they?" Sulu asks. The question is so quiet and innocent that Chekov can't really get mad. He holds onto his pillow, wishing that he could squirm into the comfort of Sulu's arms before answering.
"Dead," Chekov says. Sulu doesn't react; he must have expected as much, at this point. Chekov knows he'll ask what happened, so he goes on. "They were both in Starfleet, my father was a navigator and my mother was a doctor, assigned to the same ship. My father, he was always wanting to go on missions to planets, it was something he loved. He died, on a mission. Badly – I mean to say, it was bad. My mother, she." This is the part that he's never said out loud. Even his aunt doesn't talk about it, and she abhors polite dishonesty.
"My mother killed herself after he died." He bites the words out, wanting to get rid of them and regretting them instantly. Sulu's face changes, his mouth falling just slightly open. Chekov suddenly can't stand the sight of him and his sympathy, and he shuts his eyes. He opens them when he feels Sulu's hand pressing soft and warm against his cheek. Chekov's eyes are full of tears, and he's afraid Sulu will think that he's crying for his long dead parents, whom he doesn't even remember, but he's not even crying, not really, he's just embarrassed, because it feels so good when Sulu touches him, and Sulu has never touched him like this before.
"I'm so sorry," Sulu says, pronouncing every word carefully. Chekov nods and flinches forward, as if he's going to curl against Sulu's chest, but of course he can't do that. He sniffles, feeling like an infant. Sulu will regret bringing him here and trying to become his friend. He was right about Chekov, who is so childish and weak, a waste of Sulu's time. Chekov bites hard on his bottom lip to stop it from shaking.
"It's okay," Sulu says softly, stroking Chekov's cheek, and that almost brings a horrible, choking sob up Chekov's throat, but he swallows it, nodding. He should move away, roll over, but he can't wrench his eyes away from Sulu's. His aunt has always told him that he's lucky to have blue eyes, that they are rare and beautiful, but Chekov has never seen any brown eyes like Sulu's, and he wants to possess them somehow, along with everything else Sulu has. He wants to hold it all in his hands like a picture book.
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked," Sulu says, and then he takes his hand from Chekov's face, which feels like a slap. Chekov shakes his head.
"It's okay," he says. "You. You are my friend. You should know."
"Well." Sulu sighs. "Merry Christmas, anyway. I'm – I'm glad you're here."
"So am I," Chekov says, wishing his voice wasn't so pinched up. Sulu grins, and then he rolls over, turning his back on Chekov, who watches him for awhile, the rise and fall of his breath and the twitches of his shoulders as he sinks into an easy sleep. Chekov's eyelids are heavy, but he doesn't want to give in, he wants to stay awake and stare at Sulu, who has become something enormously important in the past three months, the only thing that matters.
"Hikaru," he says soundlessly, only moving his lips and his tongue, not making any sound. Sulu is asleep, dreaming of space. Chekov closes his eyes, hating that he knows exactly what will seep into his own subconscious. His parents: the father who didn't care enough to keep himself safe and the mother who didn't care enough to live for her son when her husband was gone. Chekov was at home with his aunt when it happened, forgotten. He's never fooled himself into expecting anything more from the people he cares about, and he hates that he wants so much from Sulu, that he wants everything, because he may only be fourteen, but he's old enough to know that he won't get anything at all.
*
The following semester passes quickly, and Chekov celebrates his fifteenth birthday in February, on what used to be called Valentine's Day. Some restaurants still put paper hearts in their windows, trying to draw nostalgic customers, and as a birthday present Sulu gets Chekov a bag of candy hearts that taste like colored sugar. Sulu asks Chekov where he wants to go for his birthday, and Chekov tells him he wants to go to the beach along the bay, someplace where he can see the Golden Gate Bridge, which he still hasn't set foot on. Of course, when they arrive on the beach, the Bridge is covered by fog and completely invisible. It's dark out, and cold, but they have jackets and knit hats and sparkling sake and the bag of candy hearts, and Chekov is perfectly content to sit beside Sulu and stare up at the cloud of fog that hides the bridge.
It's a perfect birthday, the freezing wind off the water drawing them close together and Sulu's shoulder bumping against Chekov's when he laughs, until Sulu decides to rip Chekov's heart out.
"So I met this guy," Sulu says, squinting out at the bay. He takes a drink from the bottle of sake and looks at Chekov.
"Guy?" Chekov says, trying to pretend that he doesn't already know what that means. He grabs the sake and drinks.
"Yeah, he's a xenolinguistics major. His name's Ted. Pretty stupid name, right? But I haven't dated anybody in a long time."
Chekov stares at the sake bottle, which suddenly feels like a grenade ticking in his hands, though the perfection of the scene has already been blown to pieces. He can't look at Sulu for awhile, but Sulu is staring at him, waiting for a response.
"You just might start seeing him around, is all," Sulu says. "I don't know how serious it is. I feel weird talking to you about this," he adds with a laugh, and Chekov snaps his eyes up to Sulu's.
"Why?" Chekov asks. He feels like he's suspended in mid-air, drifting out hopelessly to space.
"Because you're just a kid," Sulu says, smiling as if there's nothing unkind in this. "Like, I don't know, I don't want to corrupt you with stories of my love life or anything. But you're my best friend, and. I don't know, I wanted to tell you. What's the matter?" he asks, frowning.
"Nothing," Chekov says. He drinks more sake. "It doesn't matter. I mean, yes, okay. A guy will be in the room. Ted. Fine. Will he be sleeping in your bed?" If his voice is shaking he can pretend it's from the cold.
"Pavel," Sulu says, laughing. "No, he won't be in my bed. I wouldn't do that to you! And anyway, like I said, it might not even be serious, just –"
"Perhaps we should not discuss this subject because I do not date men and will not know what to say – that is, I cannot contribute to the conversation when you talk about this." Chekov is staring at the sake bottle again, his ears burning as if there is steam pouring out of them, and suddenly he hates Sulu more than anything in the world and just wants to get away from him as quickly as possible.
"You don't date anybody, Pavel," Sulu says with a scoff. "What's that got to do – it's not like I'm looking for your advice here."
"Well, of course you are not, because I am only a child and I don't know anything," Chekov says, standing. Sulu scoffs again, scrambling up from the sand to follow him back toward the road.
"Pavel, wait!" Sulu calls, hurrying to catch up with him. He grabs Chekov's wrist and Chekov rips away from Sulu's touch. He's been such a fool to look forward to it so much, and to imagine that there is anything but condescension and obligation behind it.
"Jesus!" Sulu says, frowning. "I'm sorry I called you a kid, I didn't mean it like that, it's just –"
"Is fine, is nothing, I've only had too much to drink." Chekov thrusts the bottle of sake back at Sulu.
"Okay," Sulu says slowly, staring at Chekov with what looks like sincere regret. Chekov sighs and shakes his head at himself. He can't ruin his friendship with Sulu just because he's built up some stupid fantasy about nobody ever coming between the two of them. It's not fair for him to want to live in a world where he and Sulu ignore all others and spend every waking moment together. Still, when he thinks of Sulu inviting this Ted to have dinner with them and watch movies with them on the weekends, his anger boils up again.
They walk back to their room mostly in silence, Chekov having horrible visions of Sulu kissing and cuddling Ted, who is dreamy and muscular in Chekov's imagination. When they reach the room Chekov goes straight for the bathroom and shuts himself inside, flinging his clothes to the ground angrily as he undresses. He chews his lip and manages to hold his tears in until he's under the hot water in the shower, where he presses his face against the tiles and cries with great jerks of his shoulders. Fuck Sulu and fuck Ted. They can both go right to hell. Chekov doesn't care at all.
He meets Ted three days later, when he comes to the door one afternoon to invite Sulu out to lunch. Things between Sulu and Chekov have been a bit tense since Sulu broke the news about Ted, and when Ted arrives they're both stretched out on their beds and reading in silence, not shouting out particularly fascinating or questionable excerpts to each other as they used to do, but Chekov still feels that Ted has interrupted something sacred and hates him on sight.
He's not as handsome or impressive as Chekov feared, but he is taller than Chekov and does have big green eyes that are not wholly unattractive. Sulu introduces the two of them, still referring to Chekov as his best friend, despite the way things have been for the past few days.
"Yeah, I've heard a lot about you," Ted says, smiling benevolently. Chekov hates his benevolence and the stupidly prominent cleft in his chin and the two-day beard on his face. He says nothing in response, only stares back at Ted with what he hopes is a subtly hateful expression, and Ted glances at Sulu nervously.
"We were about to go get something to eat," Sulu says to Chekov. "Want to come?" Chekov can tell from his tone that he hopes Chekov will say no, and Chekov doesn't disappoint him. When they're gone Chekov lies on his bed and stares at the physics book he was reading before, but now it's as if the words are written in invisible ink. All he sees on the pages are happy images of Sulu and Ted at lunch, holding hands over the table and drinking wine and talking about civilized, adult things.
"What's with your roommate?" Ted will ask Sulu. "He seemed kind of slow."
"Give him a break," Sulu will say with a shrug. "He's just a little kid."
Chekov falls asleep with the heavy book open over his chest and dreams that he's being crushed under a boulder. In the dream he keeps shouting Sulu's name, wondering why he hasn't shown up to help him, and then he remembers that Sulu is too busy dating to bother. He wakes up with a gasp and sees Sulu leaning over him, looking concerned. In the blur between the dream and reality Chekov's eyes almost well up with relief, but he blinks the tears away as Sulu lifts the book from his chest.
"Your stomach's growling," Sulu says, placing the book on Chekov's bed stand table. "Haven't you eaten anything? It's almost three o'clock."
"I don't need you telling me I should eat," Chekov says irritably. He rolls onto his side, away from Sulu. "I'm not a child."
"I know that," Sulu says. "God! Please, just. Stop being so angry with me, okay? Try to understand, I know you're brilliant and capable but you still seem very young to me, and I feel kind of – protective of you, okay? I'm sorry. It's only because I care about you."
Chekov scoffs, wanting to turn onto his back and reach up for Sulu, to pull him down and hold him there forever, against his chest, warm and heavy.
"How was your date?" Chekov mumbles.
"What – lunch? I don't know, it was fine. Want me to get you something from the replicator?"
"Please," Chekov says. "I don't need this protectiveness from you. I can get my own food. I can take care of myself."
"Fine," Sulu says tightly. He gets up from the bed, and Chekov pinches his eyes shut against the beginnings of a self-pitying sob. Sulu shuts the bathroom door hard and Chekov hears the shower turn on. He swallows his emotions down and sits up glumly. The picture of his parents stares at him from his bookshelves: it's from their honeymoon on Bodega-9, and they both look so happy. Chekov thinks he understands, finally, why his mother abandoned him after she lost his father. He doesn't see the point of doing anything anymore, not if he can't be with Sulu all the time.
The last few months of the semester are busy enough to distract Chekov from the increased presence of Ted in Sulu's life, though it still bothers him every time Ted shows up at the door with his idiotic smile, and he hates how quick Sulu is to gather his things and go when Ted arrives. The invitations to join them end, and Chekov is left alone with his studies again, telling himself that he's glad and that it's better this way, that his foolish preoccupation with Sulu was holding him back from true excellence. He tries to keep himself cold and composed when Sulu comes to him with questions about his coursework, and even when they have a rare meal together he doesn't let himself laugh as loud or smile as widely as he used to. He knows it's hurting Sulu, this new distance; he can see it. He's glad, because Sulu has hurt Chekov so badly he kind of can't believe it. Never in his life did he think he would be able to identify with the kind of despair his mother faced before she ended her own life, but this must be something close to that. He can't imagine anything worse, unless Sulu had loved him back and died.
On the day after his finals – which he's sure he aced again – Chekov returns to the room and finds Sulu sitting on the windowsill, looking out at the Golden Gate Bridge pensively. He turns and smiles when Chekov comes in, and Chekov is caught off guard enough to smile back genuinely, his heart filling with that old, dangerous hope.
"Hey," Sulu says. "How'd your tests go?"
"They went well, I think," Chekov says, putting his things down on his bed. He walks over to the window and looks out at the Bridge, which is clear of fog today, sparkling red in the cool sunlight of early May.
"How did your tests go?" Chekov asks, leaning against the wall. He hasn't been this close to Sulu in awhile, and he forgot how amazingly comforting and terrifying it is at the same time, his proximity.
"They went fine," Sulu says with a shrug. "Glad they're over. Hey, you want to go get some dinner to celebrate the end of the term?"
"With Ted?" Chekov asks, the darkness of reality descending again. Sulu shakes his head.
"Nah, just you and me," he says with a smile. Chekov tries to scale his own smile back, but he can't: it breaks onto his face like the sunrise after the longest night of the year.
"Yes, okay," Chekov says, his voice softened by surprise.
They go to the Indian restaurant, which is crowded with students who have discovered a second wind following the exhaustion of their exams, sipping from Indian beers and spilling their rice all over the tables. Sulu and Chekov sit near the window, and Chekov can't stop smiling idiotically across the table at Sulu. He's missed having Sulu to himself so much.
"Another year over," Sulu says. "Hard to believe. You're staying for the summer semester, right?"
"Yes, of course," Chekov says, nodding. "You?"
"Yeah, I'll be here," Sulu says. "I'm going to Hawaii with Ted during the break, and then I'll be back, but listen."
Chekov feels like he's sinking into the floor, losing his blood and his breath and everything all at once. Hawaii with Sulu. Well, he would die for that, but he's only a kid, after all. He stares down at the table.
"We're thinking about getting our own place, you know, off campus," Sulu says. "It would be close by, though, within walking distance. I was just wondering, and I talked this over with Ted and it's cool with him, if you'd like to be our roommate? You know, we could get a two-bedroom place –"
"No, thank you," Chekov somehow manages to say. He looks up slowly, and again he's filled with that sudden hatred for Sulu, only now it feels much stronger and more long-lasting. Sulu is not who he thought he was. He's not in love with Chekov. He's not going to wait for him, remaining chaste and protective until Chekov's eighteenth birthday. He's just a guy Chekov stupidly fell in love with. A mistake.
"No?" Sulu looks hurt. "Are you sure, because –"
"No. I want to live on campus. Thank you, though. And please, forgive me, but I forgot that I promised my physics professor that I would drop a book off for him this evening." Chekov stands from the table too fast and bangs his knee on the underside, rattling the silverware and knocking over Sulu's glass of beer. Sulu curses as it spills down onto his lap, and Chekov doesn't bother to apologize, just hurries out of the restaurant as quickly as he can.
"Pavel!" Sulu shouts across the restaurant when Chekov reaches the door. "Pavel, wait, what –"
Chekov doesn't hear the rest. He pushes outside and walks down the street with his eyes on the ground, waiting for Sulu to come running up behind him, grab his arm and demand to know why he's acting this way. But Chekov makes it all the way back to the room without any intervention from Sulu. He's breathing hard, far beyond crying, and as soon as he's shut the door behind him he goes straight for Sulu's bed, picks up Sulu's pillow and then slams it back down onto his bed as hard as he can. He does this roughly fifty times, practically spitting with the curses that are pouring out of his mouth.
He finally cries more out of embarrassment than anger or self-pity or sadness, and falls into his bed to sob into the sheets, so tired of being this way, pathetic and hopeless, that he hopes he'll never fall in love again.
When Sulu gets back that night, Chekov wakes from a delirious half-sleep and pulls the sheets up over his face so that Sulu won't see his red, puffy eyes. He hears the PADD click into the charger, and the boots drop to the floor. Then Sulu goes still, standing in the middle of the room for a long time. Chekov's heart begins to pound as he waits for something to happen.
"Pavel?" Sulu whispers. Chekov wants so much to respond, but he can't, Sulu will see his face in the moonlight through the window and know he's been crying. Sulu sighs and heads into the bathroom. Brushes his teeth, washes his face. His communicator beeps while he's in there, and when he walks out to pick it up Chekov can picture him so clearly: the clean white of his undershirt and the stripes on his boxer shorts, his hair sticking up a little in the back, that one floppy section bouncing as he walks.
"Hey," Sulu whispers when he answers, and Chekov knows he's speaking to Ted. "No, that's okay. No, yeah. It's not – I'll tell you in the morning. That's alright, I've already got one foot in bed. Yeah. Alright. Love you, too. Bye."
I'm going to die, Chekov thinks as he cowers under the blankets, fresh tears stinging his sore eyes. I'm going to die of this before morning.
Sulu settles into bed, sighing as he gets comfortable, and the sound is no longer a comfort; now it's more like a taunt.
*