as we go along ( monkees imagines )

davy (ft. peter & micky)

He was nervous. It felt strange to think about but Davy was absolutely nervous. Not enough that his knees knocked together and his words tripped over each other. Just enough for him to hear his heart hammer against his chest and for his palms to get sweaty.

It wasn't like this around other girls. As the cliché went, you're different. The way girls fell at his feet made him a bit too cocky. He got used to how easy it was to get a date. The other ladies spoiled him. But you? Oh, no, you made it clear he didn't have your undivided attention. There were other fellas. Davy had to work double to keep your interest in him afloat.

He had asked you to come over to hang out. Nothing fancy. Painfully casual. You had some new records to show him. By the end of the night, Davy was bound determined to secure a date with you.

Of course his plan came with some roadblocks. What he thought would be a quiet night in soon turned into a bit of a madhouse. While Mike was out, Peter and Micky decided to take it upon themselves to make dinner. Or snack. Whatever. They wanted to cook, either way. Davy didn't care as long as they stayed downstairs. Despite his bandmates remaining on the first floor, their noise couldn't be drowned out no matter how loud his record player sounded. You both tried to enjoy the music but Davy could tell you were on edge by the miscellaneous shenanigans from below.

He tried to lighten the mood with conversation. It worked for a most part. You both liked the new sound this band put out. He even tested the waters with a, "Maybe we can see them together." Much to his relief, you smiled and agreed. You'd love to go together. It seemed like the night began to improve and the ruckus downstairs subsided.

With you in good spirits, Davy finally decided to take the plunge. "Y/N? I was wondering...if you'd want to—"

His question was interrupted by the sound of an explosion of pots and pans scattering on the hard tile. Your face scrunched up into irritation. Micky's swearing and Peter's apologies could be heard. He glanced at the door then at you. The annoyance in your expression had disappeared.

"You were saying?"

Before he could get another word in, the bedroom door swung open. Your heads turned to find Davy's bandmates absolutely splattered with spaghetti sauce. You could have sworn Peter's shirt had been white when you saw him. Micky offered an embarrassed grin. There was no way this kind of mess was humanly possible.

"Peter and I were thinking about take-out," the curly-haired brunet began. "You guys in?"