Under my skin

[Jack Ripley]

Star talk was safe enough territory and it was partly due to Brayden bringing them up that he even remembered how he felt about shooting stars. That was a really far back when for him. Way back when. When he was small and foolish and yes, when he was still innocent enough to believe in the wonders of the world. In magic. He thought fireflies were shooting stars too. Just closer to earth. It never occurred to him that they wouldn't be visible in the sky that high up if they were so small he could catch them in his hands.

"Please don't tell me it's god," he said, even as he closed his eyes. Jack wasn't a believer. After everything he had seen, by the time word of god came into his life, he couldn't see it for anything more than a comforting fairy tale. Even if he wanted to believe, the skepticism in him ran too deep. Nothing like that could exist in this world. They were on their own. Even his guilt in... having done the things he'd done, wasn't rooted in being soaked in sin. Jack's guilt was for snuffing out a beautiful life before it had a chance to touch somebody else. While he believed in the moment of his actions that it was for the best, he couldn't help thinking... he really was the monster in their story. The one he so desperately wanted to save them from.

And that was why he couldn't believe in god and magic and fairy tales and sky creatures.

But he couldn't make himself think too deeply about it. He kept it at bay, with wit and humor, as Brayden had discovered. By keeping people at an arm's length even though he really wanted to pull them closer. He was a physical person. He liked touching people and he liked being touched. But mentally... people were still held away, where they couldn't touch the innermost thoughts and emotions he held in his core. Not even he liked looking at them. He wasn't going to expect anybody else to, either.

What was it that women often touted to one another? To first love somebody, you have to love yourself? If that was the case, Jack never loved anybody because although he acted like the epitome of self love... he hated himself more than anybody ever could.

So what did he wish for? What did Jack wish for? Brayden demanded he make a wish and make it now but Jack floundered. What did he want the most? Parents who cared? Jack's physical neediness came from neglect. Even as a child, oh... his teachers loved him. He was the most affectionate child. Once he learned he could touch people and lean on people and hug people, oh he did. Jack never wanted to leave school.

Or did he wish he never learned what it was to have his innocence taken from him? He could wish nobody ever hurt him. He could wish he never hurt anybody else. But... would any of that even happen... if he had parents who loved him?

With his eyes still closed, he said softly to Brayden, "Do you ever think you have too many wishes to make a wish... and then realize that every wish is connected? Like a little spiderweb of wishes that you follow up to the spider in the center..."

His eyes slowly opened.

"B... have you ever heard of Family of Origin?"

[Brayden Smith]

"It's not God."

Bray stopped believing in God a long time ago. Gods. Ancients, they called them in the supernatural community. Beings who gave rise to life. But the Ancients were selfish; they created life to amuse themselves, rather than out of any benevolent purpose. Even then, Bray couldn't find it in him to believe in anything after all that had happened to him in life.

Still... a tiny thin part of him believed in his star. In luck. In the hope that maybe some day all of the pain and loneliness and isolation would be worthwhile, and that at the end of his life he could look back and find just one thing that made it all worth the misery. It hadn't happened yet, but maybe it would. Bray was a strange little mix of jaded and hopeful that way. Somehow the jaded parts of him couldn't completely squash the once-hopeful part of him that used to reign supreme.

His hand slipped away and came to land on Jack's arm, resting comfortably there as he waited for Jack to make his wish. He wondered what Jack might wish for, what it was that his heart most desired. A home? A reason to stop running? Someone to reach down deep and soothe the parts of him that were fractured? That was what Bray would have wished for. Someone—anyone—to understand his pain and to help him heal because he could no longer do that on his own. He didn't know how to live without being in pain anymore.

"Maybe you just wish for more wishes, until you have enough to get to the center of that web." He turned his head slightly to look out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of a star. Nothing. Only street lights, dimly illuminating the bedroom from outside. Bray sighed and returned his gaze to Jack. "Family of origin. I think... it has something to do with the people in your life growing up? Their influence over how you develop? Why?"

[Jack Ripley]

"Hey, you never know in these small towns."

Some of them were filled with an overabundance of churches, especially out in the south but that was a tale for another time. People like him were definitely not wanted in the area, for various reasons. Plus, he stuck out like a sore thumb. Just one look at him and most could guess he wasn't about the settling down with a nice woman and birthing many children life. (But hey, not all of the south was like that--just many of the small towns.)

If he wished for parents that loved him, and that wish came true, he was certain that most of the other wishes would be unnecessary. But the problem was, wishes didn't come true and he could never go back in time. If he had different parents, he wouldn't even be Jack anymore. He would be another child, born to a different couple. Basically, he was wishing Jack Ripley never existed.

"Yeah."

Family of Origin. It was a component of psychology that inferred that one's first direct social group was responsible for shaping a person. He didn't know what prompted to suddenly ask Brayden about it because he didn't want to talk about it. Somehow, it had just been coaxed out of him. But now that it was out there, Jack didn't want to explain it further. So he smiled instead.

"I wish mine were star people."

And Jack would never exist and the people he hurt would still be around and the cycle they spoke about in psychology would stop. At least this one would. It wouldn't stop the other cycles from cycling but Jack couldn't save the whole goddamn world.

"People they come together, people they fall apart... No one can stop us now, 'cause we are all made of stars," he said softly in sing song because it was a song. He let it trail off, then--not singing--he added after a long moment, "How do you do that?"

[Brayden Smith]

The pieces started to come together in Bray's mind now, the more Jack spoke. The wistful wish he had for his parents to be star people, magical and ethereal, far up out of reach in the sky. Magical creatures that granted wishes. Benevolent, loving, kind. Parents he didn't have, who caused him pain. It didn't take much to connect the dots. Bray wasn't a genius but he was... thoughtful. He thought a lot, thought things through. Thought too much most of the time, but this time it was coming in handy.

Not knowing what to say, he didn't say anything. He thought. The little boy tracing stars became a man who woke up in the middle of the night with blood-soaked nightmares. He became a man who was sunshine and laughter outside, but pained inside, using his cheerful facade to fool the world at large into thinking that he was all right.

It was... ironic because Jack was both a philosopher and a psychologist. One might think he had the best tools to fix himself. But then again... things rarely worked that way. Just because he had the tools didn't mean that he knew how to use them on himself, in the same way that Bray understanding the fundamental role of pain in life didn't make it easy for him to rid himself of his own baggage.

As the silence stretched on, Jack surprisingly began to sing. And he had the voice of a lark. It was beautiful. Somehow it brought a little lump into Bray's throat, and his eyes shone for a second or two before he blinked it away. The words were so wistful and they hit home.

"Do what, Jack?"

[Jack Ripley]

Do what, he asked. And he genuinely didn't know what he was doing. There wasn't a single manipulative bone in Brayden's body. Jack knew manipulation when he saw it. He grew up with it, with people that only knew how to use and abuse. Brayden didn't even know how to manipulate. Everything in him screamed genuine and it didn't make sense to Jack. The young and the naive hadn't experienced enough of the world or the people in it to be damaged by them. Brayden must have... but somehow he came out of it without letting it ruin him.

People like him existed.

"Make it feel like I've known you forever."

Long enough to coax old memories out. Not the bad ones, either. Long forgotten good ones. The memories of a child that still thought magic could exist. Even through neglect, young enough to still think there was something better out there. Jack forgot about catching fireflies and watching shooting stars. He forgot about sitting outside in the tall grass of their shitty slum house in Hyde Park and listening to the neighbor's music playing on the stereo. Dancing to it alone. Playing with the stray kittens behind their house and sneaking them food when they got bigger.

"What was it like, growing up here?"

[Brayden Smith]

"Oh." Was that what he did? What he had been doing? Bray was—being Bray. Being a dummy, really, talking about Jack being a star, shining. Eager to please. Only this time it came naturally to him. A lot of what he said, what he did, wasn't premeditated. He would have found it laughable, how hard he tried to impress others just to fall flat on his face, but with Jack whom he genuinely wanted to get to know better, things happened of their own accord.

How strange, the way things came together. Earlier on in the evening it felt like everything was falling apart. Now all the pieces assembled themselves into a curious midnight narrative. Bray might come to hate himself in the morning for saying cheesy things, or he might not. He might find the embarrassment worthwhile, if he brought even a little comfort to Jack.

He didn't pretend to understand the amount of pain Jack was in. His life wasn't... horrible, in comparison. Jack had suffered much more, he could tell, more than someone like Bray could fathom. He wouldn't ever want to diminish that by comparing his own troubles to Jack's—especially since he didn't know the whole story. There had to be more. Much more. Jack Ripley was far deeper than anyone probably gave him credit for at first glance and he was, as Bray always thought, intriguing. Yes, he was so terribly intriguing, just like a mysterious star twinkling through the darkness.

But Bray couldn't reciprocate the sentiment—about knowing Jack—because he didn't know Jack. Bray was simple. Jack was not. So again he said nothing, and only squeezed Jack's arm to show that he understood, that he was pleased, that he cared. It was much easier to turn to another topic, too, but Jack's words didn't leave his mind even as he spoke up about growing up in Hazleton.

"It was... I'm sure it's different from the big cities. We're a small town but big things happen here." Bray half-smiled. "Everything's news in a small town, you know? Whose crops failed, who had a barn raising, whose horse ran loose through the center of town. And you could never get away with anything because a neighbor always saw, or somebody's kid would tattle on you." He laughed fondly, recalling the few times he got into scrapes of his own—usually out of that same desire to belong, listening to the terrible kids with bad ideas.

"Actually it's still sort of like that. You can't do anything without somebody knowing about it. I'm sure if I sneezed tonight, someone from across town will show up with a box of tissues in the morning."

...and if he laid with another man, even innocently... somebody would find out, he was sure...

[Jack Ripley]

Somehow, it was easy to imagine everything Brayden talked about. The small town life... It sounded delightful here, he had to admit. Back in Boston, Jack was just another statistic. Another dirty kid playing in the back alleys of old shitty slum neighborhoods. He heard they were nicer now, the houses in Hyde Park. But when Jack was growing up, they were run down, with peeling paint and broken windows and dried grass that grew too tall. There was a lot of room to get into trouble, too, but Jack didn't have people to care if he did. So when he was little, he had all the time and space to go on little kid adventures and quests in the neighborhood.

As a teenager, things changed drastically. Those were the years where he let himself be dragged in by anybody who would have him. A man could look at him just so and he would let them fuck him. There were drugs passed back and forth. A lot of alcohol. The kittens he loved so were barely adults when they started showing up flattened by cars or dead from disease, gunky eyes and noses. Fireflies were just bugs and shooting stars were just rocks burning up in the atmosphere.

But he could imagine a teenage Brayden in this small, sleepy town. Neighbors watching him, watching out for him. Kids tattling because that was the worst they could do. Stupid little schoolyard fights where they pushed one another and that was the end of it. He bet people noticed if parents were bad here in Hazleton. He bet the community got together and did those food drive things. Brought presents for kids on holidays when kids otherwise had nothing.

"I know what you mean." He propped himself up on one elbow and rested his chin in his hand. "When I arrived, everybody wanted to know who I was. Everybody wanted to shake my hand and invite me for lunch or tea to get to know me."

His expression was amused as he remembered it with fondness. That was the kind of attention he liked. People seemed to like him well enough when they met him. Even if they didn't know the deep, inner workings, they liked some part of him, at least.

"Do you know...? Mrs. Thompson spent an entire lunch hour trying to hook me up with her son! She kept saying, 'oh, you'd be so perfect for my Wyatt!' I never even met him, B! I bet you know him. What do you think?" He struck a vogue-esque pose, head up, hand elegantly held beneath his chin. "Am I good enough for Mrs. Thompson's son?"

[Brayden Smith]

Most of the time Bray watched other children doing things, while he hovered awkwardly in the background. He was too scared to go skinny dipping in the creek so he watched everyone's clothes while they whooped and hollered and threw themselves into the ice-cold water, shouting joyously as they splashed each other. At most Bray would dip his legs in it while sitting on the side of the bank, keeping a dutifully watchful eye on their belongings.

When the other kids went off to the town square for festivals and dances, he strolled through the stalls and tents, trying to find things he thought his mother might like or that his friends would enjoy. Very few people gave him anything just because but Bray always had the needs of others on his mind. It was surprising that he didn't have more friends but... perhaps they sensed that he was too eager to be accepted. That no matter what they did, what they said about him to his face or behind his back, he would still be there, still be anxious to fit in.

Bray never did fit in. He didn't know why. Maybe because he was sheltered and grew up with parents who constantly worried about him, he wasn't as adventurous as others. He never did have that madcap sense of fun that made the wild kids popular. He didn't like things like riding or swimming or shooting. His pursuits were bookish, perhaps, although he didn't fit with that library crowd either.

Couldn't there be a group of people like him, he wondered often when he was younger? People who didn't know what to say and let silences fall too long? People who over-thought every aspect of life and failed to enjoy the moment? If there were others like him, they were few and far in between. Young Bray learned to live vicariously through others, to enjoy their enjoyment rather than to experience things for himself. He learned that he wasn't cowardly as such, but he was shrinking when others were bold, that he retreated while another braver man would stride forward. He blended and never learned how to stand out.

And that was why Jack, he stood out so much. Jack was everything Bray admired in others that he never found in himself.

"Everyone knew about you before you came here. You were like a local celebrity," he laughed softly, recalling the curious inquiries into that new professor with a Harvard degree. My, my, such an illustrious figure, settling here in Hazleton? Everyone needed to know all about him and—for a while—even Bray shared in some of that limelight. But when Jack actually arrived, of course all attention shifted to him—including Bray's.

Wyatt Thompson, though... Bray struggled not to let his expression darken. He thought Wyatt was... still with Jeffrey. Wyatt was the one who claimed that things were getting stale, that he needed to redefine himself. That Bray was simply too dull. Bray swallowed again, hard. He looked up at Jack, striking his dramatic pose, backed by streetlights and moonlight. That lump in his throat went away. He smiled with honest, open admiration and with a real warmth unfurling in his chest.

"I think..." Bray reached up to tuck away a stray strand of dark hair curling into Jack's cheek. "You are more than good enough for anyone, Jack Ripley. And anyone would be lucky to have you."

[Jack Ripley]

"I'm so flattered."

He might have said it in a jesting tone but he was secretly actually flattered. A local celebrity. All because of his illustrious work at Harvard, no doubt. Sheer luck and hard work landed Jack in Harvard, to be honest. Through high school, he struggled a lot with his vices, with his so-called friends and boyfriends and flings that meant nothing. But there was a tiny seed in him that still cared about having high marks in his classes. And he was intelligent, despite all the stupid choices he made, the bad friends, the drugs that probably fucked his mind up. Somehow, though, he was able to do it.

Jack worked his ass off for that scholarship. Nobody deserved it more than he did. For once, he believed in something about himself that strongly. The joy of finding out he got it, that he was accepted, that he was covered. Those were the years of his life that might have been the best of his life in a long time. He belonged.

But it was also the start of something in him breaking inside. He learned not to let those cracks show, though. He learned how to be the sunshine in the room. The one person in the room everybody wanted to be, or wanted to be with. The life of the party, the reason people orbited him. And it was nice. It was a perfect distraction from everything that wasn't perfect in his life.

"You really are too sweet." Jack tilted his head, loosening the curl that Brayden had just tucked away. "But for the record, I'm joking about Mrs. Thompson's son. She just seemed way too... desperate about it. Kinda made me think maybe he's not much of a catch, hm? If your mother has to vouch for you, it doesn't bode well..."

And he hadn't missed that brief cloud in Brayden's otherwise soft gaze. This Wyatt Thompson guy must not be much of a winner in his eyes. And Jack was content to trust Brayden's instincts.

[Brayden Smith]

A tall, handsome, learned man moving into town who was an eligible bachelor? All of the mothers were in a tizzy to marry off their daughters. And sons. It didn't surprise Bray that Mrs. Thompson tried to push Wyatt onto Jack. Wyatt was the type who liked to lean on people—including his own parents. He wasn't shiftless but he was lazy, preferring to drift through life depending on the kindness of others. Bray always knew what he was to Wyatt, but he still enjoyed having someone in his life who was more than a friend. They had their moments, too, even if Wyatt was mostly only in it for the financial support.

But that was three years ago. Bray was the only one who held on to those few good memories; he was sure Wyatt had long since moved on with someone newer, more exciting, less dull. Possibly richer as well; there were a few high rollers here in Hazleton who preferred to live away from larger cities. Many were vampires, if that meant anything. Then again, they had far longer to amass wealth, didn't they?

Jack was still something of a celebrity in town, to be honest. People were still interested because he came from a big city like Boston, with his Harvard degree. Plenty of folks who grew up in Hazleton and had never been further than Portland thought he was a big deal. Plus, Jack wasn't stuck-up. He didn't have an affected manner that made others dislike him. He was the picture of friendliness and that went a long way here.

"Wyatt's not that bad. He's very handsome and always has something to say. But his mother thinks it's time he settled down. That's probably why she pushed so hard for you two to meet. If you're looking for someone..." Bray turned his head away, still smiling softly but now at the mattress. "I'm sure you won't have any trouble, Jack."

And when he did eventually find someone worth his time, Bray would still be happy for him. For them.

[Jack Ripley]

"Settling down..." He lifted his gaze upward for a few seconds, then let out a breath. "Not sure about that one."

On the one hand, Jack yearned to be able to finally settle down with somebody he could love and trust. On the other hand, he couldn't even imagine it being in the cards for him. It was honestly too much to hope for. Love and trust were such difficult things to give away and it felt like every time he tried, he ended up going too far. Here, in Hazleton, he wanted things to be different.

And so far, so good. The problem was that he hadn't been here long enough to feel safe enough to think he could. He had been at some of those jobs for a couple of years before the disastrous happened. Then he tried shallow relationships, flings, that sort of thing. But even shallow relationships eventually became something because it was so easy for Jack to fall for the next doe eyed man who trusted him so implicitly. Then it became his duty to protect... and that meant... bad things eventually.

"I'm not looking right now," he said finally. "I'm kind of in... relationship detox right now. But yeah... you're right. I probably won't have much trouble." His smile was a touch wistful. Oh, he hoped that was true. He genuinely hoped trouble would stay away this time.

[Brayden Smith]

"I see." That sounded like Jack didn't want anything serious on his plate with respect to relationships for a while. Maybe he had a bad break-up; that was the logical conclusion to his words and to 'relationship detox.' Relationships were always such tricky things. People seemed eager to jump into one but not everyone was prepared to put in the work. They wanted all the payoff without the effort in most cases.

Bray, though, still believed in love. That somewhere out there was a person just for him, who could make up for all the things he lacked. That person... would have to be some kind of saint, no doubt, but it wasn't impossible. Unlikely didn't mean impossible. Even if they weren't here in Hazleton, perhaps one day if he managed to uproot himself, to shake the feeling that he somehow needed to be here... It wasn't impossible.

He settled back down, letting out a low sigh. Jack wasn't looking. That cleared everything up. He was just... flirtatious. The touches, the kiss to the forehead, the sweet words, they didn't necessarily mean anything. Yes, that became apparent now and Bray supposed that... he ought to be thankful, really. No more muddled thoughts. No more wondering—no more over-thinking.

But he was disappointed. Of course he was. Anyone would be, wouldn't they?

"We should try to go back to sleep," he said gently, glancing outside again. Sky was still dark; there was still time to sleep before they had to wake up and frantically call a locksmith, wait for him to get into town and pry open Bray's door. The paperwork... Lord, the paperwork. He felt the clawing sensation inside again, the anxiety. Bray breathed in deep, held it for five, let it out.

"I'll wake you if you have another nightmare," he added as he turned his cheek into the pillow, bringing up his free hand to grasp at one corner of it. Bray brushed the soft pillow cover with his thumb. Felt like silk, or some other type of expensive material. Hm. Luxurious.

[Jack Ripley]

I see, he said, and the disappointment was palpable. But Jack didn't know what else to say or how to fix it. Love yourself first and then you can love somebody else. What if he could never love himself? That could be for the best. His version of love had never worked for him or his partners. And he certainly didn't want to see anything happen to Brayden. There was something too important to him. They hadn't known each other long but even Jack could see that. There was something different about Brayden. Somehow... he brought out something less... bad in him.

How?

How could he know? It wasn't as if he was writing Brayden off... as.... as... a friend. Jack could use those. And... they were still neighbors. And co-workers. It would have been a lie, though, to say he hadn't ever wondered what it would be like to have a relationship with him. When was the last time he opened himself up this much? In the space of an evening? He closed his eyes tight. Opened them. If it was a dream, it felt very real. The sensation of the sheets and the warm blankets atop them and the weight of the body beside him.

Jack watched Brayden with longing, even though Brayden wasn't even looking at him. At the way his eyes darted out to look outside, the way he rested back against the pillow. He seemed to be carefully avoiding looking at Jack now. Hesitantly, Jack laid back down, too. He didn't turn away, though.

"Thanks, B."

[Brayden Smith]

Bray felt Jack's movement but he couldn't bring himself to look, feeling bittersweet about the end to their conversation. It felt as though everything was going well but maybe too well. At first—disastrous. Then even more terrible, with the nightmare. And from that terrible low, things got better. Jack seemed less closed off to him, exposing his vulnerabilities, bits of his past that Bray hadn't known and would never have guessed. Bray began to feel as though he was finally included; he was in on these small secrets that Jack divulged to him. Finally, he was on the inside, not on the outside looking in.

Then... just as Jack seemed within reach... he slid away again with mentions of Wyatt, of looking for other partners, of being good enough for someone—someone else. Someone that wasn't Bray. Of course not. He felt stupid to think that he ever had a chance at holding on to a star. Stars weren't meant for people like Bray to keep—people who locked themselves out of their apartment because they got too excited about the prospect of bringing soup to a handsome co-worker.

Stars belonged with other stars, all twinkling away, far out of reach.

But that was okay. No, really, it was okay. Better that he knew now. There was safety in knowing. Security in knowing his place and where he stood in the grand scheme of things. Bray was silly. Silly, silly. He smiled at the edge of the pillow and nodded, feeling Jack's eyes on him but still unable to look up. "Of course. I promised." He didn't believe in breaking promises. If he didn't have his word, he didn't have anything. Bray closed his eyes just to stop himself from wanting to look at Jack.

In the morning he would be himself again, he was sure. Whatever that flight of fancy was earlier would be long gone and sensible Brayden would take control.

"Good night, Jack."

[Jack Ripley]

"Good night."

His gaze remained on Brayden for a long while, until his vision blurred and doubled up. Somehow, the sleepiness was finally coming back. His eyelids grew too heavy to fight and eventually he fell back into an uneasy sleep. And it was uneasy.

There was a dark edge to it at first, visions of the old building his mother raised him in. The rundown building with boards tacked over the downstairs windows. There was a shouting match inside but Jack was bouncing down the front steps, skipping the last few and spinning toward the back of the building.

But when he entered the back alley, he was surprised to see Brayden already there. "B? What are you doing here?" he asked, and suddenly, he was no longer a child but an adult again. He put a hand to his face, his chest, shoulders. Strange. Looking around, the alley melted away and they were on a hill that Jack recognized as a part of one Hazleton's beautiful natural parks.

Slowly, he walked toward Brayden, who was standing beside a park bench. Jack's eyes never left him as he approached, and even as he sat, his head inclined to keep watching him. Something was humming. A tune from his childhood. When he looked away from Brayden, he could see the stars. They were too bright to be real. When he looked over at Brayden again, he was gone. Jack waited, looked around the park, behind him and the bench.

"...B...?"





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Static. Something buzzed in his brain and he clapped his hands over his ears. "Fuck," he whispered. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

He dropped to his knees in the pool of blood. "B?! BRAYDEN?" His heart beat faster. "Fuck...! No!"

The static grew harsher. The red bled into grey and the entire landscape melted away into something dark. Nothing but darkness and then it slowly illuminated into something like black and white and shades of grey. Jack sat back on his heels but his arms wrapped around his body, face etched in despair. But the grey was wiped of the last vision. The park was gone, the blood was gone, even the static sounds were gone. Jack set a hand on the ground. It wasn't grass anymore. It felt like pavement. He pushed himself up to stand, a little shakily.

"...where the hell is this?"

Something glittery and bright passed him. A firefly. Jack stared at it, cocking his head to the side with an expression of disbelief. "B...?"

He had no idea why he should think the firefly was Brayden but he stumbled over his own feet to follow it. Although its body was tiny, its light was mighty. Everywhere it glided past, it illuminated the dark greys and blacks to color. Tall grass, brown and crunchy. School desks in a row. Jack slid a hand over one of them. A J carved into one. Past the desks, he saw the airplane he'd taken to Hazleton. He was alone as he walked down the long aisle and then paused at the door. The doors turned into bus doors. The doors that opened up to his new apartment. Sunrise.

Brayden was standing in front of his own apartment door.

"B?"

He looked behind him. The bus was gone. The plane was gone. Looking back over at Brayden, Jack slowly walked toward the middle of the courtyard. His apartment was right there. But he was looking at Brayden's.

"B..." He turned away from his apartment and moved toward Brayden, who was looking at him. Jack's confusion softened into a smile and he reached out for him, pulling him in close into a tight hug. He turned his head into his temple and his lips pressed against the corner of his eye. "Brayden..."

BZZZT! BZZZZT! BZZZZZT!

Jarred awake, this time by the harsh sound of his alarm clock, Jack sat up blindly, sleep still in his eyes and his heart thumping hard against his chest. His mouth felt dry and his head was pounding. Shaking hands reached up to run through his unruly hair and he drew his knees up slightly. What the hell? Then... Brayden? Jack turned to check that he was still there, half expecting him to have slid off in the night.