Under my skin

[Brayden Smith]

He knew Jack wasn't asleep and that he was looking. Still looking at Bray, putting him on edge because Jack didn't speak. He didn't say anything. And Bray didn't want him to say anything. He laid there holding his breath, tense, stiff again, hoping that Jack wouldn't say it.

Bray didn't want the reassurance. He didn't want to hear Jack say that they could still be friends. Not hearing it didn't make it any less true, didn't pull him out of that corner, but he... he couldn't deal with it at the moment. Or—no. He didn't want to deal with it. He didn't want Jack to have to feel bad about some silly little crush that Bray harbored and that he thought could go somewhere. Just because Jack paid him a little attention didn't mean anything. It didn't have to mean anything.

Jack owed him nothing, nothing at all.

They could be friends. Neighbors. Co-workers. Even that was more than Bray deserved. At the beginning of the evening he would have done cartwheels to be considered Jack's friend; he would have been elated to know that Jack saw him as a person and not only as 'that man with the stacks of paperwork.' And by Bray's own admission, he was a slow, slow turtle when it came to relationships. Losing his mind for ten minutes, that wasn't typical Bray. He just had to get back to the status quo, that was all.

While Jack's breathing slowed and evened out, indicating sleep, Bray was still wide awake. He finally dared to look at Jack, now that Jack wasn't looking at him. His expression softened but a spasm passed through it too, of sadness, emotion, disappointment. Bray slowly pushed himself up to sit and rested his back against the headboard. He reached down with a gentle hand to touch the side of Jack's head, stroking once along his dark hair. "I'm sorry," whispered Bray, for making things difficult for Jack.

Didn't he want to help Jack? He did—of course he did.

So then why was he adding to Jack's pain, why was he making things harder for him?

"I'm so stupid," he whispered to himself, disappointed in his own lack of maturity. He didn't want to make things weird. Jack deserved none of it; he wasn't responsible for the way Bray felt. Withdrawing his hand, Bray tilted his head back and closed his eyes. He knew he wouldn't sleep that night and... well, he wanted to make sure Jack didn't suffer any more nightmares. He promised he would look out for him and maybe... maybe it was more important that he had Jack's back than it was for him to mope over a man who was out of his league stating that he didn't want a relationship.

Some time later—maybe an hour or so—Jack began to turn and toss and twist again. Bray had dozed off but it was that strange, light kind of sleep that didn't take hold. He awakened to Jack murmuring, clearly in distress, and swiftly reached over to touch his palm to Jack's forehead. The power that thrummed through his veins focused in his palm, soothing blue-white light enveloping his hand. It spread out over Jack's face, all around his head, calming his mind and easing him out of whatever horrors he was being subjected to.

Bray was tempted to peer into his dreams but he didn't do it. He couldn't invade Jack's mind that way. Instead, he watched with worried eyes as Jack eventually stilled and he didn't stop watching over Jack until the sun rose and sent its warm, bright rays in through the slats in the blinds. By then, Bray... had to use the restroom. Quite badly. He tried to hold it in, still fearing that Jack's nightmares would return, but eventually biology got the better of him. Easing out of bed, he silently speed-walked into the bathroom and quietly shut the door behind him.

It was as he flushed the toilet that he heard the buzzing of an alarm and Bray quickly washed his hands. He poked a head out of the bathroom in time to see Jack sitting in bed staring at the empty place where he had been. Bray coughed softly. "Good morning." He edged out and, feeling strangely shy for some reason, stood by the bathroom as though guarding it. "Are you okay?"

[Jack Ripley]

Oh.

He was gone.

Disappointed, Jack stared morosely at the indent where Brayden was lying. When he lightly touched the sheets, they still felt warm. Why did you go? It must have been their conversation last night. Brayden didn't like the direction it went. Was... he hoping for Jack to ask him... to be in a relationship? Although his heart ached for the idea... Jack turned his gaze away from the bed and sighed, running a hand up his forehead and pushing his hair back. Ugh, hangover. He deserved it.

Then... the softest of coughs. Jack blinked as he breathed in, then looked up. The air stayed there in his lungs. It was as if he'd forgotten to breathe. Oh. He was still here. Brayden never left.

"Oh...." He exhaled as he dropped back down into the bed, relief flooding through his system like a drug. "I'm fine. Just a little..." He waved a hand in the air. "You know."

Hungover. Sick. Whichever word he wanted to believe. What time is it? he was going to ask but if the alarm went off, he already knew. It was set to go off two hours before he was expected to leave for work. Work.

"Oh shit." He sat up again, flipping the covers off him as he shed his floral robe and opened his closet door. "Did you call the locksmith yet? We can't get started on that paperwork until we get into your apartment."

[Brayden Smith]

Ah. No. It wasn't shyness, was it? It was shame. Bray was ashamed of himself, of the way he acted and reacted. He had a lot of time to think about things during the night—typical Bray, staying up for hours to run over every single little detail. He worked out that while Jack had opened up to him and was honest with him about his feelings on relationships, stating clearly that he was not ready to date seriously again, Bray... sort of acted like a brat.

What? He didn't get the response he wanted and all of a sudden the world was ending?

When did he get so entitled? Bray liked to think he was better than that but apparently he wasn't. Poor Jack, he only wanted to share his feelings. And he was sick, that was the worst part! He was sick and Bray should have been kinder, more gracious and infinitely more understanding!

He was thoroughly ashamed of himself and he ought to have left, really, before Jack woke up, except he was still worried about Jack's nightmares. That kept him there, keeping vigil throughout the night while he chided and berated himself for being so foolish. Well at least he could multi-task on that front. He could call himself ten kinds of an idiot and still keep an eye on Jack.

Jack looked a little green around the gills still, especially in daylight, but he wasn't feverish like he was last night when he showed up at the door. Bray stepped slowly towards the bed, discreetly checking him over. "Still sick?" He offered, pausing as Jack suddenly tossed the covers and shed his robe—and Bray looked politely away. Not that Jack was naked—he wore silky pajamas and all—but it was force of habit.

"Oh! Oh the—yes! The locksmith!" He'd been waiting for Jack to wake up since he couldn't get into Jack's phone. "Could I have your phone? I-I'm sure he..." Bray trailed off as his eyes caught on the alarm clock and on the time. "He... can get here... in time..." he trailed off miserably. An hour to get into town. Maybe ten to twenty minutes to unlock the door. And that left... what? Forty minutes to finish all the paperwork? Impossible. Bray still had to get himself to the school too, set up for the superintendent's visit, make sure all the department heads were ready...

All of that in forty minutes? Impossible.

He hung his head for a moment, eyes closing, heart breaking in his chest. There was no way. Nothing short of a miracle could help him now. "It's okay," he said at last, dully. "I won't get it done on time. I'll just have to own up to it with the dean and the administration. Don't—don't worry about it, Jack. It's my own fault, I shouldn't drag you into it too."

[Jack Ripley]

Sick? Jack started to shake his head--it hurt--and then nodded. Yes, he was still "sick." Definitely hung over and feeling the drinks he'd knocked back the night before. At least he had a good time... up until that part where he felt hollow and empty again. (Sigh.)

"Oh, honey, you could have asked earlier," he said, grabbing his phone and unlocking it for Brayden before holding it out to him. Jack promised to help with the paperwork and he said they could wake up early to get it done. Instead he slept so long that he didn't realize that time was still marching onward. If it weren't for that alarm, honestly, he'd still be sleeping.

But Brayden was panicking over the locksmith and the superintendent's visit and apparently a lot of paperwork. How much could it really be, that they couldn't get it done if they doubled down on it?

"Okay," he said pulling the phone back to himself since Brayden hadn't taken it yet. "Calm down. There's always a solution for these things. How about..." He searched through his contacts for the building manager. "I call the manager and have him come and unlock your door with a spare or master?"

He supposed he should have thought about that the night before but he was exhausted by good sex and still half drunk. Now he had the benefit of some sleep at his disposal. As he hit the call button for the manager, he reached out and gently squeezed Brayden's hand.

"Don't worry. It'll be taken care of."

[Brayden Smith]

Break in.

Break. In.

Bray's desperate mind wrapped around that idea as a last resort as Jack attempted to reassure him. He was calm, though. Surprisingly, quite calm. The freak-out had happened last night and he always knew that he would attempt to smash a window if worst came to worst. Bray was running through the logistics of that plan while Jack hit upon the idea to call the manager.

"Oh. What?" The squeeze of his hand brought him out of his scheming thoughts. "He's—he told me he was out of town this week. Or I would have gone to find him last night."

He would have actually walked half-way across town into the suburbs to find the building manager, if it meant getting back inside. Bray worried his lower lip for a moment, then turned to Jack again. He spoke with some measure of gravity, his expression somber. Serious. "Jack. We have to break in. It's the only way." If they could get in within the next ten minutes... he might get it all done in time.

[Jack Ripley]

Shit. Did Brayden tell him that last night? He listened to the phone continue to ring. Tried to remember what Brayden said when he showed up stuttering that he'd locked himself out of his apartment. He probably told him then but Jack was too busy laughing at him. Ah... Well. Oh! That was the landlord's telltale smoker's voice!

"Hello, this is--"

"Good morning!" Jack smiled with relief and started to speak but the voicemail message continued.

"Tanner Caldwell. I can't come to the phone right now. If you're a--"

Jack hung up and rolled his eyes with a sigh.

"Well. So much for that expertly thought out plan."

He crossed an arm over his chest, the other holding the phone. That didn't work out as well as he'd hoped. It seemed like they had to decide to do something else but before Jack could come up with another brilliantly useless plan, Brayden turned toward him with Serious Face... to say that they had to break in. Jack had no idea what to think about that. Breaking into Brayden's apartment like common thieves? He looked away, although the rest of his expression was a poker face. Then he glanced back over at Brayden, trying to decide just how he wanted to go about saying what he wanted to say without either upsetting Brayden or pissing him off.

"Listen," he said slowly as he tucked the phone under his chin and looked at Brayden thoughtfully. "You're not allowed to tell anyone about this, especially the superintendent or anybody we work with, like Mrs. Thompson and that guy who teaches... whatever he teaches, but you know the one, he lives two apartments down that way from me? Anyway, this is strictly between the two of us... got it? Okay. Well... It just so happens that I..."

He turned away from Brayden and opened the side table drawer near him. He pulled out a small box that he slid into the same palm as his phone. Then he took hold of Brayden's shoulder, turning him to the bedroom door to lead him out.

"I know how to pick locks."

[Brayden Smith]

For a brief moment there was hope but—no. Voicemail. Bray could hear it vaguely from where he stood beside Jack, hovering uselessly, plotting to smash in his own window and climb through. One of the perks of living on the first floor was the ability to commit crimes from ground-level. But was it committing a crime if HE broke into his OWN apartment? Wasn't that just... redecorating? In shards of broken glass?

Bray listened because Jack told him to listen. He was expecting a lecture of some kind on how to best go about kicking in a window. Jack had a Havard degree, for god's sake! He had to be smarter than Bray, a mere slave to the paperwork at a small-town university. Maybe it wasn't fair to pin all of his hopes on one man, but Bray had nowhere else to turn to! He—

"What?" What did that mean, don't tell anyone? Why would he tell anyone that he had to break into his own place? Bray wouldn't have done that anyway, out of sheer embarrassment! He thought Jack might still be somewhat delirious from the fever so he opened his mouth to explain that this secret crime was only between them when Jack left to get a small box. Ah. Glass cutter? Bray was turned around; he felt much better now that they were going to do something. They had a plan. Jack was skilled at picking locks so they would simply walk out, walk around to Bray's living room window, pick up a rock and...

Wait.

Hold on a minute.

Bray was still walking, out of the apartment in his rumpled work clothes from yesterday—he'd now slept in them, rolled around in them, dream-walked through Jack's first nightmare in them and sat in them all night while keeping watch over Jack. He was sure he looked especially bedraggled and pathetic. But. That didn't mean he couldn't turn furiously to Jack for a split second to stare at him in outrage.

"You—what?"

[Jack Ripley]

Jack lifted his phone and the little box up with both hands to cover his face as if they were a good set of shields. His voice was low so nobody could hear him except Brayden.

"I can pick locks."

He looked to the side, in the middle distance. Jack Ripley could pick locks. It wasn't a skill that he was proud of, obviously. Growing up in a hard little neighborhood full of hoodlums, he had picked up a skill here and there that made it possible for him to do things like... steal enough money to eat. Somebody had to get him food, even if it had to be himself. But he wasn't explaining that right now. They were standing outside at that point and it wasn't something he wanted the other residents to know about, either. If they knew, they would start thinking they weren't safe here and he didn't plan on doing anything to anybody. He was trying to start over.

Lowering his shields, he nodded at Brayden, then passed him and towards his apartment across the courtyard almost imperiously. He didn't want to see if Brayden was following him or if he was going to protest. Time was of the essence at the moment, wasn't it?

Kneeling in front of the door, he set his phone and the small box down beside his knee. He opened the box to reveal a set of small tools. Taking a look at the locks, Jack mapped out the plan and then began the job of picking the lock. He did his best to be quick about it, not wanting to be caught out. Hah... he was out here in his silken pajamas and barefoot. Not exactly how he wanted to be seen by his neighbors on top of everything else.

Click.

Jack turned the knob and the door opened. Collecting his things, he stood up. It was hard to look at Brayden now, for different reasons than last night. He hated that. He hated that he felt closer to Brayden than anybody he'd felt close to in a lifetime for just one night and all because he didn't say anything about the lock picking ability.

He couldn't even say he was sorry because... selfishly, he really wasn't. Instead of leaving promptly, Jack lingered in the doorway.

"I promised I'd help with the paperwork..."

[Brayden Smith]

"I heard. You. The first time." Bray was speaking in fragmented sentences again, but this time for a vastly different reason than last night. Oh, he was back to being dragged along by the hair behind Jack while Jack stormed ahead at eight hundred miles an hour. He was back to feeling lost and out of his element—also, furious. Because Jack could have mentioned that last night while Bray was freaking out!

Despite how Jack hid his face, 98% of him—the rest of his tall body—was still visible, so Bray directed his fury onto the parts of Jack that weren't hidden from him. He was furious all the way across the courtyard, trailing behind Jack looking like he'd gotten run over by a tractor and then backed onto and run over again. Meanwhile, Jack walked with his head high and shoulders squared, as if he owned the place—what a world of difference between the two of them.

Bray ran an agitated hand through his hair. It was getting long and people kept hinting that it needed to be cut, but Bray didn't know. He sort of. Liked the look. And he wasn't going for a man bun, either, he just sort of felt safer with some hair to hide his face.

Sure, lock-picking was a suspicious skill... but lots of people picked it up randomly. Hell, some looked it up. For kicks. And giggles. "Why do you have a kit?" THAT was the real question! Bray didn't care that Jack had quirky skills but the little box with the tools in it was suspicious! He stood behind Jack with his arms crossed, frowning. His brows creased and he knew he looked grumpy. He felt grumpy. He hadn't slept the entire night and he felt grumpy and—and lied to a little bit.

Not mad, though. Furious, sure, but not truly angry. He couldn't be angry at Jack after seeing what Jack went through twice in one night. Two nightmares. A tragic past. Why would Bray begrudge him a little oversight like this? Jack wasn't leaving, so he pushed open the door and lightly nudged Jack to get inside. It was cold this early in the morning; Jack was sick. Bray could be outraged inside his own apartment.

Inside, right by the door, were the stacks of papers in the humongous file folder, and bulging out of his bag. Bray sighed as he toed the door closed and bent to pick up both. He glared at the keys laying innocently on top of his bag. "Make yourself at home," he said tiredly as he trudged into the living room and dropped off the papers with a THUD onto the coffee table.

[Jack Ripley]

Yes. Brayden was pissed off. Made sense, though. Anybody would be frustrated by all this. Jack wasn't unflappable either, but at the moment, he wasn't angry because he wasn't the one who had information withheld from him. Also, the whole hysteria of getting work done and superintendent visits and all that. Brayden needed to learn how to just relax but he had a feeling if he said that now, Brayden might just gut punch him.

"Let's not," he said, in response to why he had a kit. He slid it into the pocket of his silk jammies. No reason to even bring it up again. He'd just pretend, oh, that never happened.

Inside Brayden's apartment, right by the door, was the apparent mountain of paperwork and holy... Jack didn't like the look of it. When Brayden fretted over not getting it done, he just assumed he was overreacting. Now... Not so much. He dropped his phone on the table next to the couch and then flopped onto it before remembering. Ugh. Shifting uncomfortably, he crossed his legs on the couch and reached for the stack of paperwork.

"We're going to need some serious caffeine if we're going to get this done."

[Brayden Smith]

They might or they might not revisit the little incriminating black box but Bray was more eager to get to work, so he dropped the subject. Jack clearly didn't want to get into it and Bray wasn't assertive enough to keep pushing. He didn't think Jack was a career criminal, though. Not a master burglar, although the silk pajamas and the luxurious pillow cases were cast in a somewhat dubious light.

For the moment he dropped his fury and picked up the paperwork. Bray's apartment had the same layout as Jack's, with different (cheaper) furniture. His couch was a bit ratty and his decorations mismatched. Living here at the Sunrise was expensive, so he had to cut costs somewhere else—and that somewhere else was the furniture. A lot of it was his parents' and others were kindly donated or that he picked up from the thrift shop.

Everything was clean, though, and repaired by hand. Jack might have noticed the patch sewn on the couch, from where a rip happened and the stuffing poked out. The coffee table top didn't match the legs; Bray did some clever figuring out to put two different (broken) ones together to make a whole one. He wasn't crafty by nature but the internet had some great tutorials and videos.

Since he didn't have a study or a work table, Bray dropped onto the carpet to sit cross-legged. He began pulling papers out and arranging them, feeling steadily better. He was sure he could get this done now, and Jack kindly offered to help. That made up somewhat for the lie of omission. Bray looked up, no longer grumpy—just serious and ready to get to work.

"Sorry... I don't drink coffee." His gaze softened as he reached for the file Jack had taken, to relieve him of it. "You know you don't have to stay. I can probably get this done myself. If you want to go back and get some more rest... I know you probably didn't sleep that well last night either."

[Jack Ripley]

Well, Jack would give Bray this much: at least he didn't stay mad long. Or he could be the type of person who exploded later on. Jack decided not to think about it and just like everything he didn't want to think about, he pushed it aside, somewhere in a pile of other thoughts he didn't feel like sifting through. Instead, he leaned forward-still, ouch--and he rested his chin in his hands as he looked down at the paperwork he'd taken.

No caffeine. Oh, he could feel the lack of it deep in his bones. Jack needed caffeine to function--he was one of those robots. It also helped balance out the pills he took that otherwise would have made him fall flat asleep in front of his class.

Instead of bitching about it, he sighed and rubbed one of his sore temples. No caffeine, aching asshole, pounding headache. Could he get out of work the way he had hoped to last night? He closed his eyes. Brayden was right. He didn't have to stay but he was already here and he said he'd help so he was going to help.

"Pen, please."

He held out a hand for a pen, assuming that like every other stack of paperwork he'd ever been handed, that it required black or blue ink.

[Brayden Smith]

"...okay." He handed over a blue pen from inside his bag and grabbed a black one himself. "Thank you, Jack." Bray smiled, already on the road to forgiveness because it wasn't hard to get back on his good side. He really didn't think Jack withheld that information to be deliberately cruel. Maybe Jack didn't think of it or maybe he was too sick to remember. Maybe it didn't connect in his mind. There could have been any number of reasonable explanations and he was sure Jack had his reasons.

Besides, he took Bray in and let him stay the night. That was a point in his favor, if nothing else.

The majority of the forms needed information copied over from a master copy, which he explained to Jack as he wrote rapidly. His hand was almost a blur as it flew over pages and pages and pages. Bray was dead tired and his vision swam a few times but he persevered, knowing that his job was on the line. The work wasn't difficult, either, but it was tedious and repetitive. Still, he soldiered on, lifting his head occasionally to make sure Jack was doing all right, answering whatever questions he may have had about this form or that form.

Eventually the pile dwindled. Bray was ever-conscious of the clock ticking away on the wall, counting down the minutes. An hour passed and the pile grew smaller. Bray's panic diminished and his sense of impending doom dwindled. He closed his eyes momentarily and his head spun. Bray stifled a yawn as he reached for one of the few remaining forms. Oh, good. He had enough time now to get them all down to the school. He could squeak by just in time and he had Jack to thank for that.

Really, Jack was too nice...

One more form down, and only a few left. Bray let out a sigh of relief and stopped to rub his bleary eyes. He paused and closed his eyes. Maybe he'd rest them for ten seconds; they were starting to sting. Slowly, his head dropped as he slumped over the coffee table, fast asleep.

[Jack Ripley]

"Well, that makes things easier."

He looked over the paperwork. Having a master copy to work from would make it vastly easier to fill things out, since some of the forms were asking for information he couldn't possibly know. He had only been working at the school for a few weeks. The last thing he knew were the ins and outs of their administrative paperwork.

The pair worked at it for what felt like a century but was only an hour. To Jack's relief, there wasn't much left to get done, so hey. They would actually get this done on time. (And maybe with time to get dressed.) Jack continued to fill out the last forms, noticing as he picked up the final one that Brayden hadn't been moving for... oh, the past ten or fifteen minutes. Jack started to reach out for him, then stopped and paused just before he was about to make contact. Then he stole his hand back. For a long moment, he simply watched Brayden sleep.

At least he seemed at peace. Did he get any sleep at all last night? Or did he lie there awake the whole time, fretting about this? Okay, that--that was guilt right there. He should have just told him about the lock picking instead of wasting his time with talk of stars. In silence, Jack finished the final form and set it down on the stack. Then he looked at the time, torn between waking Brayden up now and letting him get in a few more minutes. No, no. He would probably rather be woken up. He made this visit from the superintendent sound important.

Sighing, Jack slid off the couch and sat across from Brayden at the coffee table. Gently, he touched his shoulder and gave it a couple of shakes.

"Hey..." Another shake. "B, you have to wake up. Super important meeting today, remember?"

[Brayden Smith]

Dreams were such funny things when one was a fae. A dream fae. The way Bray's mother explained it, it was like they could travel to a whole different realm. The realm of dreams. There the normal rules of planetary physics didn't apply. The only rules were those dictated by the dream-walker, the one whose subtle touch could make the difference between waking up smiling and waking up in tears.

Bray didn't go in for manipulation—not even in the dream realm. He was always a bystander when he dream walked, entering and exiting unobtrusively. He knew he had the ability to alter the dream itself but never felt the need to. Sometimes the people around him had nightmares but they were the usual kind—falling from great heights, drowning, losing a loved one, taking an exam naked. That last one was one of Bray's too, and the one he dreaded the most.

Most of the time they were meaningless and random and nonsensical: the unconscious mind didn't obey the same kind of logic and sense as the conscious mind when it shut down.

But Bray's own dreams weren't like that of any other human being—or supernatural. He wouldn't have called them transcendent but he saw things that he understood to be unique to his kind. Sometimes he saw his mother. Maybe it was the lingering memory of her made manifest but she spoke to him; she comforted him and gave him advice.

He walked through his own dream realm now, a nebulous space that was neither here nor there. Bray was calm. All of his troubles and worries had faded and he knew that here he was safe from all harm. He sat down cross-legged like a child and placed his hands in his lap, waiting, peaceful, serene. A hand touched his shoulder and he looked up into the smiling, loving eyes of his mother. Bray smiled too and held up his arms.

He was a child again. His mother cradled him to her chest and stroked his hair, whispering sweet words of comfort to him. Bray snuggled against her and sighed. He was happy again. These dreams didn't happen all that frequently lately, so he really treasured them and clung to them, wishing in his waking moments that he could be here. That he could always be here.

"What's wrong, little bee?" His mother's fingers sifting through his hair was a balm upon his troubled soul. She called him little bee—little B. B. Bray smiled whimsically to himself; that was Jack's nickname for him too. B. There was something serendipitous about that, he thought.

Bray looked up at her, searching her gaze. "I'm sad."

"Why?"

"...I met a man. He's in so much pain. Something terrible happened to him and I don't know how to help him. I want to help him, mama." His arms tightened around his mother's shoulders as he brought himself in closer, burying his face away into her shoulder. "I don't want him to keep hurting."

His mother was quiet for a long moment and during that time Bray kept clinging to her, deriving comfort in her familiar presence. It was all in his mind. It was only in his mind. But it was all he had. When she spoke, her voice drifted gently in and out. "We all hurt, little bee. We all have our crosses to bear." She eased his head away from her shoulder so that their eyes could meet and her smile was as lovely and as sweet as he remembered. "Be patient and stay with him. He will learn to trust you and he will show you how you can best help him. But you have to be sure that you want to do this, Brayden. Or else he may end up hurting you too."

"...B... wake up..."

That didn't sound exactly like his mother's voice. Bray blinked and she was gone, leaving him alone in that strange realm. He scrambled to his feet, no longer a young child—just a tired man approaching middle age. Scanning the area, he called out to his mother frantically for her to come back but there was no response. Someone shook him and finally he jolted out of sleep, sitting up abruptly with wet cheeks and bright, unfocused eyes. Bray blinked and something slippery fell down one cheek. He brushed it away absently.

His head was still fuzzy, thoughts muddled. His mother... her words... Bray rubbed his eyes again as he looked all around, finally realizing that he was back in his own apartment. And that Jack was sitting right there across the coffee table, both of them on the floor. "I... fell asleep," he said sheepishly as he tried to discreetly dry his eyes. Bray averted his gaze to the pile of papers that Jack had finished for him while he slept. His chest felt warm again—dangerously so.

"I'm sorry. Thanks for finishing all of this up. I shouldn't have closed my eyes." Bray laughed uneasily, stiffly. "I owe you. Big time."