Under my skin

[Brayden Smith]

There was that word again: cute.

Bray was relieved that Jack didn't think anything of the kiss good-bye. In fact he seemed amused by the fact that Bray took it so seriously, when to him it meant nothing at all. But to Bray... it meant something. He forgot his loneliness in that moment, with Jack around. It kept circling around in his mind because he took it seriously and he was so introspective that every little nothing became a big something in his mind--given enough time to percolate.

But to Jack... Nothing.

Which was good. Yes.

"I'm glad you weren't offended," he said at last, smiling slightly since Jack was smiling at him now, evidently entertained by the whole fiasco. Bray didn't know what to make of his last comment, though. Not relationship material? But didn't he just get out of a relationship? Hence--detox? But he said people didn't consider him relationship material, not that... he wasn't made for relationships.

Bray let out the breath he'd been holding since he caught sight of Jack and pushed those thoughts out of his mind. "It won't happen again." No, it definitely wouldn't happen again. He wouldn't let himself slip up like that.

The door swung open again and the superintendent entered with the dean, causing a lull in every conversation. Bray stood up but paused. He patted Jack's shoulder gently. "Have a good time at the bar tonight, Jack. Be careful getting home."

The dean called his name and he hurried over, throwing one more half-smile over his shoulder at Jack. He was handed some papers to read over while the dean introduced the superintendent, who spent ten minutes speaking to the importance of their small community college and what high hopes he had for them. Then Bray had to leave with him, to take him around on a tour of each department and speak about the buildings and facilities. He tried to get one more glimpse of Jack as he walked out but he wasn't sure he caught Jack's gaze. Ah, well.

[Jack Ripley]

Why on earth would he be offended? Oh... was Brayden one of those people who thought that he was straight? That was almost... laughable. He never kept that part of himself a secret. Maybe he didn't come out and say it outright constantly but he really, really didn't hide it--and why should he? There might have been tormentors when he was a child... and there were still assholes that made it their business but in the grand scheme of things, he thought he lived in the best time for being gay.

Well, other than those times in the past, where it was a rampant and normal part of some cultures but never mind those. They also had questionable hygiene and a lack of decent drinks.

"Wait a minute. I never said that."

But Brayden was already leaving. He looked up at him as he stood and left after telling him to have a good time at the bar. Jack didn't know what else to say to that. Come with us? Get a good night's rest? Stop thinking so much all the time? (Might as well tell Jack to stop repressing memories--as much good as that would do.)

He lifted his head slightly in acknowledgement when Brayden looked at him, a small smile on his face. But then that was the last he saw of him for the remainder of the day. Apparently Brayden really had his work cut out for him the day and Jack had no idea how he was doing it on no fuel whatsoever.

Meanwhile, Jack and his department did well enough. Jack remembered enough from Jett's papers and they were all smiles and handshakes. Jack couldn't wait for it all to be over. And then it was. Note to self: he was going to continue just being a professor. This other stuff... he wasn't into it. Let other people deal with it.

Once work was done, Jack checked the address of the place he was supposed to meet a bunch of his co-workers. Oh yes. The weekend. A whole weekend to do whatever he wanted and not worry about waking up in time for something the next morning. He smiled before he called up somebody on a ride share app, then stood out to wait for it to show up outside the school.

[Brayden Smith]

All thoughts of Jack were squeezed out of Bray's mind for the remainder of the day. It was a terribly busy day, too, as he led the superintendent around and introduced him to every department head. There were informal chats, more meetings, going over some important paperwork for the audit—the funding, ooh, he cut it so close!—and then, finally, the superintendent left.

By that time, classes had long since been over and almost everyone had left. Bray stayed behind to finish up—you guessed it! More paperwork. A never ending sea of paperwork awaited him. That was his life, forms, forms, forms and more forms. He sighed as he finally stood up to stretch his aching back and shoulders and walked over to the window to see how dark it was outside. Not too bad; still some light to see by.

"Jack?" Was that Jack? It looked like him but Bray couldn't make him out too well from his office. He still stood there watching, a silly kind of half-smile on his face, until a car rolled up and the Jack-esque figure got in. Bray shook his head. Right. Time to get home! Tonight he was going back later again but what could he do? At least the bus was reliable, taking him home about half an hour later. Bray nodded his thanks to the driver and alighted, walking the half block back to the Sunrise.

Walking into the courtyard, his head turned automatically toward Jack's apartment. Ah. No lights on. He wouldn't be back so soon, would he? Bray unlocked his door and stepped inside to total darkness. He flicked on the light, looked around, sighed to himself. Alone again. After dropping off his bag, he sat on the couch for a while just staring at the coffee table. At the place where Jack sat just that morning, helping him to fill out forms. He turned to look into his bedroom—oh. His clothes were still strewn everywhere.

Bray touched the buttons of his shirt with a soft smile, recalling the way Jack slapped his hands away. In the moment he was too panicked to notice but now that he was alone again, he thought fondly back to that moment. Jack took care of him. So kind, so... thoughtful. He knew Bray was on the verge of a mental collapse and he stepped in—stepped up.

Not feeling particularly hungry, Bray got up again to grab a glass of water. He opened his fridge and stared inside. There was a lemon sitting on the shelf. He stared at it for a long moment and then took it, sliced it and dropped some into his water. Lemon water. Not perfectly chilled the way Jack's had been but it was good enough, wasn't it? Bray sipped it and then made a face. Lukewarm lemon water. Hm. Maybe not.

He set the glass down and meandered back into his living room, over to the shelf that held his books. Bray's fingertips ran across the rows in search of something to read when he stopped. Chicken Soup for the Soul! He forgot he had it. Bray pulled it out and flipped through it, then turned to look out of the window. Would Jack like this book? It might be good for a joke, since they had been waxing philosophic about soup helping to save souls. Smiling to himself, he grabbed his keys—HAH he remembered this time!—and headed out. He was going to leave it at Jack's door but thought better of it and instead decided to wait for him to come back so that he could hand it over in person.

It'd be worth the wait to see Jack's smile, or maybe even get a laugh out of him.

Outside, it had grown properly dark now. Bray found one of the wooden benches and settled down onto it to wait with the book in his lap. He didn't mind staying out here; some nights he did just that, when the loneliness of his apartment stifled him. This wasn't anything he wouldn't have done anyway. He breathed out slowly as he tilted his head back to look at the stars. In a small town like theirs, stray light didn't block out the stars that much. There were still plenty to watch, plenty to look at.

Bray reached out with one hand, smiling, and made a pinching motion between thumb and forefinger as though he could just... pluck one out of the sky.

[Jack Ripley]

It was good to just get out and have a good time with a bunch of co-workers. There was karaoke, dancing, and drinks, drinks, drinks by the dozen. There were questions, too, of course. The usual chatter between co-workers. Everywhere across the country, Jack experienced the same types of questions. Where did he come from, why here, did he like it? Was there a special someone? What about family? And Jack was witty and deflective, just as he always was. They were still strangers; why should he tell them anything beyond the most shallow, surface information?

There were some interesting physical feats made in the bathroom with a guy named Sal and then he was back at it on the dance floor, singing something, dancing with somebody else. Eventually, Brayden's friend Ali took him by the arm and asked if he wanted to go home. Jack might have wrapped his arms around him and kissed him.

"Not what I meant, man!"

Jack only laughed and leaned on him but he allowed Ali and another one of the co-workers to show him out. The fresh night air helped to sober him... slightly. Very slightly.

He was still singing and moving his body to the music in his head when they arrived at Sunrise. All in all, Jack was in quite the mood as he opened the community gate and walked into the courtyard. Unexpectedly, he spotted a Brayden with his hand outstretched to the sky.

"BB~" he sang throwing his arms out. He spun in a circle (ill advised) then stumbled slightly with a giddy, drunken laugh. He practically skipped toward the bench where Brayden had taken up residence and grabbed one of his arms as he dropped down next to him. His hand slid down so that his fingers threaded through Brayden's.

"You should've come," he said breathlessly, still high on night air and skipping and maybe something slipped into his drink. Who knew? It was wild back there and he lost track of who did what. "Why didn't you come? Too busy... catching shooting stars without me?"

[Brayden Smith]

The clatter of the gate opening made Bray turn his head but his hand was still out there, trying to pull them down, to fill his pockets with stars. If it had been any other neighbor, Bray would have shot to his feet and mumbled something about swatting away mosquitos. (In winter? ...sure.) But seeing that it was Jack, he smiled at the drunken figure twirling and whirling and stumbling towards him and held out the star-catching hand to try and stop him from falling onto the bench. Jack did anyway.

"You're drunk," he murmured as their fingers slid together, sending a thrill of warmth and excitement from the point of contact. But it wasn't only their hands. Their arms, shoulders, knees touched too. Bray looked over at him, partly bathed in moonlight, and smiled. It looked like Jack had a good time. He certainly still seemed excited, although he hadn't lost his sense of humor and quick wit.

"I was catching them for you." But he couldn't produce one because despite his best efforts, the brightest stars still remained out of reach. Bray dared to lean a little more against Jack and flexed his fingers lightly. Maybe he didn't have to spend all night catching one; maybe one would come to him if he waited long enough.

[Jack Ripley]

After today? Of course he was drunk! How wasn't Brayden? How was he not? His thoughts were a pleasant haze of jumbled up words and memories of dancing and singing. Favorite hobbies. Things he hadn't done with other people in... oh, it felt like too long.

It seemed like the older he got, the more pain he poured into himself. Without nights like these, he didn't think he would ever make it to the next step, let alone the next day. But right now? Everything was good and nothing hurt. He wasn't careful like he had been at the club in town with... Allie? He knew there was a guy in the bathroom but he barely remembered it now.

Sighing, he allowed himself to slide down and rest his head against Brayden's shoulder.

"Where?" Jack looked down at the hand he'd taken and slid his hand out of it so that he could check his palm for signs of stardust. He touched the insides of his palm with his fingertips and found no stars. His fingertips ran up over Brayden's fingers, fingertips against fingertips, liking the way it felt. The little shiver is sent through the points of contact. Down his spine. Up the back of his neck.

"Oh..!" Jack struggled to fumble around his coat pocket for a small wrapped bar of chocolate he got from the bar. He pulled it out. "Look what I brought back for you." (Except the word you came out slightly elongated--yooou.) The little chocolate was in the shape of a bottle and wrapped in tin foil. This one said Jim Beam Bourbon on it. He dropped it into Brayden's other hand.

[Brayden Smith]

Of all the burdens that Bray's shoulders had born, the weight of Jack's dark head was the most welcomed. He tipped his head toward Jack's and turned his eyes to the stars again, sighing as Jack's hand pulled away. When he looked over, Jack was looking at his palm as though he expected a secret hand-off from Bray. "I couldn't find the brightest one..."

Bray was glad when their hands touched again, and the thrilling warmth returned. His fingertips tingled. It was only one small touch but it felt as though it meant a whole lot more. Even children could hold hands but he didn't feel childish in that moment. He felt... good. And maybe he was the only one who did because Jack made it quite clear that he was...

He was a star. Out of reach. Bray could sit here and reach for him, longing for him, hoping to catch even one tiny speck of him, but he was always going to come up empty-handed. And he... was okay with that in some ways. Didn't he sit here night after night, hoping to pull down a star? One did finally come down; he should be happy that he managed to get this close. Some people never did.

"Oh." Something cool dropped into his other hand and he saw that it was a little chocolate. Bray had seen these sold around the holidays, but also in bars. He laughed. "Thank you. Are you bringing the bar to me?" Setting it down carefully into his lap, he placed the book into Jack's lap. "I brought this for you."

[Jack Ripley]

"Does it have to be the brightest?" he asked, still looking at their hands where they connected. Funny how the simplest touches could be the most intimate. Just hands. Just fingertips. His smile was content. Bright stars. Brayden would try to go for the brightest but if he was hoping to catch stars on his behalf, Jack would have settled for just one small one. A real one. Real magic to hold. To change that deep seated skepticism in him.

"Mm." His response was noncommittal; his intention wasn't to bring the bar to Brayden. That little chocolate represented the fact that he even thought of Brayden when he was elsewhere. Even when he was out of sight, somehow... Brayden had managed not to be struck out of mind. Brayden wouldn't know it but that in itself was a feat.

Tearing his gaze from their hands, he looked down at the book that Brayden gave him in return. Jack laughed, delighted somehow that they were both thinking of the other.

"Did we just exchange gifts? Merry Happy Christmas New Year?" Jack slid his hand over the book's cover. In his inebriated state, he could still read. Just... only when his eyes stopped crossing and doubling up the words. Chicken Soup. Chicken Soup... for the Soul. He traced the image on the cover, his smile growing slowly. When he raised his head, he intended to dispense another one of those witty one-liners that came so easily to him. (This one harkening back to their text conversation about saving his soul.) Instead he tilted his head just so... and he kissed him, mouth to mouth, lips on lips.

[Brayden Smith]

"For you? Yes." He felt bolder and braver in the moment, compelled to speak his mind. Jack was dead drunk and might not remember any of their exchange in the morning, so cowardly Bray was safe to say all the things that he wanted to, without needing to over-think them all. Just most of them—but still not all of them. He supposed that he thought so much because he was so honest. If he were capable of lying, maybe it would be easier to say things to please other people. Instead, he had to weigh every word and it was, frankly, exhausting.

Words slipped out more easily with Jack. He had that rare charm—he charmed them out of Bray. Even with Ali, one of Bray's closest friends, he held back certain thoughts, certain opinions, but with Jack it was so natural to say what was on his mind that sometimes the words came out of their own accord.

Bray studied the little chocolate that Jack brought for him. He didn't want to read too much into it so he told himself that it didn't mean much. It couldn't. What would happen if he started thinking that the star he held could be his? What happened when hope dared to take root instead of skepticism and fear? Bray was vulnerable—still. He had to be careful with that cracked heart of his because it was the only one he had.

Jack's delighted laugh did his heart some good, though. His funny declaration drew another laugh out of Bray, who pocketed the chocolate for later. "Happy birthday, don't forget that one." While Jack read the cover, Bray tried to read him, his expression. Did he like it? Did he get it? No, no, Jack would surely get it even in his inebriated state. Jack was the smartest man in town—literally.

But he didn't expect the kiss. He thought Jack would make another clever comment. Bray's brows lifted, then... slowly his eyes closed. It felt as if he was exploding, like a starburst had been set off inside of him and all the magic contained inside of this humanoid body was fleeing. His heart stuttered in his chest; his lungs squeezed. He reached up to... to... hold on to something but his shaking fingertips landed feather-light on Jack's jaw.

"Jack?" He spoke on the strength of a soft gasp, eyes still closed, lips brushing lips. Bray didn't know... didn't know what it all meant now. He couldn't seem to think properly.

[Jack Ripley]

For him, the brightest star. See, that was cute. Brayden was cute. He was good. He was sweet. Where did he come from? Even his sadness didn't seem to deter from his kindness. His parents were gone, he said, and all he had. But he still gave of himself. He was one of those self-sacrificing people that thought too much, probably too much about people outside of himself. More than himself. To his own detriment. Like bending over backwards with all that paperwork and organizing that whole visit with super--whoever that showed up.

There was no doubt in his mind that Brayden thought of him when he was out of sight. He wasn't out of mind. Because... if he was, there would be no soup and there would be no thoughts of plucking only the best star, and certainly not a book about a throwaway line he sent Brayden via text. Brayden held onto everything he was given. Kind of a scary thought. All the good things... but all the bad things... on repeat. Held too close. Warm, like a star. Burning through him, like a star.

A kiss was a kiss was a kiss, they said. But then they also said it's in his kiss. There was something different in this kiss than fervent kisses stolen in public bathrooms. Slow. Steady. Sweet. Something fluttered against his jaw. Fingertips. Shaking fingertips. Jack raised his hand up to touch the back of Brayden's hand, steady. It was his voice when Brayden spoke his name that made Jack open his eyes.

"...yes, Brayden?"

[Brayden Smith]

Brayden was scared, no word of a lie. Not Bray, the one who hid from everyone and pretended that he was fine, just fine, and it was no problem to take another load of forms or to work late so that others could go home to their families on time. Brayden wasn't like that. Brayden was often scared, insecure, lonely, unsure. Unhappy. Brayden was the one who looked but never touched, who passed off a genuine thought for him—a little foil-wrapped alcoholic chocolate—as just a whimsical gift.

Of course he knew what it meant. Jack didn't happen to have a chocolate in his pocket and decided to butter Bray up with it. Jack brought it home with him. From the bar. For him. In the same way that Bray waited outside for Jack to come home so that he could give him a book, in the same way that he couldn't look at a glass of water or a lemon and not think of Jack.

Jack kissed him first. But Jack was drunk. Jack brought home the chocolate. But Jack didn't want to be in a relationship at the moment, still recovering no doubt from the hurts that his previous relationship inflicted on him. Bray didn't even know the depths of his pain and he understood that it would take more than one night and one day of being on speaking terms to fully understand Jack. In time, perhaps, Jack would open up to him but he... He didn't know how Jack worked.

Bray held on to the moment just like he held on to Jack that morning, seeking comfort, looking for answers. He locked it away, burned it into his memories. If there was never another chance to touch a star, to kiss a star, then he would make this moment last. When he opened his eyes, it was to see Jack looking at him. Jack was always looking at him, studying him. He knew it because covertly out of the corner of his eyes, he looked at Jack too. He was always looking at Jack.

"Am... am I what you're looking for?" Or was he a stand-in, merely a bandage but not the cure? Was this real, or was it a fever dream? Bray's forehead lightly touched his, nuzzled against him. He breathed in through his nose, a scent of alcohol and Jack's cologne imbuing the bittersweet moment. "Will I be able to..." The tips of their noses brushed intimately. "Help take away your pain?"

[Jack Ripley]

That little bottle shaped bar of chocolate (was it still a bar if it was a bottle, though?) for some silly reason made him think of Brayden. Back at the bar. Jack had been sitting there with his second drink when he saw them, little novelty chocolates with alcohol centers, lined up on a tiny shelf of their own. With his chin in hand, a bored Jack had eyed the chocolates. Brayden didn't drink. He said as much. But what was a splash of alcohol encased in chocolate? He smiled to himself. It's not drinking if it's in chocolate.

Somebody called his name and Jack quickly slid the money across the counter and plucked one of the little bottles from the display case, carefully pocketing it in his coat. Then he was sliding off his stool to go up on the stage, more than happy to collaborate with one of his co-workers on a Taylor Swift song.

Back in the here and now, the present--haha--Jack was watching Brayden and Brayden was watching Jack. Brayden spoke and Jack's eyes dropped to his lips, watching them move, distracted by the thought that he had just kissed those lips and those lips kissed him back. He thought about it--was thinking about it--kissing him again. But Brayden nuzzled him and Jack's line of thought was disrupted. He blinked. Their noses touched. Jack smiled and his hand slid from Brayden's hand down his arm and then up to cup his face.

"I'm not in pain, silly." And in the moment, he wasn't. Pain? What pain? Pain was the last thing on his mind. No, no, he was focused more on this, them holding each other's faces and staring one another right in the eyes. Should it be painful? Should this hurt? Because... it didn't.

[Brayden Smith]

"Oh... I see."

The answer that wasn't an answer told Bray all he needed to know. The walls were still there, keeping him out, and he still didn't know if he was what Jack was looking for—if he was the one Jack needed, or merely the one he wanted in the moment. And Jack was still drunk, no doubt about that, while Bray was not. There was a distinct inequality there.

Slowly he let his hand drop, but only so that he could slip his arms around Jack. "I see," he whispered again, disappointed. But this time it felt so much worse. He didn't want Jack to be in pain but this—the alcohol, the denial—was proof that he was. Whoever said that alcohol made men honest was a damn liar, Bray thought bitterly as he turned his head into Jack's shoulder momentarily.

Jack was drunk. Likely he wouldn't remember this moment, while Bray would. He would remember it just like he remembered every other moment, good and bad. Three years had passed since he last broke up with his ex and he still held on to those memories, those old habits—the kiss good-bye, the words. Love you. Bray was a hoarder but not with possessions—with people, with memories, with scraps of affection and also with the pain that came from loss and separation.

He lightly stroked the soft hairs at the base of Jack's neck, trying to console himself with this moment. This closeness. "When I'm with you, Jack, I don't feel so lonely. I don't feel alone." For you see, Jack took away his pain, but Bray couldn't do the same for him. Jack wasn't in pain right now, he said, pushing Bray further away and holding him at arms' length.

[Jack Ripley]

What? What did he see? See? Jack closed his eyes. Smiling. At the moment, he wasn't picking up on Brayden's emotions. All he felt was closeness and warmth. That was good, wasn't it? It was all he ever wanted when he was young. Somebody to hold him, hold onto him. Somebody to hold. His hand slid from Brayden's cheek to his shoulder, picking at a stray thread or maybe a lost hair. Hard to tell when his depth perception was off.

In his dreams, when he was a little boy, he used to imagine that somebody held him. When he was cold, alone, scared, sick. Blankets became his refuge. Pile them up, pull them close, and he could imagine there were arms here and chest there. And he would hum. Not lullabies; he never even heard those until he was too old for them to work on him. But music he heard outside, through the neighbor's house, from cars on the street, at the store.

That was nice. The stroking of the back of his neck. His eyes remained closed. "Mm. That feels nice."

Maybe instead of violence, it would be better to just... feel hands on skin like a prayer. Reverence. He could imagine what Brayden's hands could do to his back, how they would feel on his chest. Instead of scratches, something else. Instead of bruises, something... else.

Jack tilted his head back as he opened his eyes, trying to get a look at Brayden, who was talking sense. Not nonsense. Sense.

"I don't feel alone." A soft hiccup interrupted him. How... rude. "Either." He struggled to sit up, stretching his long legs out in front of him. His ass hurt even more than ever and the wooden bench wasn't helping. With all the clumsy grace of a drunk, he slid an arm around Brayden's shoulders. His expression, however, was dead serious when he looked Brayden in the eye this time.

"You're not alone."

[Brayden Smith]

Hiccup. Bray couldn't help letting out a soft little laugh. He supposed that if he could find some humor in that, he was still doing okay. The world... it didn't change for one man's disappointment. Time didn't stop for Bray alone, never had, never would. Not getting what he wanted didn't mean that he had to give up, that it was futile and useless forever.

His mother's words still resonated inside his thoughts: Be patient. Stay with him.

If he stayed by Jack's side, would he eventually get a real answer? Would Jack show him how he could help, whether he spoke the words aloud or showed Bray through actions? It wasn't like Bray was going anywhere. He'd been in Hazleton his whole life and it was looking like he wasn't about to leave anytime soon. What was out there for him anyway? More pain? More emptiness? Leaving his little nest here, which already felt so lonely, to face the big, wide world out there? Preposterous. Bray wasn't the adventurous type, after all.

He shifted slightly to face Jack properly, noting his sober expression. Jack wasn't sober but he seemed serious right now. And yet, Bray couldn't seem to wholly believe his words. He smiled and dropped his gaze to the area near Jack's collar, noting that one of his buttons was in the wrong slot. Reaching up, he corrected it—just as Jack helped him to button up that morning.

"I'm not alone," Bray repeated, but the words sounded even more hollow coming from him. His fingertips traced the smooth little button. "I'm not alone..."