Take me home tonight

[Brayden Smith]

"She'd do that?" ...that was the kind of person who wanted Jack to sleep with Bray? Now Bray was conflicted. He was, in a ridiculous way, thankful that someone wanted them to be together but the way Jack described her made her sound... terrifying. Intimidating for sure. Ah but maybe it was a joke. Bray relaxed, shaking his head. Yeah it was a joke, it had to be.

Bray hugged back and even leaned up to kiss him on the cheek softly. He felt that it wasn't out of line to do that. A kiss on the cheek was innocent enough and tame enough, even if what he really wanted to do... He'd better not think about that. (Especially not with Jack in a robe, obviously mostly naked under it.) And see--Jack kissed him too, on the temple, another innocent, sweet gesture.

Friends. Friends was okay.

He followed Jack to the door even though he wanted to tug on his arm to make him stay, and he laughed dutifully at Jack's parting shot. Telling him to go back to sleep to avoid dark circles when he texted people in the wee hours of the morning. But then again... Bray didn't have to seize his phone and eagerly text back, pretending that he was, oh, just hanging out and not sleeping. But if it was Jack, it was always more important--most important.

"Bye Jack. Good ni--morning." Bray laughed as the door closed, and then... Alone again. He sighed and dragged himself back to his bedroom, but hovered by the window to watch Jack making his way back to his own apartment. His fingers slid over the little chocolate standing propped up on the windowsill. After a moment, Bray brought it back with him into bed and laid it on his pillow beside his head.

"Maybe we could... give us a shot," he whispered longingly to the chocolate as his fingertips ran over its shiny yellow surface. Earlier he wanted to say that to Jack, but... it didn't come out. Not all of it. Bray turned to bury his face into his pillow to stifle the low, shuddering sigh working its way out of his lungs.

[Jack Ripley]

Out of one apartment and into the next. Jack opened the door to his own place with trepidation, knowing full well that he hadn't accomplished the goal Marge set out for him. But she wasn't him. And god, he was so beyond pathetic. He closed the door behind with a gentle kick, and noticed that Marge wasn't in the living room. Maybe she left while he was at Brayden's.

Setting the soup down on the counter, Jack curiously moved to the back of the apartment, towards his bedroom.

"I'm back," he said, softly, so as not to wake the sleeping bear. "And I have soup?"

Like that made things any better. Maybe it worked on Jack but he somehow doubted it was going to work any magic on Allie.

[Marguerite De Silva]

The longer Jack remained over at Brayden's apartment, the better Marge felt. Yes, yes they had to be doing it now. That was good. It was so frustrating to watch Jack dance his way around the fact that he was attracted to Brayden--more than physically. If it was merely 'the hots' that Jack had for him, Marge wouldn't have been so adamant. But she saw into his heart when he spoke of Brayden, and she heard him playing it off as "Oh, just a friend, someone important but not THAT important."

Well he didn't know her powers, and he couldn't see how much the light in his heart shone when he was talking to Brayden. Marge didn't have to see the stupid goofy grin on his face earlier, when he texted with Brayden, to know that his feelings were genuine. But she also couldn't outright state what she saw, so she tried to nudge things along.

After a while, she went into the bedroom to check on Sleeping Crazy. He stirred when she touched his chest, over his heart. Marge recoiled. So much darkness... So much pain. And Alejandro, he was so young. But things always affected young people so much more, they took things like rejection and loss so much harder. Someone like Marge, already jaded, stopped giving fucks a long time ago.

"Poor kid," she muttered sympathetically as she passed a hand over his brow. He settled back down and she heard the front door open. Marge was out in a wink, grinning. "Well?!" she demanded eagerly, bouncing over to Jack. "How was it? Are those balls back to normal? Did you--" She stopped short. Her expression grew stormy. "You didn't fuck him." Instead of bringing home a trophy heart, Jack brought back... soup? Marge glared.

"Please tell me you didn't go over there JUST to TALK to him."

[Jack Ripley]

There was death in her eyes. Marge was this close to killing him, he could feel it. He wondered how she would do it. If she was more of a strangler or a deadly kick to the balls type of woman. Somehow, he doubted whatever she did, he would see it coming. Other than the promise of death, the mode was completely mysterious. Probably because she'd be more of a crime of passion type of person, using whatever she had on hand. Even soup, if she had to.

"He didn't want to. What was I supposed to do, take him by force?"

Never mind that he didn't actually use his words to ask for it and he didn't make any real moves to get the ball rolling. Jack just didn't sense it from Brayden. Most people were so easy to read and he thought Brayden was. But he actually wasn't. He gave off strange, mixed signals. It was probably his quirkiness that made it so difficult. Most guys were easy enough to read because they were up front and open about whether they wanted to fuck. Brayden just sort of... talked about friendship and made soup and played card games and watched shows. When they were together, it was a bit like being an old married couple.

Not that it was a bad thing.

"Anyway," he said as he moved past her to get to his closet--because this robe was not cutting it anymore!--he began looking for warmer clothes. "You can go home now. I need sleep, he's already sleeping. Nothing more to see here."

[Marguerite De Silva]

"Oh he didn't want to so you sat over there with your blue balls and talked about the weather?" The words: sarcastic as shit. The tone: light and airy. And sarcastic as shit. Jack had one job. One. Job. To put that dick somewhere where the sun don't shine (or the other way around, Marge wasn't presuming) and he couldn't even do what Marge had to think came naturally to him. Watching Jack at the club, she knew that he didn't have issues in that department.

"Did you ask him? Did you tell him that you wanted to fuck him? Did you do anything over there?!"

And... god why did he bring back soup? Marge's heated glare would have sent it boiling again, as Jack tried to evade her wrath. Well tough luck, Marge was staying. "No," she flatly refused with her arms crossing over her chest. To make her point, she removed her jacket, threw it down into a corner and then crawled into bed. There she sat like a queen, like she owned the bed and the sleeping crazy in it--who was still sleeping, dreaming fucked up dreams no doubt.

"What are you waiting for? Does he have to run in here naked and jump on your dick? Is that what has to happen? Because." Marge's eyes narrowed. "I can make that happen." But rather than an offer of help, it probably sounded like a threat. Which it was. It was definitely a threat.

[Jack Ripley]

We kissed. But that sounded pathetic even in his own head and he could tell Marge would definitely spit all over it. Rightly so, anyway. Kissing was not fucking. Not even remotely. And he didn't have blue balls right now, thank you very much. Allie helped alleviate that problem, although it would only work for so long before he was thinking about the way Brayden looked at him before he left...

Fuck.

Jack let his silk robe fall to the floor--he'd clean up after he got some sleep--and he changed into a warmer set of pajamas. Oh god... it felt so good to be wrapped in warmth after all the chill from outside. Unfortunately, if he thought he was going to be able to just slip into bed and sleep, Marge had other ideas. Not even bothering to tell her to leave, Jack only pressed a hand to his temple before pulling back the blankets.

"You don't need to make that happen." He settled himself into the bed alongside his two bed fellows, pulling a pillow closer after he wrapped himself in luxuriously warm blankets. "I'm perfectly capable of seducing men on my own. So if you're going to stay here, get some sleep. We have a lot to do in the morning."

[Marguerite De Silva]

"Someone has to make it happen," said Marge darkly as she slid under the covers too, though not before nudging the sleeping Alejandro aside a little. The bed was huge, thankfully, which meant plenty of space for everyone. After Jack laid down his head, Marge laid against him, resting her own head against his shoulder. She reached up to pat his cheek.

"Baby, you're in denial." If he could seduce any man, then Brayden must be no man. Because she could've sworn Brayden was into him and who invited someone over at 4 in the morning just to talk? 4am was prime fucking time. At least to Marge, who had the late shift. But also for most people who left with somebody on their arm. 4am. Prime time.

Sighing, she wrapped her arm around his waist. Marge's anger, it was out of love. She could see what they couldn't and it was driving her insane. Men! They were so dumb! "Is the soup good at least?" It smelled pretty good, actually. "Is he the domestic type? Is he cute? I need to go over there and get a good look at him."

[Jack Ripley]

"Mm." That was his go-to sound, a little hum of a noise, the noncommittal sound of I heard you but I don't want to talk about it. He wasn't in denial. If she saw Brayden back there, she would agree with him. He wasn't looking for romance, any more than Jack was. Detox. Although to be fair, Jack had been in his self-proclaimed relationship detox for over a year now. Since the last one. Ever since then, when he came back to himself with the blood of an innocent on his hands. He told himself it was the last time. Never again.

Never again.

His heart felt so heavy again, as he lay there in the bed, with Marge's head upon his shoulder and her arm around his waist. It was comforting; it was always comforting. Slowly, Jack's eyes half closed and he let out a short, soft breath. Let it all out. Breathe it out. Let it go.

"The soup is top notch," he said softly, dreamily. Half lidded eyes struggled to stay open but he was so tired. "And I thought you said you knew him." Now he was wondering at the validity of that statement, since Brayden didn't seem to recognize her name when Jack brought it up.

"He's adorable, in that shy, stuttering, ultra geeky way. Domestic might be the word for it but I think... he wants more. More than a boring administrative job and going home alone and skipping out on parties..."

[Marguerite De Silva]

"I know OF him, I didn't say I knew him personally. We have a mutual friend named Ali, you probably know him from the college." Ali was kind of like Jack, but without so much baggage. He was also a big personality, the laughter in a room, the one to bring everyone together. And Marge knew that he and Brayden had been friends since they were kids--real lifelong friends type shit.

Yet, he and Brayden never came together. Not enough baggage, maybe. Funny, that. How Brayden seemed to latch on to Jack, when he had Ali under his nose the whole time. By all accounts--drunken confessions at the bar when Ali came to visit--Brayden was a dense one but there, Marge sensed a real disconnect between what one wanted and what the other wanted.

Here, it was all sheer dumbassery and two men who couldn't get together if they were locked in a closet with one another.

"Hm. He sounds... soft. Almost like the type to get chewed up and spit back out by the world when it's done with him, huh? Definitely not like you or me baby." Marge's thumb stroked idly over his side. Hm. Just little comforting gestures. She wasn't made of stone and maybe she was a little lonely, too. Lonely enough to latch on to somebody who showed up at the bar and make him her new... friend? Well duh--they were friends now, after they agreed to take care of Crazy over there.

"Do you know a lot about Brayden? I mean have you two had time to actually talk and get to know each other, and not just make pathetic puppy eyes at each other?" There was a teasing smile in Marge's voice. "I heard his last relationship was three years ago, with some guy called Wyatt Thompson. A real user, you know the type. Chew em up and spit em out when he's done with them. Not like you. I can tell you care about him." But Jack cared too much to even make a move, and that wasn't much better in Marge's opinion. To not even give Brayden the chance at happiness, that seemed cruel.

[Jack Ripley]

Well, now that made more sense. No wonder Brayden didn't know of her. He only seemed confused when he brought her name up. Jack nodded. Ali worked with them at the college and he was the one that invited everybody out to the bar one weekend. It was one of the best weekends Jack had in a while since he'd arrived in Hazleton. Finally, he belonged. He smiled as he thought about it, remembering dancing, singing.

"Mhm." Jack agreed with the assessment that Brayden was soft. Definitely soft. There didn't seem to be a hard bone in his body. Ha-ha. Not what he meant but just that when he saw him through drunk eyes, all soft and fuzzy, nothing much changed when Jack was sober, either.

Jack gently ran his hand over Marge's arm. Soft, soft Brayden. Nothing like him. Nothing like Marge or even Allie. Just... Brayden, in some kind of class of its own. He glanced towards Marge as she asked what he knew about Brayden and he didn't answer verbally, only made a small noise in the back of his throat. What did he really know of Brayden...? He recalled... something about the loss of family. Loneliness. Jack closed his eyes.

"He told me about Wyatt Thompson. His mother works at the college and she was trying to set me up with him." So apparently this guy was a real piece of work. Jack found himself already disliking him, whomever he was.

[Marguerite De Silva]

"Was she now?" Marge scoffed. From what Ali told her, she wasn't surprised. And Ali had been through that whole disastrous relationship, hadn't he? He couldn't do anything, though. Something about Brayden knowing that Wyatt was bad news, but accepting him anyway because Brayden was... Some kind of fool. The kind of fool that was hard to hate because everything they did was for someone else. A kind fool.

"Don't you think you could. Be better than his scumbag ex? If you make each other happy, what's the harm in giving it a shot?" Marge eased herself up slightly, resting on one elbow and looking down at Jack, frowning. Her free hand came up to touch the side of his head gently, stroking through his hair with careful fingers. It was really, really frustrating to hear him talk about Brayden in that tone. That longing tone, that wistful tone.

"If you know all about him being lonely and needing someone to make his life more than paperwork and missing out on every party... Why not do something about it instead of letting him just... exist like that?"

[Jack Ripley]

Mrs. Thompson was one of those overbearing women, slightly overweight with a pearl necklace she never took off and the kind of look in her eyes that said she thought she was above everybody else. The way she talked, she was practically an owner of the college and maybe she was related to one of the higher ups but Jack was pretty certain she hadn't founded the place. She was just one of those rich bitches who liked to rub it in people's faces. Worst of all, she obviously only married into it, which was likely why she felt the need to rub it in so much.

"No." He didn't think he could be better than the ex, although the idea of the ex being a scumbag to Brayden did make him feel... a certain type of way. Not a good way, either. He turned his head toward Marge.

"I am. I do. He told me himself he feels... less lonely with me around." He thought he heard it in a dream but it wasn't a dream. He really said it and Jack was fairly certain he shared those sentiments aloud. "Some things just take more time than others. And sometimes fucking doesn't fix things."

[Marguerite De Silva]

"Yes." Marge's hand came to land over Jack's heart. The heart that was dark, but not completely. The heart whose darkness was totally eclipsed by the light from simply texting with someone. That was true whether or not Jack believed in it himself. That wasn't something he could explain away, no matter how hard he tried.

She sighed. Oh god, if Brayden actually said that... And Brayden did seem like the type to say something corny and mean it so much that he made it genuine and touching without realizing it. "Sometimes fucking solves everything, Jack." Because not fucking was keeping him here in bed with her and a crazy boy off his meds when he could have been in bed with Brayden. Not fucking made him go to her bar with that ravenous look in his eyes, to find somebody to relieve the ache in his blue balls but not in his heart.

"Fucking would've saved you a week of torture, at least," she said as she laid back down with another sigh. "And if he actually said that to you, that's basically admitting that he loves you. Friends don't say shit like that to other friends Jack. I don't think friends ask friends to come over at stupid o'clock in the morning and friends sure as hell don't pack soup for friends in a container they'll have to bring back sooner or later, when they live five fucking feet away."

[Jack Ripley]

"Saved me," he said with an amused scoff. "But who says that it would've saved B? --Brayden?"

He hadn't meant to use the nickname in front of Marge. His gaze slunk away to the other side of the room, not even wanting to see her expression, though his hand remained on her arm, gently stroking, tracing nonsensical swirls and patterns. Maybe getting laid would have helped him but he couldn't help thinking it might just complicate things when things were already overly complicated.

Besides, he kept reliving every second he remembered together with Brayden and he still didn't understand where Marge was getting her information. Brayden seemed pretty damned content to be friends. Even if he did kiss him first back there. A gentle kiss, though. A loving kiss, one might venture to say. But a lover's kiss? A fuck me now kiss? Not... so much.

"...he knows he can come over any time he wants," Jack argued stiffly. "He doesn't have to use soup containers as an excuse."

[Marguerite De Silva]

Marge slapped him very lightly on the chest. "B. HMM." B, was it? Brayden, he had to correct himself as though she could be in any doubt as to who 'B' could be. Jack was right to look away; Marge's piecing stare probably could be felt even in the darkness.

"Well you're sure putting a lot of words into B's mouth, J," she snorted, though not without some humor. B indeed. The fact that he had a nickname for Brayden wasn't the real reason she glared at him; it was the fact that he felt he needed to cover it up. Allie was a nickname too. Marge didn't hear him hurrying to say Alejandro every other sentence. Just--B.

"And if he knows that like you say he does, why did he still do that? He could come over with soup any time. In a bowl. He didn't have to give you a container. So how much does he really know? How much does he know about how you feel? Or is it all just what you assumed?" Marge's leg slid over his, as though to trap him there in case he fled the scene of the crime. "Denial, Jack. Denial."