Take me home tonight

[Jack Ripley]

But his mind was back to what he said earlier. Saved me. In that context, they were talking about saving him from the horror of blue balls. If he drank enough and took the right cocktail of drugs, he could turn that off by himself. He knew because he'd had a brief stint in Ohio where he couldn't... ah... well, get it up even when he most certainly wanted to. A man's worst nightmare.

That wasn't what the words saved me made him think, though. Automatically, he went back to the surprise that suffused him when Brayden said that he saved him. And the surprise in Brayden's tone when Jack volleyed back with and here I thought it was you saving me. He felt a warm little shiver in his heart that made it ache so sweetly that he honestly didn't know what to do with it. If he ever thought he fell in love with somebody, he was wrong. All it was that he felt before was attraction, affection, and maybe love. But he had never been in love like this before. And it didn't make sense.

He couldn't make sense of it.

Jack stared up at the ceiling with his hooded, tired hazel eyes, with a dark curl in his face that he was too lazy to move himself. Denial. Fuck, was that it? He was... in denial? A sigh escaped and he wished there was smoke in his lungs or more alcohol in his veins.

"What do you want me to tell him, Margie? How can I make it any more obvious?"

[Marguerite De Silva]

The sigh felt so heavy that even Marge felt the weight of it on her chest. She eased herself up a little more—damnit Jack, why was he so tall?—and took his face between her hands. Sure, Jack couldn't see the expression on her face, but the softness of her tone and the gentleness of her hands was enough to convey her sympathy, her empathy for his situation.

"I know it's not easy," she sighed, leaning down to kiss what felt like his forehead or his brow. Her heart went out to him, it really did. Why? God knew. Maybe those three drinks she had earlier. Maybe her own life experiences with love and with hesitation and regret. Sure as hell, she knew what he was going through and she did, after all, also have the advantage of magic.

"But you can't ignore what's right in front of you, baby. It's staring you in the face. He wants you. Fuck, he made you soup, how obvious can one man get? And if you really made it clear, I'm pretty sure not even Brayden Smith could miss it. Did you tell him you want to be his boyfriend? Did you ask him out on a date? If you're waiting for someone like him to come to you... well those balls are going to be purple before that happens."

Because really, soup. And card games. Popcorn.

[Jack Ripley]

"You don't know me if you think I wait for other people to come to me."

Jack was the life of the party when he was in a group of revelers. The one who paid for a round of drinks, let men grind on him and ground right back, danced as if he were a petal on the wind--carefree, and sang every song he recognized at the club, the bar, the basement. Wherever the party was, Jack was sure to be there.

As he grew older, however, it seemed less like revelry and more like a distraction. Sure, it was always a distraction but now it was really a distraction. Especially when he thought he was putting it in his past... and he kept going back in order to occupy his mind on something better than The Golden Girls and a much loved bottle of whiskey.

"I'll tell him when I tell him," he said, no longer trying to bother fighting with Marge. She was way too stubborn and way too perceptive. There was no point in even trying to lie to himself with her sitting there listening and arguing the whole time.

[Marguerite De Silva]

"Mm, stubborn bitch, aren't you?" Marge's tone was still fond. Exasperated. She wasn't about to be deterred, though. Oh, no. And she wasn't wrong, either—Jack was waiting. Waiting for a sign, waiting for something to happen like a miracle from God to let him know that Brayden was interested. He was in denial about Brayden's feelings, too, which was arguably the most irritating part.

Well, Marge hadn't seen Brayden yet but she already had an inkling about how he felt. Nobody who was 'just friends' with someone acted like that. If that were the case, everyone else was, by comparison, a shitty friend altogether.

Giving up for the moment—but not forever—she laid back down. Maybe she'd go over in the morning and wake Brayden up. Say hello since she was going to be here for a while looking after Crazy. She should get to know the neighbors. Marge smiled to herself in the darkness, thinking that maybe Jack wasn't the only stubborn bitch in the room.