Pick your poison

[Jack Ripley]

"Right." He couldn't believe they were having this conversation. "Like Tinkerbell."

Was it, though? Really like Tinkerbell? And did Brayden just ask if he wanted him to show it? Show the wings? Show the... transformation? How did it even work? Jack hadn't the slightest of clues and he was struggling to really put any weight into this new idea. Magic, fairies, whatever, Jack had never truly believed in any of that. Even as a child, even when he really, really wanted to believe it, always had a bit of that annoyingly practical side of him telling him it was all just pretty pictures to help them sleep at night.

"Show me."

He said it with a hell of a lot more confidence than he felt, tossing his head back and waiting for it with the peremptory grace of a king accustomed to having things given to him when he asked for them. But really, he was a little bit afraid and a little bit hesitant and a lot skeptical and the tiniest pinch hopeful--hopeful? He was afraid of what it meant for magic to be real but he also longed for it. How differently he could perceive the world if he knew there was something so different, so radically against everything he believed in... Who knew what it could mean? Jack didn't even know how he felt about it now, without evidence. With evidence... Kerrfffloom! Mind. Blown.

Realizing he was coming off high-handed, he lowered his head and added, "I want to see it."

[Brayden Smith]

The lofty cast of Jack's head seemed to say that he had seen this show before. Bray didn't know what to make of that; he wondered a little if he would be found wanting. What kinds of creatures had Jack seen? A simple fairy was nothing to call home about, to be honest. They weren't common but they were hardly the rarest of the rare. Some of their abilities were sought-after and there was that disturbing rumor that some hunters made wine out of them but overall, Bray didn't think that he was any more special than anyone else in Hazleton.

"Okay," he said slowly, feeling as if he was auditioning or interviewing for a role he never sought. All of this came out of nowhere, honestly. Bray would much rather be getting answers for the question of their relationship and the direction of their friendship, but... maybe Jack wanted to avoid all of that. It made his heart sink. Avoidance was rejection, wasn't it?

A little sadly, he smiled again and pulled away from Jack. Bray stood up, damp hair falling into his face. He tucked his hair back behind his ear and took a deep breath. It was fine. It didn't feel fine but he wasn't going to die from a little broken heart.

Bray didn't usually shift out of his human form so it took a little while to push the glamor away. He closed his eyes and focused on the veil that shrouded him from human eyes. Pushed it off, let it fall and fade. His iridescent wings unfurled first and it felt good, like letting out a heavy sigh or stretching cramped limbs. Bray shrugged his shoulders slightly as they flickered behind him. He opened his eyes; still brown, but lighter now with a golden tinge.

Everything else was the same, though. Some people claimed that fae had a certain aura in their natural forms but Bray couldn't see it so he wouldn't know. He wondered what Jack thought as he opened his eyes and smiled tentatively down at him. Bray rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, almost embarrassed to be seen in his alternate form. "Is-Is this... okay?" He asked stupidly, as though it was somehow up to Jack to validate the legitimacy of his actual fae form.

(Wings!)

[Jack Ripley]

It.

Had to be some kind of joke. Jack kept waiting for the hammer to fall. It didn't. This just seemed to be the topic of conversation now. And now Jack was staring at... a fairy. Nothing like a tiny, glittering Tinkerbell. But he did have wings. And a strange new glow in his eyes. A bit... startling to say the least.

What he didn't understand about this entire ordeal was... the fact that Brayden still seemed to be seeking some kind of approval from Jack. As in, Jack the regular, everyday human being. As in Jack, the regular human with some ugly skeletons in the closet that sadly didn't have a thing to do with his queerness. Brayden the goddamn fairy, though. He was asking if it was okay.

OKAY FOR WHAT? The question stood in his mind like capitals, crowded right up to the front of his headspace. Okay for... Seriously, Jack was having a hard time thinking right now.

"Of course." Why wouldn't it be okay? Fairies were real and everything Jack knew to be true--no, True, with a capital T--turned out to be not what he thought. So fairies were real then. And witches, too?

"Of course," he said again, slowly getting to his feet. His heart felt like it had a permanent residence in his throat as he approached Brayden and his pretty wings. Part of him was still in some state of shock, so he had to. He had to reach out and touch them. One of them. The closest wing. And his hand didn't go through it like a hallucination. He wasn't hallucinating. Something was really there and it didn't feel fake or made of cloth or paper. What he touched was delicate and warm and definitely felt like a real Thing.

"So then... it's true." And he felt oddly breathless saying it. It was true. Brayden was an actual fairy, just as Marge said he was. How did she even know? She had to be a witch or something. Another fairy? Not the way she talked about them. Jack felt like his head was going to permanently spin, if not from the alcohol, then the strange vision thing earlier and now this.

Jack lowered his hand. Part of him wanted to give into theatrics and lay himself prone on the couch once more. But that was bad enough when it happened in sincerity. Now he simply sank back down to sit on the couch and try to process so much information at once. It wasn't just Brayden, there had to be more. And that meant other things could be real too. And maybe he really did use magic in his soups or put a spell on Jack. How would he know what that felt like? But if Brayden could cast such spells... No. He wouldn't. He couldn't. A man didn't spend three years celibate if he could just will a man to love him.

Holding out his hand, Jack made a come hither motion.

[Brayden Smith]

Was it okay? Did he stack up to what Jack expected or had seen before? Was he being compared and judged? Bray couldn't squeeze in that many questions so he asked simply if it was okay—if he was okay. Because he was merely a fairy. They weren't the glittering glowing fabulously magical creatures that humans glamorized. They didn't shrink down to penny-sized little mischievous creatures and they didn't fly. The wings were for channeling magic; they were too flimsy to support a grown man's weight.

But the wings were something that Bray was proud of. When he was born, his mother said that they were colorless. All baby fae were born without color, white as the driven snow. As they grew and as they experienced the world, they earned their colors. Each fae had wings that were slightly different, with different patterns and different color combinations that were uniquely theirs. No other fae had Bray's wings; they were his and his alone.

He watched Jack—oh-so-calm Jack—standing. There was a weird look in his eyes, though. Was he still breathing? Bray felt concerned as Jack reached out to touch his wing; it flickered the way a cat's ear might, responding to the warmth of his fingers. Bray didn't control them, either; they were appendages but not like arms or legs. They existed to funnel magic, to draw from the mana in the air and in the earth. The veins in the wings would fill with mana—magic—and Bray's body was the conduit through which all of that power could be concentrated.

"Oh. Yes, it's true. I'm-I'm a fairy." That was what Jack meant, wasn't it? Bray felt strangely ill at ease. Jack wasn't really acting like Jack and that strange light in his eyes still bothered Bray. He watched Jack sink back down onto the couch, then gesture for him to join him there. Bray sat too, careful not to squash his wings; he did that once and lived to regret it.

"Are you okay? Jack?" Bray touched his arm gently. "If you're not feeling well, you should go back to bed and lay down." This show and tell could wait, couldn't it? Until Jack felt better again? Bray looked around—oh, Jack cleaned the coffee table... He smiled slightly before reaching for the nearly spent water bottle. "I can get you some more water. Or maybe some soup, if you're hungry."

Just... casually talking about every-day things while hanging out in his highly visible fae form. Bray thought it was weird too but Jack wanted to see it...

[Jack Ripley]

Okay. So.

He wasn't crazy. There was nothing wrong with him; whatever he saw in that odd dream-vision was just some kind of side effect of sucking fairy dick. Dots were connecting. Making more sense, despite the oddity of it all. It wasn't something wrong with his meds. He wasn't about to level up in crazy town. Unless this was it and if that was the case, he had to say that he much preferred the fairy wings and gently glowing eyes to blood and bloated blue lips.

Much, much preferred it.

"I'm..." He was about to say it again. Fine. He'd been saying it over and over again--to himself, to Marge, to Brayden--all morning but really, he felt utterly overwhelmed by some ineffable emotion. The hand that he held out a few seconds ago took Brayden's hand, like he was back in kindergarten and Brayden was his first friend. A little shyly, that is to say.

"Did I mention I don't believe in this? Magic? Fairies..." And yet... He glanced at the wings, which were conspicuously still there. 

"I'm not fine," he admitted. "I'm completely out of my depth here. Something happened, something happened when I sucked your dick last night and I swallowed all of it and I'm not a hundred percent sure but I think it's made me a little loopy--but again, I never believed in anything like this before and, I mean, out of the many dicks I've sucked over the years, you'd think at least one would have been a fairy's at some point but..."

But if he did, he didn't recall it being anything like this. And he didn't want to bring this all back to what happened last night when Brayden clearly didn't even remember it. Plus, he ran off to the bathroom as soon as Jack brought it up. So even if he did have any recollection, it didn't seem like it was the most positive experience for him. (Which was insulting; Jack didn't phone it in. He worked hard to make Brayden feel good.)

His voice was quieter as he looked down at the hand he held onto. Still the same hand, nothing strange about it. No glitter or dust, just a man's hand with slender fingers and a nice width of palm attached to a gentle wrist. Not a limp one, thank you very much. Just... gentle, as if it belonged to a gentleman, somebody born with class, rather than fitting themselves into it the way Jack tried so hard to.

"Just... let me get used to it. My world view is a bit shattered at the moment."

[Brayden Smith]

"Oh."

An understatement for Bray's shock in the moment. So... Jack... didn't believe in magic. Or fairies. And Bray just morphed out of his human form into his fae form, wings and eyes and all, under the assumption that this was old hat for Jack. Ah. Ahh... So the nonchalance he imagined Jack displayed toward his transformation was a silent, stunned reaction? And the way he touched Bray's wings, it was to make sure it was real, not some casual brush of the fingers to say he touched them?

Ah.

Usually Bray was the one tripping over himself to get all the words out but he had infected Jack. Now it was Jack inundating him with a torrent of explanations and putting into the mix things about the previous night which Bray didn't remember. He colored visibly at the mention of 'swallowing it all' though, and coughed. Well. That filled in a few more gaps but he didn't know if he wanted to know more or rued not remembering ANY of it. That seemed like something he would want to remember, as perverse as that was.

He just sat there dumbly holding Jack's hand, listening to him confess things, watching him look at their hands with a softening voice and gaze. Bray was oddly choked up. It felt like an intimate moment. He shared his own long-held secret and Jack didn't run off on him. He was still here, they were holding hands and in that moment it was all strangely... magical. Humorous, of course, but magical too, because in return for his secret, Jack was discovering a whole new world and Bray was so, so fortunate to be a part of that. The wonder and excitement of finding out that magic was real, it was a special moment that not many were privileged to share.

"I'm sorry." Well, Bray was Bray. He wouldn't be himself if he didn't apologize for shattering someone's world view. Bray couldn't imagine how stunned Jack must have been. He grew up in a magical world, after all; to him, it was... old hat.  Softly he squeezed Jack's fingers, and then leaned in to kiss his cheek. Just a little tender kiss, a brush of the lips. "Everything's going to be okay."

[Jack Ripley]

Jack laughed.

He had to laugh because here Brayden was, showing off his fancy fairy wings (which a younger Jack most certainly would have envied and current Jack could definitely get behind, in terms of aesthetics) and for some reason, he was apologizing. Was this even... kosher? Like was this something fairy people did on the regular or was it like taking his clothes off in front of him?

The way Brayden shied up when he showed Jack made him think it was a vulnerability. That it was a bit like telling a person to strip and then watching them with hungry eyes. Well, shit. That didn't make him feel any better about it. He'd basically demanded to be shown (after the offer but still, he didn't word it very tactfully) and Brayden... well, showed it to him.

A gentle squeeze of the fingers brought comfort, as well as the familiar gesture of a kiss to the cheek. Jack's heart felt a little less stuck in his throat but still jumpy. His world view was indeed shattered; the words he used weren't simply for dramatization. To Jack, magic was for kids, fairies were for people that couldn't cope with an ugly world. It was an escape and could Jack fault them for that? Maybe he was always envious of it, the ability to believe in magic, Santa Claus, and fantastical worlds like Hogwarts or Narnia.

"It is." Not a question. An agreement. His gaze skirted over their joined hands, then up to meet Brayden's soft gaze. He could still feel the place where lips touched his cheek. "Listen... about last night..."

[Brayden Smith]

There was so much to unpack, from Jack's admission that something strange happened after—ahem—swallowing it all to the fact that he had just been shown a fairy to what happened last night, the strain that still lingered between them. Bray didn't know where to start. He wanted time to think but unfortunately time didn't stop for confused people to catch up. Time just marched on and it was left up to them to cope with their situations the best they could.

But also, sitting there with his wings out, holding hands with an obviously shellshocked Jack didn't feel right. He felt vulnerable; it was dangerous for him and his kind to reveal themselves. That was why they maintained their glamor and why everyone was parading around in human disguise. Although Bray had been fortunate enough to never have encountered a hunter, he knew that they were here. Always.

He had to put the glamor back because the longer he sat there, the more anxious he began to feel. It wasn't safe. "I-oh. Yes, just. Give me a second." The veil shimmered back into place. His wings folded and faded; he blinked and his eyes were back to their usual medium-brown tone again. "Sorry," Bray whispered, leaning closer. "I just had to do that. For safety." He squeezed Jack's hand again. Maybe it was better this way, for Jack to not have those ostentatious wings in his face as a constant reminder of the world he thought he knew.

"So. What about last night?" Bray's anxiety ramped up again for a very different reason. He let his gaze drop to their clasped hands too and swallowed hard. "I-I know we... did things. But. It scares me—scared me when I woke up and didn't remember anything. I don't-I know you wouldn't hurt me. You didn't hurt me. But what happened? Did I say something?"

[Jack Ripley]

All right. Jack nodded. If it was safer to be without the wings, he could understand. It was also a lot to take in every single time he looked at Brayden. Not that he didn't appreciate what he saw. It was just. It was a lot. There was a lot going on in such a short amount of time. After all, they'd gone from drinking together to sleeping together to waking up together. That was already a lot. Add in the magic fairy bit and Jack was surprised he hadn't snapped a finger to ensure he wasn't dreaming.

Jack watched the disappearance of the wings with wistfulness. Magic. Real. He could hardly focus. But his fascination with the wings could be explored later. Right now there was the business of last night to contend with. Jack previously made a run for it. The only thing that stopped him was looking back.

It didn't seem fair for such an event in their lives to be so one sided. Jack remembered everything in excruciating detail. But Brayden, he recalled nothing of the encounter. As he said, he knew something occurred. But that was the depth of it. Jack could tell him anything happened. But he wasn't going to. Brayden looked at him with such trust in his eyes. But spoke of fear. Why fear?

But anybody would be afraid if they woke without a memory. Most people would anyway. Jack was a little too accustomed to it for it to truly alarm him at this point. But Brayden... innocent Brayden... 

"You said a lot of things. Drunk people often do." 

Jack hunkered down and rested his head against Brayden's shoulder. Dreamily he continued: "You said I was a miracle maker and a star. Oh and that you love stars. You love them. You really wanted to hammer that one home." He stopped there and he knew it was a bit abrupt and that it was obvious he was withholding a detail. But he told him not to say it when he was drunk. He was right. It wouldn't be fair to say the words and not remember saying them.

For some reason, the memory of it made him sad. He blinked it away—the sadness—but it persisted in his bones and his chest. Telling somebody you love them when they wouldn't remember it hurt too. But some part of him had hoped... it touched Brayden somewhere.

"You were drunk as hell, Smith."

[Brayden Smith]

Bray wound his free arm around Jack as the pleasant weight of his head landed on one shoulder. Wistfully he smiled as he rested his cheek against the top of Jack's head. Drunk people did say a lot of things. They did a lot of inadvisable things, too. Alcohol robbed him of a special moment and he regretted drinking even a drop of that wine. He should have known better and now that moment of closeness, their first time being intimate together, was squandered because Bray remembered nothing and Jack remembered everything.

Softly, he laughed at the stupid things he blabbed to Jack. It sounded so cliche, so played. Yet that was how he felt even when he was sober. It was sincere. Bray really felt that Jack was a miracle—his personal miracle. Jack was a beautiful shining star fallen down to Earth to help lead him out of his personal dark hell. Anyone who came into contact with him was made instantly better for having known him, even in that one instance, and Bray was lucky enough to be drawn into his life. Jack was everything that Bray could have ever asked for, even with all of his flaws and imperfections. Or maybe because of them, Bray found him so much more intriguing and relatable. Lovable, even.

"I do love the stars," he admittedly quietly into the sudden pause in Jack's words. Bray thought he knew why. He loved stars. Jack was a star. Putting two and two together, it stood to reason that in his drunken stupor, he would confess his feelings. The wine loosened his lips and made him sloppy with his words, when sober Bray was always so careful to weigh them before speaking. Was that bad? Jack sounded sad again, wistful. When Bray tried to get a glimpse of his expression, he saw the sadness flickering away.

"...I love looking at the stars, and sitting outside at night counting them, trying to find all the constellations. I like to think that my parents are up there too, as stars, watching over me," he said after a moment. Yes, he was drunk—last night. But right now he wasn't. Right now he was sober, panicking inside, sad, regretful, ashamed. Right now he experienced every emotion that it seemed possible for one person to experience and it was overwhelming and frightening. Bray's lips moved but no words came out. He turned to press his lips to the top of Jack's head, a reverent kiss, and whispered so softly into that dark mass of waves that even he barely heard himself, "But out of all the stars I love, Jack, I love you most of all."

[Jack Ripley]

Yes, Brayden loved his stars. Jack recalled telling him he had gone into the wrong profession--in tipsy wording, of course. He should have been something else, somebody that tracked stars and documented them, listened to them over frequencies, hell... If all this magic mumbo jumbo was real, there was no reason not to be an astrologist and predict people's futures with the stars and their alignments.

When people died, though, Jack didn't think they became stars. In fact, he was certain they didn't. It defied science. But then, who really knew? Brayden had wings. Maybe he knew something Jack didn't about stars. Maybe they really were some kind of light creatures playing in the sky. Fairies, even. In the sky. Maybe fairies became stars when they died. It could be common knowledge to Brayden. Things that muggles like Jack would never know.

Jack was silent into that admission of his parents. He felt Brayden shifting, his head turning to him. What felt like a press to the top of his head. A kiss. If it weren't so deathly quiet and still in the apartment, Jack would have thought he heard wrong or that it was just the whisper of voices in the back of his head. But it was still and quiet, so he did hear him. And he closed his eyes. Those ineffable emotions were back, too much to handle, juggled around a heavy heart with a wisp of a spirit.

The words weren't a burden, as they sometimes could be. There was no insistence to return them or even an air of expectancy for Jack to do or say anything about it. The words were just there, like another part of Brayden's heart laid bare. Brayden kept putting himself out there, fully vulnerable, naked emotions undecorated, unfettered not by alcohol this time, but by some mechanism that needed to share his words, his thoughts, his heart.

Jack slid his hand over Brayden's thigh, to rest at his knee. Not in any sexual way. Just because his hand was close and Brayden's body was there. His eyes slid open but he was still seeing the past in his mind. A drunken face, a little flushed--from drink or kisses plied to him, who could say? Soft hair and soft eyes and a soft smile.

"If you remember," he echoed his words from the night before, "you can tell me as many times as you want."

Brayden didn't really remember, as such. He thought. But it was muscle memory, maybe. Or just sincerity that leaked out when he was drunk. Jack liked to think, though, that the words were indelible, that some little part of them wiggled their way in and nestled there. Taking in a breath, his heart felt like it could burst at any moment, it was so full and so afraid and he couldn't say why there was so much nascent fear in the idea of loving and being loved when it was the one thing he hungered for his entire miserable life. It never felt like this before. When he said the words to other people, there wasn't this anxiety attached to it.

For once. It was like something actually mattered to him. It mattered and therefore it scared him. What was he doing earlier but running away?

"I am so, so stupid--" he said and there was no way to guide his voice into less trembling waters, he was standing in the middle of a frozen lake and waiting for the thin veneer of ice to crack beneath his feet. But he was only halfway through his tremulous sentence, which followed: "--crazy stupid--in love with you, Brayden."

He wanted to laugh and he wanted to cry. It almost physically hurt to pry the words out of him, because he didn't like giving away important parts of himself. He needed them, to protect himself, they were part of his armor. But the words were already out there, in the ether, echoing in his own head and making him feel... restless. And wary. And ready to bolt.

[Brayden Smith]

Fairies becoming stars was something nice to think about in a dark moment, when there seemed so little hope left in the world and when everything turned into grief and mourning. Fairies in the sky weren't gone forever; they were in a plane far, far away but their light still shone down on the ones they left behind. It was a sight better than imagining their bodies decomposing in the cold, hard ground, becoming nothing more than particles of dust and mana and returning to the planet from whence they came.

Life was so precious. Love was precious, too. They were intangible things, indefinable, but there was such force behind them. Life--the will to live--and love, they propelled people to do great things. And terrible things. But the strong emotional force behind both of them could never be contained, never be restrained.

Some people were born into love and they had a lot of love to give. Some were born depraved of it, craving it, searching for it. And when those two polar opposites came together, there were sure to be sparks. A flame. An explosion of feeling and emotions running rampant and all the pieces slotting so perfectly into place that it almost seemed too good to be true.

Bray was the spark and Jack was the flame. They burned for one another, burned up together, burned all of the sweet words and soft admissions into permanent memory. Bray sat as though frozen, echoes of some vague remembrance flashing to life in the dormant part of his memories as Jack repeated his words from the night before. If he remembered... he could say it as many times as he wanted.

And--

But I love you, too.

He breathed in, gasped, grasped at the hand on his knee, in need of a lifeline. There they were, the words he had been waiting for, like a light in the darkness, a flicker of a memory that reduced him to tears. "Oh." And Jack was expanding further, saying he was stupid crazy in love--with Brayden. With B. Smith. There were so many little nicknames for him--meanwhile, Jack was Jack. He was an institution, someone who couldn't be diminished or distilled down to one letter or one fond pet name.

"Oh," he said, sounding miserably as if he was about to burst into tears but feeling so... so... indescribable in that moment. Bray's arm tightened around Jack's shoulders. "Oh," he repeated stupidly, "oh... yes. I-I am too, Jack." He was too. He was stupid crazy in love with Jack, so much so that it hardly felt real, to experience so much emotion for one person. "But we-we... you... don't want us to be together," Bray whispered, disappointment coloring the last of his words.

[Jack Ripley]

Stupid, crazy love was reckless love. Scary love. Out of control love. It really was a wildfire, with no way to contain it, no way to stop it from spreading. Just helpless in its blaze, afraid it would consume everything. Jack didn't know this force of feeling before. Attraction and lust, those were easy enough to identify with. He might have even mistaken it for love. Wanting to protect perceived innocence, failing.

This was unfamiliar territory. It really did feel like walking on thin ice. There was no telling when it was going to start cracking beneath his feet, no telling when it would plunge him into ice cold waters.

And Brayden, Brayden was so quiet for so long that Jack thought he said too much. Even when Brayden found his voice, he couldn't seem to find words to go with it. Just a series of ohs. Were those good ohs or bad ohs? Was he disappointed in his word choice? Because crazy and stupid were accurate--he felt crazy, he felt stupid. Jack didn't like feeling like a bumbling idiot but he was navigating some freaky new ocean here.

But no. Brayden agreed. He was stupid crazy in love, too. Why didn't that admission make him feel less frightened? It only made him more restless. Like his heart was in every vein, about to jump out of his skin. Admitting to loving somebody and committing to a relationship were two different things. The disappointment in Brayden's voice was palpable. Jack could have plucked it right out of the air. Squashed it.

How did anybody confess to love this deep and not go a little crazy? How did they confess to it and then wipe the idea of a relationship right off the table? It was as stupid as his feelings were. Jack let out a soft exhalation of self deprecating amusement.

"...you're wrong." He let the words hang there for a beat too long. Then his hand was in Brayden's hair and his lips were pressed against his throat. All he could smell was his soap and the scent beneath the soap and warm skin. "I want you in my life. As a friend." He lifted his head. It was important to say the rest while they looked each other right in the eyes. "As my lover and my soulmate. I want you."

He swallowed hard. "I just don't want to ruin you. Or hurt you. It's kind of a nasty conundrum, isn't it? I feel like I'm going to hurt you either way, so what am I supposed to do?"

[Brayden Smith]

"Oh?" Bray's mouth was permanently formed into that one word. But it was so expressive. Oh--disappointment. Oh--surprise at Jack's unexpected confession of love. Crazy, stupid love. Wasn't all love a little crazy and a little stupid? All true love, anyway? Love drove people to do crazy things and to say stupid things and yet, somehow in the end, it was still worth it. Everyone sought it; it couldn't be all bad.

Was he wrong though? Admissions of crazy stupid love didn't make them lovers. Bray might have confused the two at first but now it seemed almost clear-cut. There was a line. Jack on one side, Bray on the other. No? His eyes closed at the sensation of lips imparting an impassioned kiss to his throat. In the back of it, he uttered a soft noise and he grasped onto Jack even harder.

But see? He wasn't wrong. He--

"Oh..." Jack was looking at him. At him. Not through him, at him. At all of his flaws and imperfections, at all of his insecurities, his boring ways, his dull, silly lifestyle. And he didn't somehow find Bray lacking? He found something worth sticking around for even through the muddled mess of words that couldn't come out in straight sentences? Jack was coherent, eloquent, heartfelt; Bray was stunned, speechless and babbling soft nothings. He did too. All of those things. Lover. Friend. Companion. Confidante. Soulmate...

"But you-you don't know that, Jack." He cupped Jack's face in his hands, that achingly handsome, hauntingly beautiful face. That expressive face and those honest eyes gazing at him, not through him, as though seeking answers that only Bray could provide. "You don't know that you'll hurt me. What if you don't? And-and we live out a good, full life together? Isn't that worth... at least giving it a shot, Jack?"

[Jack Ripley]

Part of him just wanted Brayden to make the decision for him so that if it did all go sideways, it wouldn't be his fault. But part of him knew that wasn't how relationships worked. One-sided relationships weren't relationships. There had to be a connection and a bond, and a joint decision. Brayden wanted it. Jack... did too but he didn't. See? It was so annoyingly complicated. But he wanted it more than he didn't want it. He wanted to say yes, let's give it a shot and yet he also wondered if it was the right thing to do.

What was really right or wrong when it came to these decisions? Jack couldn't see the future--at least... he didn't think he could. Was that odd vision something true or something possible? Was it even a vision or was it some kind of subconscious longing for a docile life with somebody who loved him as much as he loved that person?

Rightfully so, that dreamlike vision scared him. Jack had never thought of himself as the domestic type. Even in past relationships, there was never talk of adopting animals and children together. The thought would have been so absurd to him. It probably would have sent him straight for the hills.

But he could see it; that vision. He could see it being real. And it didn't feel wrong. And if it was somehow real, some kind of magical side effect to the night before... Then he shouldn't even be afraid. Because in that vision, they were so happy. So happy that it stung the back of his eyes. It was within reach. It could be made real.

"We can never go back. You understand that... right?"