We Are Bulletproof

The work week flew by in a rush, as it was wont to when Bray was busy at the community college. There was a lot to prepare for the upcoming school semester and it seemed that everyone needed him to do things for them right now. Bray stayed at the office a lot later every day and when he got home, he was so exhausted that he usually collapsed into bed and fell asleep straight away; it cut severely into the time that he could spend with Jack.

At the beginning that was something of a relief. Having been rejected—not so much in actual words but in... spirit, he supposed—it was hard to see Jack. He knew he was being greedy, but wasn't that just human nature? To want things, more and more and more, in an everlasting cruel cycle? Bray wasn't even that greedy or selfish but he couldn't help the way he felt, either. His heart wanted what it wanted and it definitely wanted Jack.

Towards the middle of the week though the withdrawal happened. And he didn't know it was possible to feel that way about a person but... apparently it was a real thing. He couldn't stop seeing Jack everywhere. Out of the corner of his eyes. In the street, he'd turn and smile—oh. Just a tall, dark-haired stranger. When he turned a hallway, his heart immediately picked up pace—what if Jack was—no, silly, Jack wasn't waiting to spring from around the corner. He kept replaying that night on an endless loop, wondering where he went wrong. Why he didn't ask what he wanted so much to ask, that they should just... give it a shot.

Friday rolled around and Bray was nervous. Game night. He'd confirmed it with Jack; even if he didn't see Jack much, he still texted with him. Sometimes Bray fell asleep on him but he tried to keep up as much as he could. (Didn't help the withdrawal symptoms because he wanted to physically see Jack, but it was a little hit for when he was down. God, was he addicted? Really?)

He looked over the snack table that he'd arranged. Popcorn. A veggie platter. Some dip. Lame things for lame boring Braydens. But there off to one side was a not-lame thing for a not-lame person. A bottle of red wine, recommended to him by Jack's new friend Marge. She insisted. She bought it. She came over and shoved it into his hand and... and she was so frightening and persuasive and frightening that Bray couldn't say no.

"Don't tell him it was my idea, okay honey?" Marge patted his cheek fondly and then kissed the same cheek. "It was your idea. You're welcome. Bye~"

Bray didn't know what that was about but he knew how much he feared (and respected) Marge so the wine came along with the lame snacks, standing tall and queenly just like the person who forced it upon Bray. Nervously he looked at the clock. Almost time. His heart rate picked up at the thought of seeing Jack—of being with Jack for a whole evening!—and when someone knocked on the door he jumped and clattered into the table. The wine bottle wobbled ferociously; Bray dove for it to save it.

"Coming!" He called breathlessly as he righted the bottle and then ran for the door. Stopped about three steps away from it. Breathed. It was just game night. They had game nights before, right? Bray breathed out and opened the door and just... beamed. "Hi Jack."

Jack Ripley

There was a lot on Jack's mind throughout the week. Various things. Fixing his new roommate, finding him that perfect somebody, trying to stay clean and sober while doing that, and of course, work. Work was actually the least of Jack's problems. He liked it well enough. Lecturing wasn't boring when Jack did it because he did it with a wink and a flourish. And sometimes... just sometimes, he attracted the wrong sort of attention. There were, in fact, a couple of students he thought were hoping to trade blow jobs for good grades.

Jack did his best not to touch too much liquor. The nightcap before bed was necessary, especially if Allie was around. Allie seemed to have something else going on, though he didn't have a whole lot to say about it. Sometimes Marge came around to check on their little crazy son, as they'd taken to calling him. Not to his face, of course.

And then there was Brayden. Jack still saw him... at work. But it seemed like Brayden didn't have time for him at home. Jack had gone by a couple of nights, knocked... nothing. And when he texted him afterward, he discovered Brayden was apparently staying late at the office. But why? Work was work. It should stay there. Why did Brayden have to be so self-sacrificial? Jack wished he could say it was a bad look. On somebody else, maybe. On Brayden, it just made him... well, Brayden.

Wednesday, the game arrived in the mail. Jack looked through it, at the cards, read the little rule book. It looked... cute. Fantasy style. It looked like it was right up Brayden's alley, which made Jack smile.

And then it was Friday. Jack promptly came home, shed his work clothes, showered, and pulled on something killer. Best vest, tie. He looked dashing in his full length mirror. Preening, he smiled. And then he thought... it might give off the wrong message. This wasn't a date. And even if it was, it wasn't the kind of date where a man wore his tightest breeches to show off the shape of his apples. So, with some reluctance, he changed into something a little less flashy.

Well, it still beat a silk robe. ...Or did it? For a second, he actually considered it as a joke but then wondered if it would come across as a joke or if Brayden would misconstrue it. Or construe it. Fuck. He had no idea what he was doing anymore.

Jack grabbed his things and headed out. Just across the courtyard and it felt so far away. His heart beat with every step and he knocked with his free hand, the other holding onto a coat, phone, keys, the game, etc. His things. Just... things.

The door opened and there was Brayden, beaming at him with the biggest, happiest smile. Nobody could resist that smile. Jack's lips twitched and formed into a half grin of his own before he stepped in and embraced Brayden. Kiss to the cheek, pat to the ass as he entered and walked past him.

"I hope you're ready to watch your kingdom crumble!" Jack declared as he let his things drop onto the nearby chair--except for the game box itself. He turned around to hold it up between both palms to show it off to Brayden.

"I already read the rules~"

Oh, Jack's smile. Bray loved his smile the most. He—

Ah, fuck.

Bray didn't normally swear but this was an exception because... he had already started to think in terms of love. He loved Jack's smile when it was directed only at him, up close like this, bright and pearly white. But these kinds of smiles reached his eyes too, they were warm and inviting. Bray saw his other smiles, some forced, others merely amused, humoring the people around him. There weren't many smiles like these directed at others and Bray took thoughts like those home with him and it helped him get through the night.

He loved the way Jack held himself, as though he owned the world—but not as if the world owed him. Jack was self-assured, a man who had come into his own and who seemed to know who he was. That was admirable, and it instinctively made people respect him. Bray had been hearing a lot of good things about Jack lately from the administrators; they all praised him, they were all impressed by his depth of knowledge. A raise was already in the works.

He loved a lot about Jack but mostly he was in love with Jack himself, everything that made up who he was. Bray was too tired to argue with himself any longer. His feelings were too strong even for him to ignore and while he knew that there was no chance in hell of ever baring them to Jack, they were still a little bit of a comfort to Bray himself. He drew from that love as a source of strength. If he truly loved Jack, he had to do what was only in Jack's best interests—even if it meant never bringing up his feelings again. Bray wasn't okay with being friends but he had come to terms with their reality.

Still. Didn't stop him from feeling stupidly pleased when Jack kissed him, didn't stop him from turning to kiss Jack's cheek back. No swat on the ass though. No temptation. Bray kept his hands to himself.

"Cheaters gonna cheat," he said darkly as he reached for the box. "Well this time, Jack, I came prepared. I—" Bray paused for dramatic effect, feeling silly and light-hearted and so young, so foolish in Jack's presence, "went online and also read the rules. So your plans have been foiled, good sir! Now pick your poison and let's get down to business!" Here Bray's dramatic flair ran out—he grinned. "I have two kinds of popcorn this time, for the distinguishing gentleman with refined tastes." And lemon water and... er... the wine.

Oho. Jack noticed the kiss. Sweet and innocent as it was. He also noticed the lack of an ass swat but that didn't surprise him. Brayden didn't strike him as much of an ass swatting man. And that was okay. Jack could do all the ass swatting for the two of them. All he knew right now was that he was 1. pleased it was just the two of them tonight and 2. Brayden looked... good. Refreshed, happy. Positively beaming. So handsome. He was so, so handsome.

"Well, damn." Jack snapped his fingers. "And here I thought I was finally going to win something against Master Brayden Smith."

The truth was, Brayden was right about his last attempts at cheating. Jack tried to cheat his way to losing (and also to look at butts, both could be true) because he wanted the game part to be over with. As much fun as he had with Brayden, sometimes the games themselves could run far longer than anticipated and Jack grew... well, bored.

"Ooh, fancy. Two different kinds of popcorn." He raised his eyebrows when he saw the alcohol, though. Here Jack was, doing his best to be a Good Boy and stay away from the liquor and Brayden--oh the betrayal!--brought a bottle of...

"Is that wine?" It wasn't even just any old alcohol. It was red wine. The kind of thing people brought out for dinner guests and dates. Jack put a hand to his chest.

"Brayden Smith," he said in wonder and awe, "is this a date?"

"Ahh, young Jack, you are several light-years away from surpassing the Master!" Never mind that light years were a measure of distance, not time. It had years in the name, it was a passable attempt at a joke. (Weak as it was.) Bray was still grinning kind of stupidly as they moved for the snack table. He bought a cheap little thing since the coffee table was only big enough for playing card games. Bray didn't have a proper dinner table; he never needed one before. He would either eat in the kitchen or he'd sit on the couch.

"Err... it is. It is wine. Yes." He nodded as though without that bob of the head, Jack wouldn't know that it was wine. Bray had taken note of the vintage and it seemed like a nice year. Marge also said not to open it until Jack arrived, which Bray assumed meant that she had heard about his being a teetotaler and probably thought that he didn't know how to uncork a bottle. Which, in her defence, wasn't a stretch of the imagination but while he was dating Wyatt, many bottles were opened by Bray. Wyatt sort of. Liked his drinks.

"It's—" he was about to say 'an adult beverage for adults' when Jack put a hand to his chest and asked if it was a date. And Bray stood there with his arms dangling uselessly by his side, card game in one hand. It. No. Jack was teasing him now; Bray had gotten used to that. He knew when Jack was joking now... mostly. See, old dogs could learn new tricks!

Bray half-turned toward the coffee table but flashed Jack a little look that contained more confidence than he felt. Nobody said he couldn't joke back, right? "Yes," he said as he smiled over his shoulder. "But only if you win."

Jack almost said he couldn't believe that Brayden actually went online to read up on the rules ahead of time but... he actually could believe it. Oh it was so like him that Jack could only smile. Of course he did. He read up and he was ready to go. Well so was Jack. He planned to actually make it through a game without getting bored because of all of the little details and whatnot.

The wine was still a real surprise to Jack. He wondered if it was here because Brayden was worried about Jack getting bored... as per other games. But it wasn't the lack of alcohol doing that. It was the game itself. He wanted to interact with Brayden and have fun with him. That was always the highlight of these things, he found. They were growing on him.

Jack lifted his head and tilted it. What was that now? It was a date? But only if Jack won? Slowly, he removed his hand from his chest.

"Hm." There it was. "Strange stipulation."

He was curious and his interest was piqued. He didn't know quite what the game here was though. Brayden didn't seem like the type to play head games but he most definitely was fucking with Jack's head.

"So.... if I don't win... what is this then?"

"Is it?"

Bray was inwardly freaking out a little bit. Was that not the right thing to say? It sounded kind of playful in his head but Jack wasn't laughing. That 'Hm' was a thoughtful 'Hm' rather than an amused one. But Jack also didn't seem offended or baffled. Just. Thoughtful. Maybe interested? Bray was trying to juggle appearing nonchalant with peeking at Jack to gauge his reaction and to figure out what that reaction was.

Eventually he reached the table and had to kneel down so that he could open the pack and pull out the contents. Bray bit his lower lip nervously, facing away from Jack. What was it if he didn't win? Honestly, Bray didn't know! It barely made sense to call this a date only if Jack won. Like, what did that mean? Why did he say it? He should have thought it through! Oh god, if ever there was a moment to over-think, this had to be it!

"...if you lose," he said slowly since he needed to reply. Otherwise leaving Jack hanging would make everything so much weirder. "Then... it's... game night."

What did that even mean?

Bray struggled not to wince. He drew out the cards, the game board, the pieces. Little cloth pouches, a manual, some odd bits and pieces. Bray cleared his throat. "So. Looks like everything's here. Should we start?" Yes he was desperately trying to gloss over his dumb attempt at a joke. And/or a flirt. Maybe. He didn't know anymore, he just wanted to bury his head under the table.

IS IT? Brayden asked. IS IT?! How was the over thinker not thinking over what he just said? Of course it was a strange stipulation to say that a date was only a date if Jack won the game. And if it wasn't a date... then it was just. Game night. Jack had no idea how to reply to that. For once. Yes, even Jack didn't have some smart aleck remark or witty comeback at the ready. He had never been in this situation before. And Brayden just played it off like Oh, that's strange to you? And looked at him like he was the weird one here.

Okay, so maybe he didn't do the last part. If anything, Brayden now seemed determined to keep his head down, his hair in his face, and no way of getting a good strong read on his expression. Was he laughing? Was he smiling? Jack didn't know!

Eyes never leaving Brayden, Jack came around the chair and slowly lowered himself to the other side of the coffee table. With the way Brayden was looking down, like he was concentrating hard on sorting the various cards, Jack still couldn't read him. Still, without looking away from Brayden, Jack reached out to the snack table and wrapped his hand around the wine bottle and drew it to his chest. Alcohol had seriously become his security blanket.

"All right then," he said with a slight turn of the head as he slid the bottle between his knees without yet opening it. "Let's start."

This was certainly a swift change in their positions. For once, Bray was the one being mysterious and Jack was the one trying to catch up. Usually it was the other way around, and Bray was left speechless, grappling with what to say. Judging by Jack's lack of a smart response, it seemed that Bray... actually did get one up on him. And he had absolutely NO idea how he managed it! By making no sense? Should he babble more and think less?

He didn't want to take Jack aback all the time, though. It was just this time that was novel and unexpected. Maybe? A little amusing? Bray was no sadist, he didn't delight in playing head games, but he did find it funny that he finally got Jack back for all the times it was Jack saying outlandish things, and Bray doing the scrambling to keep up.

Strange start to date night, though. Ah—game night.

Bray felt Jack's movements rather than saw them, as he was occupied with the card game. After he'd set everything up, he finally raised his head and his smile was the same half-goofy smile he always wore around Jack. "I think... I'll have a glass of wine." Bold, bold move. But he seemed to have gained a little strength from being the teaser instead of the one being teased. Bray leaned over to take an empty glass and held it out, since Jack had the bottle between his legs.

Pop!

And out came the cork. Jack was still in his processing stage, but even he thought the wine was suspect. It didn't feel like a Brayden thing to add to the evening but here he was, all smiles, holding out his glass like a kid. Jack eyed him, wondering if somebody body snatched him somehow. Jack didn't believe in aliens any more than he believed in gods and magic but he also never thought he'd see the day Brayden gave up his staunch stance against drinking.

Jack poured the wine into the glass like an expert--probably because he was. A boozer like his parents before him and probably theirs before them. Jack never did meet his grandparents on either side.

"I'm not sure which is more inappropriate: the wine or the game."

Because the wine was date night. And the game was obviously game night. And this was some odd mixture of the two. Or not. Because, you know. Stipulations. Not even bothering with a glass for himself, Jack took a long, deep drink from the wine. It was sweet. Fruity. Soft. It was as if it had been made exactly with Brayden Smith in mind. But judging by the year, it was also liable to take off their heads if they didn't drink in moderation.

As with any new game, the going was a bit rough. They both kept having to consult the rules on whether a move was legal or not, if they were even playing it right, or something odd came up that they didn't expect. But it was a quick moving game, not one of those everlasting games like Monopoly that could last a damned week if the players were good enough.

Brayden, it turned out, was just good at these games. And as they continued to play, his kingdom was coming along a bit better than Jack's was. As Jack made his next move, he looked over at Brayden and took a small pull from the bottle. It wasn't yet at the halfway point but it was slowly getting there.

"If you're really as smart as I think you are," Jack said, setting the bottle down on the floor between them, just in case Brayden wanted another glass. "You'd lose the game."

Ah, well, one glass wouldn't hurt. Marge assured him that it was okay to have one glass and she told him it tasted good—not overly alcoholic like liquors typically were. Actually, she might have. Intensely persuaded him to drink a glass. She might have threatened him with her frightening eyes, that if he didn't at least try the wine, she would find out and that would be the end of Bray's life. Marge had that power in her: the power to decide whether others lived or died. It damn well felt that way in the moment, when she stared him down.

He didn't know what Jack thought of the wine but surely it wasn't as bad as, say, whiskey? Bray was innocent in the ways of liquor; he thought of wine as mildly alcoholic fruit juice, which was a definite folly. One glass, right? He watched Jack exert authority over the bottle as though he'd opened a thousand of them. Some part of Bray wondered if it was true, with maybe a tinge of sadness. How many bottles did Jack turn to in order to drown his sorrows? That only spoke to what a hard life he'd had...

Stop thinking.

This was supposed to be a fun night, and a night where he had Jack all to himself. He'd been looking forward to this night for an entire week! Bray took a sip of the wine then almost spit it out at Jack's comment. He sputtered a little into his glass, coughed and wiped the back of his hand over his mouth. "It—the game?" Well Jack brought the game and Bray brought the wine so... they were even! But what did Jack mean by the game? Was it—salacious? Bray never read anything in the manual—

Ah.

If Jack won, this was date night. The game. If he won the game.

Bray sipped his wine just to hide his face and his smile. Yeah... maybe it was inappropriate. Too late now, though, wasn't it? They were already starting. And Jack was chugging from the bottle, which Bray didn't think was advisable. He put out a hand to touch the bottom of the glass, gently pulling it back. "Take it easy," Bray said mildly. Here he thought wine would be a good compromise to either hard alcohol or lemon water...

The game took up much of Bray's attention afterwards, as getting started was a bit of a bumpy ride. They had to stop often but Bray whose mind was more inclined towards deep thinking and planning ahead fared a touch better than Jack. He kept sipping his wine as they played, enjoying its sweet and fruity taste. Not bad. The more he drank, the easier it went down. He felt his cheeks flushing and every once in a while he looked at Jack with increasing carelessness. Did his emotions leak through? Did he smile at Jack like a sap? He did... He definitely did.

"Mm..." He reached for the bottle and sloshed a little more 'fortified grape juice' into his empty glass. That was what his mom called wine. Fortified grape juice. Bray laughed softly to himself as the phrase came back to him suddenly, feeling light and airy and warm and contented. Normally he felt like that too, when Jack came over and they watched a show or had dinner or just sat and talked, but the wine heightened those comfy-cozy feelings for him. "But the point of the game is to win, Jack," he said slowly. What did Jack mean—he should try to lose? "You should... be trying to win."

Bray slapped down another card. He drank a little more. Then he sort of got it. It clicked as he realized that he was going to win the game, that Jack meant—about the date. By that time Bray was finished his second glass and he was—oh, tipsy. But he got it. He got it. Yes, he should try to lose so that they could have a date! Jack was telling him that tonight should be a date and Bray, he agreed sooooo much.

Swaying lightly, he reached for something from the snack table and—oops! He bumped the game board and sent all the pieces flying. "Whoops~!" Bray pretended to pick up a fallen token, but really he took himself closer to Jack. He smiled with unfocused eyes. "My bad. I guess I lose! Such... mm... such a shame. Big shame. Oh no."

Games like these were novel to Jack. They didn't have them in the house when he was growing up. There were barely any things in the house that suggested a child even lived there. Honestly, Jack didn't even know how he lived to be old enough to start learning to do things on his own. Who changed his diapers? Who washed him up? Who fed him? Statistically, he shouldn't even be alive, he thought. But his father had been around for a while and while he was a mean son of a bitch, he did know a baby needed feeding and occasional diaper changes.

Sometimes, Jack thought his father might have loved him, at least a little bit. But then he remembered that he left him. And he wished that he hadn't. Jack would rather have faced beatings from a drunk father than what he experienced when he left.

So games weren't really Jack's thing. He kept arguing with Brayden about the rules at the start and realizing that he had read something wrong or that he misunderstood it. But Brayden knew exactly what he was doing. Even if he hadn't read up on the game ahead of time, he probably would have soundly whipped Jack's ass at it. And Jack normally wouldn't have cared but...

He tried. But maybe Marge was right. Maybe he wasn't vocal enough. Maybe his subtle little clues and flirting went way over Brayden's head. Any other guy would have known exactly what he meant when he gave that meaningful Look and advised Brayden to lose. But Brayden seemed hellbent on winning.

"Oh, I am."

It was just that he wasn't. Winning, that is. He tried to be more thoughtful about his moves but he tended to just make them quickly to move the game over to the next turn. Brayden definitely took his time, though, and every time he did, Jack was taking another drink from the bottle. Probably ill advised on his part to hold it for as long as he did.

But then, maybe not because Brayden. Brayden wasn't kidding when he said he didn't drink. And wine was a helluva drink. It could get a man drunk faster than a blink if they didn't know what they were doing (and even when they did). And Brayden didn't know shit. He just thought he was drinking juice. And he was getting all flushed and tipsy and slurring his words a little. Jack raised his brows and watched as Brayden made his next move and then decided it was time for a snack. Only instead of a snack, he was scattering their cards all over the place. Jack watched with some amusement and almost went to start picking them up.

And then as he slid a few of the cards back on the table, he looked up at Brayden and slightly narrowed an eye at him in absolute suspicion. Just because the cards were scattered didn't mean Brayden lost. If they were going by the current score, he'd won.

Jack's hand slid over Brayden's hand to halt him from picking up some token or other that had fallen onto the ground.

"I didn't think you had it in you, Smith."

His other hand slid around the back of Brayden's head to draw him closer. This kiss was not the gentle peck on the lips of a friend. It was the kind of kiss that parted lips, the kind that tasted of sweet wine, that warred with velvet tongues and sent the mind spinning. The kind that had a body arching up to collide against the other's. The kind that followed a hand that moved from wrist to arm to somehow sliding beneath the cloth of a shirt.

"You're so drunk!" he half gasped, half laughed. This was not a dealbreaker and not because Jack had no scruples but because Brayden wasn't drunk when he proposed his... proposition. "I've never seen you so drunk. Or... ever. Drunk."

Jack rolled Brayden onto his back. His hair fell across his eyes as he let out a drunk laugh. Then he was nose to nose, then lips to lips. Smiling. Hand grasping onto the front of Brayden's shirt, not to take it off but to just know that it was there and that this was real and that he wasn't dreaming.

"I would have said yes, you know. If you asked."

Ohhh yeeaaahhh he was sooooo druuuunk!

Everything was swimming in wine, soaking in a pool of alcohol and awash in muted colors. Bray felt so... so good and so brave. It was like all the barriers had come down and he no longer cared about what he said or how the words could be misconstrued. All he cared about was that he felt good and for some reason, everything was doubly funny. Like Jack saying that he didn't think he had it in him, and he just did the thing that Jack didn't think he would do!

"Hehe... I'm... Oh I'm sneaky Jack! You don't even know, do you Jack? Jack... Jack..." At first he was grinning foolishly and drunkenly. Then he repeated Jack's name as a hand slid over his hand and the touch sent an instant thrill through him. Touches from Jack always did. And he spoke Jack's name a third time, expression growing serious, as Jack leaned in close to him, but this time in a vastly different tone. A tone that was needy and greedy and pained with longing. A hand curled around the back of his head and suddenly—

"Mmm..." Bray moaned into the kiss. Oh, what a kiss. What his sober brain would have given to remember it, the way Jack tasted, the sudden uplifting of the soul as relief spread through him. Even Bray's drunk brain realized that this kiss wasn't a kiss of comfort or a chaste peck between friends This kiss was filled with the same kind of need and repressed desire and desperation that he was. He kissed back eagerly, perhaps sloppily, perhaps not—hard to say in his drunken state—while his free hand came to cling to the front of Jack's oh-so-beautiful shirt.

But every shirt was beautiful on Jack. Every piece of clothing was artfully chosen, to highlight his features, his height, his figure. Clothes did not a man make but Jack definitely always showed up dressed to kill. Even to something as mundane as game night, he was... Oh, he was impossible to look away from. Bray had been sneaking copious amounts of admiring looks over at him all night, which lasted longer and became less sneaky the more wine he sipped..

He gasped out loud when the kiss finally broke, as Jack laughed about his state of inebriation and Bray licked his lips, still tasting Jack. "I—no because it's just Jack, juice," he protested, pawing at his chest uselessly to bring him back for another kiss. "It's jooooooose!" Every word he elongated seemed super funny. Juice. Juuuuuice. Bray laughed. Whoops! The world was laughing with him, tipping him over and over and over like clothes through a tumble dry cycle. His back encountered carpet. Whoops! He fell!

Or... no. He was pushed. Onto his back. And Jack was hovering above him with the light behind his head, making a halo. Bray's expression was soft; he felt a great surge of emotion overcome him when their lips touched again. Bray's legs wound about Jack of their own accord, the action something that sober Bray would never have attempted. It was too suggestive. Too bold, like he might actually have needs or want certain things. But drunk Bray, he wanted Jack closer. Closer than close.

What did that mean? "Ask what, Jack?" asked Bray as he kissed the corner of Jack's mouth—having missed when he went for the lips. The hand at the front of his shirt felt oddly... reassuring. Jack was here. This was real. Bray was so very drunk—off two glasses of wine. Two big glasses though, and with his low tolerance for alcohol, it didn't take much. Maybe some of the drunkenness was exhilaration too, from that marvellous kiss. It had been too long since anyone kissed him like that.

Honestly, Brayden was pretty terrible at being sneaky. It just seemed off for him to even try going that route. But he was drunk now and claiming he was so sneaky. Maybe he did have it in him, then. Hard to really think about it when he was too busy kissing him the way he wanted to for, oh probably weeks now. If Brayden had any protests about it, he certainly kept his peace.

"I'm sorry," he said with an amused laugh, "Did you just tell the juice it's just me?"

Juice. Fucking wine. It had taken down many a person. Not that Jack used it himself as some kind of weapon. There might be the spare bottle of wine or two on his counter of no-no drinks but Jack either drank straight from the bottle or bought mixed drinks at whatever bar or club he was at. Wine was dangerous enough all on its own, if it came as sweet as this bottle did.

They were just kissing and Brayden was already winding his legs about him like he thought Jack was going to roll away from him. Maybe he was sneaky. Or maybe he had enough of all the wishy-washy games. Jack's eyes fluttered closed for a few seconds as Brayden oh-so-gently kissed him. Not really on target but it made Jack's lips curve into a little smile nonetheless.

"To go on a date, B." All he had to do was ask but Jack could see why he didn't. Jack might have been flirting with him from the start but whenever he had a chance, was he not shutting the door on the idea of relationships? He didn't need one, he shouldn't be in one, blah, blah, blah. Even now, Jack wondered in the back of his head if he was only kissing Brayden like this because he was drunk.

Stroking Brayden's chest, Jack looked down at him, at that goofy, punch-drunk smile and those eyes, those sad, sad eyes that were still oddly filled with hope and kindness and a gentle, soft soul. Not an ounce of judgment there, nothing condescending, nothing hard or angry or hateful. Jack's thumb moved up to stroke Brayden's cheek, from the corner of one soft eye down the slight angle of a cheekbone, over warm lips, to stop at his chin. He parted his lips as if to speak but instead of speaking, he leaned in and kissed Brayden again. The kiss was questing, breathless, the lead kiss to another kiss, and another. With each kiss, he felt his head spin that much faster.

Eventually, those questing lips were wandering. Testing the texture of Brayden's throat, tasting skin, feeling the too-quick throb of his heartbeat, nuzzling the hollow of his shoulder, catching an earlobe between teeth and coming back down to that delicate skin just behind his ear to bestow another kiss, reverent and wanting.

Jack's hands weren't idle, either. They were deft at removing buttons from their buttonholes, at sliding palm and fingertip over nipples and ribs and stomach. He shifted his weight as his hand turned downward over Brayden's navel and dipped lower. Under a waistband. Massaging, grasping, caressing. Jack wasn't silent but he wasn't wordy, either, communicating more in a language of lovemaking, in sighs and soft hums. That wasn't usually how he operated but for once, the words were dried up.

Did he just say that? It's just Jack, juice? Well maybe he did, words didn't seem to want to come out in the right order. They were all there, though, and Jack could put it all together. He didn't seem half as drunk as Bray was. Bray just laughed that easy drunk laugh and accepted that, yes, the juice clearly ought to know that it was only Jack.

They had better things to discuss. Like—ah. Bray couldn't help but laugh. "I—I was waiting for you to ask me, cause..." He shrugged. He didn't want to be pushy. Jack wasn't hurting for company and Bray was... Bray. Every time he tried to suggest it, he failed to go through with it. He spoke in starts and fits but not in full sentences around Jack, and part of him thought that maybe Jack didn't want to be put into that unenviable position to reject him, too. There were no guarantees in life, were there? Simply wanting something with all his heart didn't make that a sure thing and Bray was too afraid to lose what he had to try and go for the long shot.

But that was all sober Bray. Drunk Bray had tipsy Jack on top of him, kissing him again. The discussion was rendered moot. He still felt the trail of Jack's fingers along his face, that tender, loving touch he craved so much. Everything came together in that moment; he couldn't and didn't want to say anything to ruin the magic. Bray didn't know what to focus on though. Jack's lips? Or his hands? At first it was the kiss—kisses. Bray couldn't remember a time when he felt like this, drunk or otherwise. His heart was filled to bursting; he wondered if Jack felt that way too, or if this was just... a few kisses.

The way Jack looked at him, though, put some of those fears to rest. Bray didn't want to give in to negative thoughts, not now. Even in his drunken state he realized the importance of living in the moment, because he might not have another moment like this. So he drank all of it in, threw his whole being into kissing Jack and touching him, exploring the slopes of his shoulders, the taper of his waist, his hips. Fingertips peeked under Jack's shirt while his own was eased aside; Bray shivered but he wasn't cold. Anticipation made him groan as Jack's lips returned and he just... floated away on all of the pleasurable sensations.

"Jack..." Bray arched into him with another wanton moan. His body was on fire and oh—oh—that hand on that part of him. So intimate. He couldn't help his body bucking into Jack as he let out a soft cry. "Jack, I—please..." His alcohol-fogged brain didn't know what he was asking for. Blindly grasping at him, Bray's mind went back to a week ago, when Jack sat on his couch wrapped up in the fleece blanket, and just... so casually said that someone Bray didn't know at the time thought they should fuck.

The wine sort of made sense in that context; his drunk brain realized that now. Bray twisted, confused, not sure which way to go. "F-fuck me." God, he just wanted... he wanted Jack. Had wanted him from the very beginning, but why couldn't he say anything brave when he was sober?

They could sit around for years wondering if the other person was going to do the asking... misinterpreting every other word and action. Jack was pretty sure he didn't make a good case for himself, what with the bitching about how he didn't need no man and bringing home strangers to fuck for what was supposed to be a night. (And then ended up becoming the crazy son to take care of.) And Brayden was just too damn--damn--content to sit on the sidelines and nod while Jack lied through his teeth.

Because maybe he didn't think he should--be in a relationship--but that didn't stop the wanting. And the wanting, it got in the way of so many things. Jack was the king of bad decisions. Constantly. He chose the path of least resistance all the time, but it always ended up being the worst path. It looked easy until he started up the path and realized it was a goddamn trap. That it stopped being the easy path when he turned the corner and saw that it went straight up, without footholds or ropes.

He told himself he just wanted to feel good. That it felt good right now. That he was tipsy and turvy and the world was swirling in a pleasant, slow spin around the merry-go-round with his eyes shut tight and the sun warming his face.

There was no crime in this. In wanting something and having it. There was no crime in feeling good with somebody who wanted to feel good. But it had never been this scary before. It felt so good that he felt like his feet were kicked out from under him and he was falling, falling, with no thought as to where he might land.

But he kept going, because he was the king of bad decisions. Because he was maybe a little bit falling in love with somebody and it wasn't just some idealized version of a person but an actual person. A person with failings just like him, who said stupid things and did stupid things. But he still looked at him without judgment and he still laughed with him and he still smiled at him. And he smiled in that innocent, unabashed way a child smiled, like he was sharing his happiness and he wasn't sorry about it, he wasn't covering it up, he wasn't faking it.

Jack swallowed hard when he heard the words that left Brayden's mouth. His breath came up short and choked in the back of his throat and he paused. The fear overtook him for a moment. Brayden's chest was laid bare to him, and Jack could practically see the anticipation in his muscles. He could almost hear the beat of his heart. And he most definitely could hear his name on his lips. Echoing over and over again. Not in the bad way. In a good way. A really good way. It made his heart shiver.

"... all right." Since you asked so nicely. Even the smart remark couldn't pass his lips. Not right now. Somehow... this was serious, even if Brayden was drunk and Jack was tipsy and maybe it was the only way this was ever going to happen. Jack didn't care to think about the aftermath. Now. Now was the only time that mattered.

Jack slid his hand over one of Brayden's legs, pushing it down, extricating himself.

"Not here, though." His hand found Brayden's and he pulled him up to a sitting position. A slow kiss, before he rose to his feet and tugged Brayden up with him. "Bedroom. Come on."

This... this thing that had been brewing between them, it was genuine. It was real. It was so real that it hurt and Bray was elated in the moment but also in pain. Some part of him that wasn't sloshing around in wine knew that he didn't really want it to happen this way—drunk, barely coherent, stuttering out vagaries. He wasn't a starry-eyed child with some fictional idealized notion of what sex ought to be, but he wanted to be sober in the moment. He wanted what was about to happen next to be a conscious effort, a decision that they made together because in their heart of hearts they respected and loved one another and were ready to commit to each other.

Instead, he was drunk. His inhibitions were ground-level. And while Bray couldn't make himself regret it completely, that moment when Jack paused gave him pause too. But. His body was already teased to unbearable tension. He could see that Jack wanted this too—wanted him—and it was such an exhilarating feeling. Wanted. Needed. That was everything Bray had been searching for and here was Jack handing it to him on a silver platter.

How could he refuse?

"But we—" They were already there and in position. Bray frowned, puzzled, as he was tugged up. He nuzzled Jack and sighed as he got unsteadily to his feet, clinging to him and vaguely aware that his shirt was hanging off his shoulders. Absently Bray pulled it back on properly and stumbled in the general direction of his bedroom.

"Jack? Is—is one condom enough?" He asked with a stupid laugh, head high up in the clouds. Well, they were finally going to do it, and there seemed to be no going back. Bray latched on to him with a tipsy foolish smile. The warnings faded; he was spinning again, kissing Jack clumsily as the sides of his legs bumped the low bed, hands going every which way because he couldn't decide on a place to start exploring. "I-I only have one. So."

"One should be enough. Unless you wanted to go three rounds or something."

He winked at the idea, somehow keeping his tone light even though his entire body felt like it was burning for more. Should he have stopped things where they were at? Jack just knew he didn't want to fuck Brayden on the floor of his living room. He was tipsy, not full on drunk. But Brayden... Brayden could barely stand straight, let alone walk in a steady line.

In the back of his mind, Jack had a fear of regretting this moment. Worse still, he worried that Brayden would regret it.

But he didn't--he couldn't sit still and think too hard about it. Brayden was ready. Jack was ready. There was nothing skeezy going on, not that he knew of. Although he did have his suspicions about the origins of the wine. Somebody out there definitely gave it to him. Brayden wouldn't know a good wine if it hit him in the head. Or would he? Was it a leftover from his past relationship? Jack didn't want to know, he decided.

"One's enough," Jack reiterated, reaching up to pull Brayden's shirt off. It had already been half falling off before Brayden tried to fix it. But it needed to go. Jack let it fall somewhere beside the bed, gently kicking it aside as he lowered his gaze. His hands moved to the front of Brayden's pants, opening then, sliding them down, then gently climbing over Brayden, tipping him back onto the bed as he did so.

"Where is it?" he whispered, his naughty hands already on Brayden, already continuing where they'd left off in the living room. Brayden was warm, when his hands connected with skin--a whole different sensation than touching him over his underwear. And his hands, they knew what they were doing when it came to touching a man.

"And please tell me you have lube." He arched a brow at Brayden. Because Jack hadn't come here prepared for any fucking, he didn't have any on him. If he'd been coming back from the club, luck would have been on Brayden's side. But he wasn't. He came here straight from his apartment, expecting nothing but card games, silly overtures of junior high style flirting, and popcorn. Not... this. Definitely not this.

"Three?" Oh no, one condom definitely wasn't enough for three rounds unless they wanted to reuse it and—ugh. It didn't take a sober man to know that that was a disgusting idea. Bray shook his head and Jack went out of focus for a moment. Then three of him appeared, rotating around and around one another, before merging into one. One Jack who had magically removed his clothes and pushed him onto the bed.

"It's—ah—in the-the..." Bray panted, not used to so much stimulus. He pointed to the worn bedside table. "Top drawer."

One single condom in there, unused for... a long time. A long, long time. Bray didn't even want to think of how long it had been since he had anyone in this bed. He didn't even have a pet to cuddle up with—the apartment rules forbade pets, even ones in cages. The only thing he took to bed was himself and... in recent days, that little chocolate Jack gave to him, now sitting innocently back on the windowsill.

As for lube? "Uh." Bray finally snapped out of it long enough to give thought to lube. "Mmmaybe," he slurred, turning his gaze to the drawer. There might be half a little thing of lube in there—again, from a long time ago. Back when he was dating Wyatt, there was lube and condoms in there but to be honest, they weren't intimate that often either. Wyatt, he... had other people for that. Bray knew it and silently swallowed his hurt, letting Wyatt do what he wanted out of desperation not to lose him.

Don't think.

Feeling the pain welling up again, he grabbed on to Jack's face with both of his hands and kissed him—suddenly, hard, desperately. His hands clawed at clothing, removing the last of them. No more Wyatt. Jack was here now. Jack wouldn't hurt him. Ever. Bray didn't know how he knew that, but he knew. Jack wasn't anything like Wyatt. Bray's leg hooked over Jack's waist as the kisses melted into something a little softer, as the edge of his panic became nothing more than a blunt, vague memory. When he opened his eyes, he saw nothing but love—his love for Jack, Jack's affection for him.

"Oh Jack," he murmured, reaching down, sliding a hand between their heated bodies. Bray touched velvet heat and stroked it slowly, memorizing its weight and the shape of him, the way he felt, hot and ready against his palm. He licked his lips—nervous, excited, anticipatory. "I need you, Jack." Condom or not, lube or no lube, Bray was more than willing to have Jack any way he could.

Three was just an arbitrary number Jack threw out there. He didn't actually expect Brayden to go with it. It was amusing to watch him think about it, though, as if he thought Jack was serious. Did Brayden even have that kind of stamina? Jack only did if he was super high and that... that wasn't happening anymore. He'd given that shit up. Alcohol didn't always help the libido, either.

But a little bit didn't hurt. It certainly woke Brayden up. (Never mind the slurring speech and the uncoordinated way he moved.)

"When's the last time you had sex?" Jack asked in equal tones of exasperation and astonishment. A man--most men, in his opinion and his experience--didn't go without sex for very long. Even that whole blue ball month challenge--what did they call it again? It was a challenge because men didn't like going a full month without being, well. Fucked. Or fucking something. (Some men would have staunchly refused to say they liked being fucked but oh well. Their loss.)

Jack was about to search the drawer that Brayden's drunken gaze turned to but found himself suddenly grabbed. Not by the cock or balls. By the face. Both hands, even. Jack blinked at the sudden ferocity in the kiss. Desperation? Whatever it was, he liked it. A soft and muffled laugh escaped his throat as they kissed. There was that leg again, as if Brayden was worried Jack was going to leave him high and dry.

"Brayden--" he started but there were more kisses. Soft kisses. A hand between them. "Oh..." Jack groaned and closed his eyes, smiling as Brayden felt him up, with an inexpert touch but a curious one. Careful. Almost like he was trying to methodically memorize everything about the feel of Jack, from size to length to weight. Jack bit his lower lip. And here all he'd done was fondle Brayden in his excitement.

Parting Brayden's legs with a hand at his thigh, he took him in with darkened hazel eyes. Desire was evident in the light of his eyes and he felt his breath catching as he beheld Brayden. Gently, he slid his hand over Brayden's chest, leaning in. As he kissed him, he pressed him back against the bed.

"I don't want to hurt you."

The last time he had sex... If Jack wanted a day or month, Bray couldn't say. But he could name the year—that was how long of a drought that he was going through at the moment. Casual encounters weren't for Bray. He couldn't see himself sleeping with just anyone, just to satiate a physical urge. When things got desperate, Bray took things into his own hand (ahem).

Or he wrote admittedly shameful smut that never saw the light of day.

It was a geeky thing to do, it was an embarrassing thing to do but it gave him an outlet for those certain urges. He didn't feel completely satisfied but it was good enough. Arguably Bray never had a rampant libido and intimacy and romance went hand-in-hand for him. So the dry spell continued until tonight, and maybe he could be forgiven for being a touch... eager.

"A little over... three years," he mumbled, finding the fact that Jack mentioned going three times amusing in his drunken state. Three was the magic number! He laughed and a part of him was dying at the admission, but most of him was just... far gone. So gone.

And things kept happening. Bray had a hard time keeping up with Jack on a normal day but right now with his mental faculties... diminished, he was completely left behind. There were the kisses, his own rising panic, Jack... That little noise that shot straight to Bray's groin and banished any doubts he might have had. Jack's smile, his pleased smile when Bray touched him. Oh Jack, Jack... just Jack. He was achingly beautiful, still glorious in his imperfection and despite the deep-seated pain that drove him to vice, and it made Bray's heart throb unbearably to think that they had come so far.

But there were also Jack's cautious hands and worried eyes; there was desire there too, and his kisses lit Bray on fire. He tried resisting against the hand at his chest. "Hurt me?" Bray laughed again softly. "No... no no Jack no. Hurt... no. Pain is... is a part of life. I'm used to it. I can—I can handle it. It's not gonna be forever. Pain in the ass is... fleeting." His hand flew through the air. Fleeting.

That was philosophical on some drunk level, he thought. Anyway a sore ass was worth this. Jack was worth any amount of pain.

"Three years, Brayden?" Jack could scarcely believe what he was hearing. "Three fucking years? Well," he said with a slight change of expression, "not three fucking years. Three non-fucking years."

How did a man last so long without going insane? How was Brayden so nice? He should have been the grouchiest asshole on the planet. Lack of sex certainly made Jack irritable. Sex was his favorite way to feel good. It was free and it was a kind of affection and most drugs just couldn't produce that same feeling a really good orgasm did. So how? How was Brayden not snapping people's heads off and chain smoking?

Brayden also seemed resistant to the idea of being laid down onto his back on his own bed, resisting Jack's gentle push and staying put. Did he not want this now? Was he changing his mind? Fuck. Was he... did he... Was he too drunk after all? And sobering up was getting into his head?

"Shh shh shh..." Jack stroked Brayden's cheek. "Don't. Don't say that pain is a part of life."

There was an unexpected edge to his voice when he said it; but he didn't want to hear those words coming from Brayden. Life is pain, Jack. Learn to live with it. Those were the words of a woman too thin, with haggard hazel eyes and a permanently downturned mouth. Sitting on the porch in her drab sweats and a t-shirt three sizes too big, shouting insults at laughing teenagers. They weren't the words of a man like Brayden.

Three years. It would hurt. Jack wanted to promise it wouldn't hurt but it would. Brayden hadn't flexed those muscles in a long time. It took time, experience, and lube for it to feel really good. Slowly, he stroked Brayden, caressed his cock as lovingly as he caressed his face.

"You're drunk," Jack said, a tinge of sadness in his tone. "And horny. So you think you don't care if it hurts but believe me, you'll care." He lifted his head, imperious as ever. "But fret not, Brayden Smith." His smile was mischievous as he glanced downward, then leaned in to deliver another kiss, a deep kiss, one that ended with a flourish of tongue. His voice was low and soft as he thumbed the head of Brayden's increasingly agitated cock.

"I have other... talents." He smiled as he licked his lips for emphasis. His hand slid back up over Brayden's chest, again gently pushing at him. "Now lay back or you're going to regret it."

After three years of seeing no action, Bray was going to either be a serial killer or he was going to overcome that trial, learn to live with it and get on with his life. Thankfully perhaps for everyone else in his life, the latter occurred—and not the former. He was too mild-mannered, anyway, to flip his lid and start knifing people at random.

Jack's astonishment was only met with drunk resignation. Yeah, three non-fucking years. Right on the dot. Bray wasn't interested in the usual embarrassed, ashamed feelings that came with a topic like this, though. He felt good and his armor of red wine protected him from judgment!

"Sorry. Sorry." Don't say that? Yes sir! Bray was in no fit state to question it. Pain was irrelevant. Jack was everything. He sighed as he laid back at Jack's insistence, laughing at his sudden Kingly tone. Mmm... kiss... Bray chased after him but he was gone again, taking his magical lips with him. "Hm. Other talents?" Like... getting painkillers for people? That was a skill. Walking unhampered? Definite skill. Bray nodded obediently and let his head rest on the pillow—the one with the old, faded pillowcase he couldn't bear to throw away because it reminded him of his mom.

There was so much in the apartment that was old, worn, faded, aged. Sentimentality was one thing but Bray held on far too tightly to things that it probably wasn't all that healthy. And he knew it. He knew his apartment, while cozy and homey, could do with a bit of an update. Strange, how content he was with what he had—until Jack showed up. After Jack showed up it wasn't so hard to throw away a chipped glass or a ruined cushion anymore, or to see things for what they were—just things.

Bray mused on that as he watched Jack, seeing him through a fine haze of overwhelming affection. His eyes were soft, his expression thoughtful. (His boner, though... raging. Three years.) Jack fixed him, didn't he? Took away his need to hang on deathly tight to material possessions, cleared that blockage in his heart and allowed him to live and feel like a normal person again. Jack really did save him, and Bray was too drunk and not eloquent enough to express that.

"You—you make miracles happen." There was wonder and marvel in his tone as he ran a hand absently up Jack's thigh, liking the way it felt warm and firm. "Let's go 'n buy new furniture. Later." Obviously later—right now they were doing something even more important: fixing Bray's blue balls.

"Yes." Other talents. There were several ways to get off with another man that had nothing to do with fucking him in the back door. Not that he didn't want to; he did. But there was time enough for that. There was time for that, was there not? Jack didn't see anything barring the way for them to be... together. He could take his time, make it feel good. But after three years, nobody could have that kind of patience. So... and hence? Other talents.

Slowly, he lowered his head. There was an art to this, an art to pleasure, an art to being with somebody in a sensual, affectionate, dare he say it--loving?--manner. There was a nuance to it that wasn't simply sexually charged. And so his lips traversed over the soft, warm expanse of skin laid bare before him, in no particular rush. But he could feel it. The electricity in the air. Attraction. Mutual attraction. Need and desire. Desperation, especially from Brayden.

"Honey, I have no idea what you're talking about." Furniture? What did that have to do with miracle working?

Jack teased a little. A flick of a tongue over a nipple, an agonizingly slow stroke of the hand down his hip and inward. Brayden felt more than ready in his hand. A trail of heated kisses and gentle nips, soft flicks of the tongue, and he was there, nuzzling the warm weight that nestled between Brayden's legs. He kissed the tip as reverently as he had kissed Brayden's temple before, another kiss, another. And then lips glided over him, tongue slid down his shaft, and his hands, his hands were occupied. One at Brayden's hip. The other... holding onto Brayden's hand with his fingers intertwined. An innocent gesture and a sultry gesture. Somehow... it just seemed... appropriate.

Normally, Jack wasn't the one doing this part. Most of the time, other people were the ones going down on him. But Jack still knew. Still had... the talent for it. He knew what he was doing; the best part of being a man who loved men was the fact that he knew what a man wanted. Where they wanted to be touched. How hard. There were exceptions to every rule but... in general, he knew what felt good. When not to go too far. Brayden was new territory; he didn't know how far was too far for a man who had been celibate for years. Anything would probably have been good enough for him. Even a sad hand job might have been enough.

But Jack didn't want to go in half hearted--and he didn't. He parted Brayden's legs and he fucked him--with his mouth. Took him in as deep as he could go. His tongue was relentless, tasting every part of him, delighting when he felt Brayden becoming harder with every bob of the head, every swirl of the tongue. Becoming wet for him. He could taste that, too, running his tongue over his weeping slit, tasting it in the back of his throat when he slid Brayden's cock deep inside.

He stopped only for a moment to breathe, swallowing his taste, licking his lips. Glancing up at Brayden, he held onto his inner thigh, stroking, massaging, kissing the warm hollow between. Fuck, he could hardly breathe, couldn't take in a single breath without tasting him, smelling him.

"Brayden," he whispered like a gentle prayer to some god he never thought existed. Another kiss, a nip to the thigh. And then his lips were around Brayden again, fucking him with his mouth in earnest while his hand slipped down between those parted legs, to massage him elsewhere, to get him ready for some eventuality that he could really only dream of. But he could feel it. The heat. The receptiveness. How ready Brayden really was. Maybe he wouldn't have cared if Jack just fucked him. Maybe there was some type of muscle memory that opened him up to that kind of touch. Maybe he touched himself that way. Jack didn't know but he knew this: Brayden was opening up to him. His legs, his body, his heart. Even as his mouth worked so-called miracles, his fingertips were finding new ones to spark. If he could have his way, he would explore every inch of Brayden in one night, memorize every single part of him, inside and out. Body and soul.

"Hmm..." His smile was whimsical as he followed Jack's descent with mild bemusement. It hadn't clicked into place yet, what Jack was about to do. Bray's drunk mind went to one place and one place only and at any rate, he had never been adventurous in his love life. Or, rather, he'd never had partners willing to show him the way. Bray himself was open to experimentation, once coaxed into it, and if his partner was so interested.

Sex as Bray knew it was an emotional connection. He didn't know how his partners treated it, knew to some extent that for a number of them he was the vehicle to them getting off in a pinch, but it didn't stop him from being a dreamer. A believer. He had to believe that there was more to sex than a man with his cock up another man's ass, thrusting away. There had to be more than that. If someone was willing to let another man enter him—inside him, into the most intimate part of him—then how could it just be biological? How could anyone not open their hearts, entrust their partners? That was an intimate connection all of its own class.

That was probably why sex created so many problems for people. Why people claimed that there was no such thing as no-strings-attached sex. For Bray, every time was its own experience, something to be treasured. He took something different away from each encounter and that was just how he was: sentimental, emotional. Needy, one of his exes said, but he didn't know how not to be... himself.

Tonight, he needed this. He needed Jack to be kind, to be gentle and loving and patient with him. He was vulnerable, more so because he was so drunk that he didn't know up from down or left from right. And Jack was all of that and more. Bray trusted him implicitly. He squeezed Jack's fingers as a hand slid into his and he smiled again, finally getting it. Jack was going to—ah...

In his entire life, Bray hadn't had many people willing to go down on him. Most men enjoyed having it done to them, though. Bray did too. His head fell back heavily against the pillow, then lifted so that he could watch Jack. Ah. The sight of him slipping low, finally settling down between his legs... Bray didn't know what kinds of sounds he made but he was sure they were embarrassingly wanton and needy. The breath left him all in one huge burst and after that he never caught it back. He kept gasping, lungs burning, and the hand that didn't clutch Jack's tightly was wrapped around a fistful of sheets, tugging on it as his body tensed, shuddered, tensed again.

There was no doubt that Jack was good. His mouth, his tongue, they were godly. But it was the hand in his that Bray remembered, that kept standing out. It was the way Jack looked at him whenever their gazes matched, the look on his face—not long-suffering, not merely doing this to get it over with and get Bray off. He... What he did, it was out of love. It was that emotional connection that Bray had been searching for, the knowledge that someone was with him because they saw into his imperfect heart and still thought he was worth sticking around for.

It felt like an angel had wrapped its wings around his body when he finally came, with an arch of the back, a toss of the head, a shivering cry of release and relief. His heels dug hard into the mattress and briefly his thighs clenched and tensed around Jack, then fell away abruptly. Bray melted into the bed in a puddle, completely boneless and spent. Three years of solitude undone in one night? If that wasn't a miracle, he didn't know what was.

Slowly, with his eyes still closed, he reached down and touched an ear, some soft hair, maybe an eye. He didn't poke Jack or anything, his fingertips merely ghosted over his face, exploring the topography of his face in the darkness behind his closed eyelids. "Jack?" Bray opened his eyes and smiled. He felt so full, despite being so spent. His heart was full and his eyes, for some reason, were also full of warmth and wetness. Oh, it was the wine, wasn't it? It had to be the wine.

Jack Ripley was a man of many talents. Many of those talents were understated. He had a naturally nice head of hair but he knew how to manipulate it to look nicely coiffed. The universe blessed with him a tall, slim body that was nice to look at and he'd been told on many an occasion that he had a nice ass. (Thank you.) His eyes were a nice, soft hazel color--probably the best gift his mother ever gave him.

Nature and the universe had come together to make something of him, and he used what he had to fine effect. He wore clothing that suited him, from color to cut to fabric. He chose a rather bored and regal affectation to his expressions to impress upon the world that he was there for himself, not for anybody else. That nobody should dare he think he dressed to kill for anybody or anything beyond what he preferred, what he liked, what he found to his own taste.

That talent was a mixture of his birthright and his upbringing. Nobody would ever have guessed he lived his life in squalor as a child because he didn't want them to. There would never be cause for a person to ever even have a passing thought of it. Jack Ripley wanted people to see him, to notice him, to drink him in, to adore him, to emulate him, but to never be him. Because he was Jack Ripley. Nobody could be Jack... except Jack.

But Jack also had other talents. One of his talents rather bothered him for portions of his life. Jack was an observer of people. And innately, he could easily place himself into the shoes of another person, he just didn't like that he could. It gave him a conscience. And unlike so much documentation about people like him, Jack had a strong sense of empathy. For without it, he could never learn to feel so much as he did when he was young and strove for acceptance. He wasn't just echoing the motions of others. He did feel them. He felt his feelings and he felt theirs. He did his best with what he had. He left the plates of food for the mother who never fed him. He silently brought the beer to the man that shoved him face first into his bed and hurt him.

He could cook. Clean. Sew. He could read and write, quite eloquently. He had a million concoctions for hangovers. He knew how to insert a needle into his arm, how to snort coke, and how to fuck a man until he couldn't see straight. He could dance. He could sing. He could kiss and cuddle. He had whole passages of books on philosophy memorized, could recite certain poems from heart, and knew how to diagnose a schizophrenic or a sociopath.

Jack Ripley truly was a man of many talents.

And he was happy--ecstatic even--that one of those talents made somebody feel like he was their miracle. Jack liked it better than monster. He could abide by that title. But monster... made him feel black and dark inside, opening that hollow emptiness. Miracle, though. Miracle made him feel bright as a star. Bright and shiny and new. Like things could be Good. And they could be Kind. And that maybe--just maybe--magic and love and real, true happiness--were things that existed. That stars were entities and not hunks of rock hurtling through space.

Jack was not spent but he was more than happy. Happier than he thought could be possible, for having blown a guy until he got off and leaving his own body wanting. Jack could sometimes be a selfish lover and he knew that. But he certainly hadn't been selfish tonight.

For a long moment, he stayed where he was, with the taste of Brayden still fresh in his mouth, coating his throat, filling him inside like an emotion that could not be captured nor defined. Something sad but sweet, something bigger than him. He stayed in that place, that emotion, let it wash over him, let himself feel it, rather than blocking it out. And his eyes closed. His head dropped back, his lips parted on a sigh.

He could feel Brayden's hands, seeking him out, reaching for him. He could hear him, too. Even in his memory, the sounds that he made, the way his body moved. It was all there, stamped into his memory. Burned there. Branded and tattooed.

And then he opened his eyes and he breathed in. He slid up, curling his body against Brayden's. For once, content just to be in the presence of another person. To just. Be. And then he noticed the tears and his heart thumped in his ears and his throat. He reached for him, turning Brayden's face to him in both hands, thumbs attempting to make amends, to ameliorate any pain he'd inadvertently caused. Which was odd to him because Brayden was smiling and he had the smile of a heartbreaker, if he only just knew it.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, genuinely alarmed. Had he disassociated in the moment?

Two hearts forever, a spark and a flame, that was how they felt in the moment. That was why Bray had tears in his eyes but a serene smile on his face. Everything in his life was finally coming back into focus and the colors, they were all back, brighter and more vivid than ever. He felt alive again. Truly, breathtakingly alive, not because Jack gave him a blow job after three years of virtual celibacy, but because he took the time and the effort and the care and attention to do it. And because they had finally done what Bray couldn't ask for while sober, which was to be together.

"No, no, you didn't hurt me," he said as his face was turned to Jack, blinking when thumbs swept under his eyes. Bray laughed, sniffled, clung to Jack as though he couldn't ever bear to let go. "I'm just. Drunk." Drunk on that sweet, dark red wine, drunk on the high of orgasm, drunk on the feel of Jack's body curled up against his and the heat of his hands on Bray's face.

Drunk on love, something he had all but given up on. Love didn't give up on him, apparently. It was only biding its time, waiting for Jack to come along before shooting its arrow straight to the core of Bray's heart.

"I'm really drunk, Jack," whispered Bray as though it was their dirty little secret. He hadn't been drunk since... oh, maybe freshman year, and even then it was an accident. He didn't know the punch was spiked and he woke up very sore in the nether regions. Bray never told anyone about that, though; he buried it away, ashamed that he had lost something he considered precious in such a crude and loveless way. But that and this, the two were night and day. Bray didn't even know his assailant from back then; he sure as hell would always remember Jack.

Turning fully into Jack, he slid a leg overtop of his lazily. Bray felt floaty and amazing. He nuzzled against Jack and his questing lips sought out Jack's lips, kissed him at first chastely, then... less so. Bray's hand had a mind of its own, too, wandering across his side, up his back, over the jut of a shoulder blade and then alllll the way down past the small of his back. "I think I got..." He paused for another kiss, languorous and unhurried. "I got the brightest star. And I dunno how. I dunno how that happened." Bray's laugh was still silly, tipsy. "I love stars, Jack. I love 'em."

"...and being drunk... makes you cry?"

Now that Jack was looking him in those eyes, he didn't think it was just being drunk. But he didn't think they were pained tears, either, as he first feared. Brayden was... happy? Overwhelmed, maybe. Jack could feel it; he felt the same way. Maybe that explained the warmth behind his eyes and the tightness in his throat. Overwhelmed with happiness. Disbelief, maybe, that he could even feel something so so so strongly that it swept him under and away, and all he could do was let it wash him clean. Pure. Whilst he curled up beside his lover like a youngling for comfort.

"I know you are," he whispered back, his gaze still searching Brayden's gaze. He was very drunk. It affected the moment. The mood. Jack didn't even know if Brayden would recall any of this or if it would be awash in a haze of red wine and the afterglow of a long overdue orgasm.

He was glad, though. That he controlled himself. That he decided against fucking Brayden into the mattress. That he didn't cause him any harm. Patience was hardly his strong suit, he would say. But he could be. And he would be.

In the moment, he appreciate the hands that roved and wandered and the lips that sought his. And he reveled in the kisses, from the chaste to the sultry. Nuzzles, he found, were the best. His arm wound round Brayden, holding him closer. His eyes fluttered close for a kiss. Half opened as Brayden spoke in hushed tones about stars. Brayden really did love his stars.

"You should've been an astrologer. Or astronomer. An astronaut. Something with an astro in it." He touched Brayden's chin, tipping it down so he could kiss him again. "And I--" he declared. "Would be the lonely star nobody else discovered. Everybody thought it was a black hole. Even... the black hole."

"You're very long," was Bray's completely serious nonsensical response to Jack's question, as he found that his arms only reached down so far and he couldn't get to the rest of Jack. Being drunk didn't make him cry but being emotionally satiated in a way that he had never experienced, that might do it. If he thought he had been in love before, he was wrong. He had never felt anything remotely close to the way he felt for Jack—drunk or sober, but especially sober. Being drunk only helped him to be more expressive, albeit clumsily; it didn't fundamentally alter the basis of his feelings.

He did love stars. He loved them when he was small and when he believed earnestly that he had a lucky star. He turned to them for comfort when he was left alone at night with a cold spot in the bed beside him, while his lover was out enjoying himself at parties and at clubs. He sat under the stars wrapped up in a blanket, trying to count them all, whenever he felt down or blue. No one could stay sad when so many bright eyes were winking down at them.

Jack was his brightest star, though. The way he made Bray feel outshone any of the other stars, comforting though they were. They couldn't hold a candle to Jack. He knew there was something special about Jack when he first saw him but he didn't know just how special, how much Jack would come to mean to him. Bray always did feel that he was put here on Earth—in Hazleton—for someone. To live for someone, to love someone—to live for and love Jack.

"Astro-nut," Bray laughed stupidly, and thankfully it was cut off by another soft kiss. Humming quietly in the back of his throat, he nuzzled Jack after the kiss naturally ended and stroked a hand over his dark hair. So pretty, his hair. Or—not pretty. Stylish. Not a hair out of place, perfectly coiffed. "You're not a black hole. Those things... they pull everything in and... then... there's nothing. You, Jack. You. You make miracles so you're. A star. And I love stars. I love stars."

The tip of Bray's nose nuzzled the tip of Jack's. Up close, he only saw a blur, but the beautiful clear hazel color of Jack's eyes wasn't blurry. Bray smiled foolishly. "That means. You know what that means right?"

Pft, what? Did Brayden just call him long? What was he supposed to do with that? Was it a compliment or some kind of comment on his height? Jack had never been hung up on his height so he was going to consider that a compliment. (As he did with anything questionable, lean toward the favorable outcome, always.)

"Mhm." He was very long. Did Brayden have anything else to enlighten Jack with? He waited but no, he was making stupid jokes and laughing at himself. Jack laughed too because he wasn't completely unaffected by the wine--or the sound of Brayden's laughter. Forget Jack's blow jobs; Brayden's laugh was the real miracle. It could cure anything. Anything.

Jack smiled in pure contentment. His kisses too, were a panacea.

"I get it, B. You LOVE stars." And he was a black hole but he wasn't. What Brayden described sounded like him though, as a black hole. Something attractive but dark, destroying everything that came into its orbit. His smile slowly vanished at the thought and he lowered his gaze. But Brayden didn't think he was a black hole and maybe black holes could become stars again. (They could.)

"Hm. What does that mean?" He spoke the words before he really let the words sink in. Alcohol, being a depressant, he was just going to blame his slow thought on that. Or maybe he just didn't expect it. So soon. So fast. But... not unwelcome. Jack immediately sat up, so fast that the world spun for a few seconds. Then he dropped down to prop himself up on his elbow. He placed a finger to Brayden's lips.

"Shh. Don't say it if you don't mean it."

Time, time, time. What was time? Time was fluid. It was a hassle and a hindrance. It was painful, stretching on and on forever, and it was a curse, fleeting during the best and most exciting moments. Time wasn't a prerequisite for love. Bray--conservative, reserved Brayden--wasn't hung up so much on the length of time that it took to fall in love with someone. Love was the one thing that time didn't apply to.

Because he knew different kinds of love--parental love, the love of a childhood friend, unrequited love and pure, sweet love born from pain--he knew that time in the context of love was irrelevant. He could be in love with Jack after a week, a month of knowing him. All that mattered was that he did love him. His heart was clear on that point and Bray was uncomplicated that way. He had no ulterior motives, no selfish reasons for doing anything; his love was pure and straightforward. Real. It was real.

It felt real. Very real. And he had to tell Jack that before the courage drained out of his veins! Once the words were out, they could never be taken back and that... that was a good thing. He couldn't back-track if he said it now. But Jack, he seemed... shocked? Bray let out a low grunt as Jack sat up so suddenly that he got shoved over. "Wha?" He stared up at Jack staring down at him.

The bed bounced. Jack was back and Bray immediately latched on. "Mm..." Hard to talk with a finger at his lips. He pulled the hand down. "I don't say stuff... to SAY stuff." Bray sighed and put the hand back, mumbling against it, "I'll... tell you again when I'm not tipsy. I'll tell you."

A drunk man said a lot of things he didn't mean later. A drunk man post orgasm was even more likely to say things he didn't mean. Things like I love you. Love was a word that was abused and thrown around. Jack didn't even know what to feel about it sometimes, starving for it, longing for it, needing it like any human being, like a flower stretching to the sun.

Jack wanted to hear it. He really, really wanted to hear it. But he only wanted to hear it if Brayden actually meant it. Not the wine, not the sex talking. Just... Brayden. Nothing else influencing him.

He remained as he was, propped up while Brayden clung onto him and mumbled words against his finger. Jack thought again about stars and Brayden's obsession with them. He thought about how black holes were just stars that collapsed in on themselves but there were theories that they could reform back into a star. Maybe that was where Jack was now. Reborn into a new star form, no longer doomed to suck people into his orbit and... remove them from this life.

"If you remember," he said sadly, "you can tell me as many times as you want."

Brayden said it himself, though. He was so drunk. So, so drunk. Jack slid his arm down across the bed, stretching it out in front of him so he could rest his head against his own upper arm. And he looked at Brayden, watching him, studying his expression. He moved his finger from Brayden's lips, wrapped his arm around Brayden and drew him in close again. His chin gently rested against the top of Brayden's head.

"But I love you too."

Jack sounded so sad. It was a joyous occasion but he was sad and even Bray's drunk brain registered that. Softly he kissed Jack, right at the hollow of his throat, having found himself drawn in close. "Don't be sad," he whispered against the warm, soft, vulnerable spot. Bray's arm slipped around Jack too and his closed his eyes. That silly wet heat was back when he opened them and he didn't know why, couldn't control his own emotions in that moment.

It was a joyous occasion.

"Please don't be sad, Jack," he murmured as his eyes closed again and as he nuzzled against Jack and snuggled against him. Wa1rm, satiated, cocooned in warmth and love and finally with Jack in his bed, he felt good. The heat behind his eyes went away. The knot in his throat smoothed out. His heart beat returned to normal and his breathing evened out. Bray had a lot more to say, things his sober mouth filtered out, but he couldn't help himself. The alcohol, the—ah—physical exertions, the sheer relief of knowing that Jack felt the same way, all of it soothed him and lured him into the land of dreams.

That night, Bray didn't dream and he didn't enter anyone else's dream, either. It was unusual but the alcohol dampened some of his powers and he was able to sleep easy through the night. In the morning, something buzzing and tinkling woke him. He opened his eyes to pain. "Ohh..." His mouth was bone-dry, too, and his head was splitting apart. Bray clumsily pushed away from the warmth surrounding him, felt a—chest?

"Jack?" He froze. That was Jack. Jack naked Jack. Under the covers he felt Jack's body pressed intimately to his own. His own naked body. Bray collapsed back onto his pillow in a state of shock, trying to remember what happened the night before, but all he recalled between the jackhammers pounding away inside his skull was... something about astronauts and long people.

(Awww Jack. <3 Cutie)

"Am I...?" he asked into the ether. Was he sad? He was sad. Why was he sad? It didn't make much sense to be so sad when he should have been filled with elation. Don't think. No time to think. He closed his eyes and did his best not to. Hard not to reach for something that would make the thoughts more bearable but he didn't. Eventually, the thoughts silenced themselves and he fell into a restless sleep.

He dreamed.

He nightmared. The word wasn't a verb but it should have been.

Somebody he thought he loved. The first time he uttered the words. A beautiful boy with a beautiful smile and the achingly sweet naivety of somebody who hadn't yet been touched by the darkness of the world. Jack thought he loved him. He loved him so much that it hurt sometimes just to look at him. But he didn't know what it was, really. Love was an illusion that he kept chasing after, like those shooting stars as a kid.

His entire body jerked back into the real world when he heard his name. Heart racing, he opened his eyes to a bedroom. A clean bedroom, if made up of threadbare furniture. Stiffly, he raised his hands up to see that they were clean, too. That the person speaking to him was not who he thought it was.

Plop. Brayden dropped down against the pillow beside him. Jack blinked away sleep and turned his head toward him. The expression on Brayden's expression did not bode well. Slowly, Jack placed the back of his fingers against Brayden's cheek.

"Don't."

He—oh, his head... He wanted to remember but he couldn't and that was actually frightening. That was incredibly frightening. Bray didn't know what sort of expression he had in that moment—terrified, shocked, in disbelief—but he couldn't control his feelings. The last time he woke up with a gap in his memory, it wasn't a good time. It was a long time ago, but that didn't mean the incident didn't stay with him, didn't shape the way he viewed alcohol.

The wine. Marge's wine. And—

A hand at his cheek stopped his spiralling thoughts in their tracks. Bray's eyes turned to Jack, a little unfocused. Jack. He opened his mouth to say something but stopped as a wave of emotion suddenly overwhelmed him. That was right. Jack... it was Jack laying with him, not a stranger. Not someone with bad intentions, someone out to hurt him.

"Jack." Bray reached up a shaky hand to grasp onto his wrist, gulping, calming himself through sheer force of will alone. Don't. Think. He breathed out. Breathed in deep, held it for five, slowly let it out. "Jack," he said again, almost marvelling at the name, the word, the man. "I-oh. We. Did we..."

Game night? Cards. Some type of clumsy amateurish flirting happened, he remembered that and his face warmed. Oh dear. "Date night?" It was asked tentatively, as though he wanted to know how much Jack remembered.

They were so naked that Jack didn't feel like it was even worth saying that yes, something happened between them. Now more than ever, Jack was relieved that he didn't just follow his body's instincts to fuck. Brayden wasn't harmed in any way, there wouldn't be any regrets on either side. And Brayden... Brayden didn't seem to have a grasp on his memories, which... Jack didn't know how to feel about that. Not good, though. Definitely not good.

"Yes."

He spoke before he gave it thought. But there it was. The game night that became an impromptu date night. Not that it was really much of a date. They drank a little, kissed a lot, and ended up landing in bed together. In general, date nights started out more date-like in Jack's world but they skipped right over the part where they went out somewhere. A club, a restaurant, a bar, whatever.

And he couldn't tell what Brayden thought about it. His expression was so awful that Jack couldn't help feeling guilty for his part in all this. And yet, he hadn't done anything--for once! The wine had never been his idea and he wasn't the one who proposed the idea of date night. Brayden did that on his own. And the wine, he had his suspicions about the wine.

Jack sat up and looked down at Brayden. He didn't remove his wrist from Brayden's hold, since it seemed to offer Brayden some modicum of... He didn't know. Comfort? Reality? Grounding? God, his head hurt too much for thinking.

"...you okay?" he finally asked because he wasn't a mind reader and he honestly couldn't tell where he stood on all this shaky ground.

Bray was too hungover to feel awkward but at some point he was sure it would hit him. How naked they were, how tightly they were wrapped up in each other's arms when he woke up. It felt like every part of him was enveloped in warmth—scent, touch, sight, everything was Jack in those few brief seconds after he opened his eyes. It felt like they had merged to become one entity.

Right now, though, he was shaking off that horrible flashback and he was dazed and confused. Bray didn't even realize he was holding Jack's wrist still. He looked up at Jack through the haze of pain and he couldn't make out much from Jack's expression either. Slowly, Bray sat up too—but he didn't let go of Jack. "No. Yeah." He shook his head and instantly regretted it.

"I'm fine." He rubbed his face with his free hand, then realized the other one was latched on to Jack and let go. "Sorry. I..." That was where the tracks ran out; his thoughts ended abruptly there. He. He didn't know what to say now, if he should confess that he didn't remember anything. Damnit! Why did he drink the wine? Why did he think it was a good idea?

At the time he wanted to loosen up a little and he didn't think the wine would be so strong! And of course Bray had no idea of his own limits, since he didn't drink. Blinking slowly, he looked at the window where a thin sliver of light was peeking through the drawn blinds. Morning. Bray's head turned back to Jack. "Are you? Okay?"

Jack looked a little pale, too, and tired, like maybe he didn't get much sleep. Nightmares. Bray couldn't forget the one time he walked through Jack's nightmare and saw... what he saw. He swallowed again—hard. During the night he didn't feel anything but... then he remembered promising to wake Jack whenever he had bad dreams. It was one time and they didn't really sleep together again, but...

"Did you have another nightmare?" Bray was pulled in so many directions. Almost distractedly he reached up to pass a hand over Jack's brow, easing back some of his thick dark hair, feeling his temperature—for whatever reason.

"A little hungover," he said. "Nothing a gallon of water won't take care of."

With a mouth as dry as his currently was, a gallon of water sounded like pure heaven right now. He glanced at the side table but there was no glass of water sitting helpfully nearby. Not that any such thing would have awaited him back home, either. He would have had to make the trek to the kitchen for the water and practically drown himself in it before he took a long shower and started feeling human again.

Wine, such a cruel mistress. Easy to get down, awful the next morning. It looked like the wine had really done a number on Brayden, though, despite Jack having definitely drunk more of it than him. And yet Brayden was reaching out for him, touching him like a mother might touch their child to make sure they weren't ill. Jack was pretty certain he wasn't suffering from any fever, though.

Still, he briefly closed his eyes at the touch, deriving comfort from it.

How did he guess? About the nightmare? Jack sighed as he opened his eyes and edged his gaze away. Why couldn't he just erase the memories of the past, to no longer hold them so heavily on his soul? They were tumors, growing with time, rather than disappearing. Just because he didn't look at them in the face, in the light of day didn't mean that his subconscious wasn't continually wrestling with what he'd done.

Jack swallowed hard. Looked back at Brayden. No point in lying about it. By now, Brayden had to have guessed that his hunch was correct.

"Who knew they would follow me all the way to your place?" he quipped, trying to bring levity to the situation. He cupped Brayden's cheek. Again, he started to speak but thought better of it and only smiled at Brayden before dropping his hand.

Ah—Jack drank the wine too. There was an odd sense of comfort in that, shockingly. He didn't want Jack to be hungover either but misery did love company. They could be hungover together; thank god it was still the weekend, too, and they didn't have to drag their tired corpses in to work. Bray would just die if he had to do any paperwork in the state he was currently in!

Jack's forehead didn't feel burning hot and Bray was about to drop his hand when Jack closed his eyes. His expression in that moment stayed Bray's hand. It was almost impossible not to feel a surge of longing and-and despair. Bray wanted to kiss him so badly that it formed a ball of physical ache in his chest. He was glad Jack closed his eyes; again, Bray didn't know what sort of expression he would have presented in that moment.

"I'm sorry. I should have woken you." He knew it wasn't his fault but he couldn't help it. He felt so badly. Having a chance to help and not doing it, it felt terrible. Bray turned his cheek into Jack's hand, felt some strange hopeful sensation when Jack opened his lips, then... nothing. Ah. Bray smiled more at his own foolishness than at Jack.

Just because they slept together didn't mean...

No, it didn't mean they were automatically somehow together.

"I'll get you some water. Hold on." Time to go about the business of living. Bray edged off the bed and gently tugged the topsheet with him, though not before throwing an embarrassed look over at Jack. Sure they woke up naked but Bray didn't remember anything. His ass was fine, though, so he assumed Jack was on the receiving end of things and—oh, dear God. Dear God. Bray wrapped the sheet around his waist and scurried for clothes. Jack's clothes were on the floor too—he picked them up and deposited them gingerly on the bed without looking at Jack.

Then he ran for the kitchen with his own clothes in hand.

"It's not your responsibility," he said with a hint of self-deprecating amusement. Of course not; it was Jack's own responsibility to get these nightmares under control. But they had been with him for years. Since childhood, when his nightmares contained his deep seated fear of abandonment, then evolved into the fear of letting people in too close while simultaneously hungering for just that.

Jack knew without a doubt that he was a bad person. If he brought himself to believe in a god or gods, then he would be resigning himself to an afterlife filled with misery and punishment for all the sins he committed. There were things he left hidden because of the shame. Like the fact that he didn't fight it at all, that first time his mother's boyfriend closed the bedroom door behind him and pushed him into his bed. Jack, sick as he was, wanted the attention so badly that he soaked up whatever attention he got. Somebody wanted to touch him. Somebody wanted him.

But it crumbled pretty quickly, afterward when he was left alone, spent and shamed and mortified. It didn't matter how many times he tried to protect himself from the rest of it. After that one time, all he ever heard was but baby, you liked it so much last time... let me fuck you, you'll forget all about what happened at school. Here, let me help. Give me your arm. It'll pinch for a second but soon, you're going to feel the best feeling you've ever felt. Yes... that's it. Look at you now... You want it... now turn around...

Jack ran a hand over his face, tired and a little shaky. When he looked up again, Brayden was gone and Jack's clothes were sitting there, waiting to be put back on. A dismissal? Jack swallowed hard again. There it was, that awful, terrible burn that resonated, echoed from his heart and outward. From his soul, like an infected wound, burning, throbbing, impossible to ignore.

Slowly, Jack sorted through his clothing and began to slide into the various articles of clothing. He ran a hand over his head. Held his palm against his forehead, much like Brayden did. He half expected a fever to bloom from the depths of his infected soul. Jack was dressed before Brayden made a reappearance. And when he didn't come back, Jack swung his legs over the edge of the bed, feet touching the floor hesitantly.

In his mind, their laughter echoed. His heart lurched, aching for the sound to be real. A fool's smile. Brayden almost said it, too. He loved stars. So what did he think that meant, hm, Jack? Forcing himself to his feet, Jack made his way out of the bedroom and poked his way into the bathroom to open up Brayden's medicine cabinet.

Like any medicine cabinet, there were painkillers. Jack shook a couple pills out into his palm, then slammed them back, not even bothering with water. He wandered out of the bathroom with the pill bottle in hand, setting it down on the kitchen counter for Brayden.

"This'll help too," he told Brayden.

All he needed was some time alone to process what happened or didn't happen or happened but his mind told him didn't happen. Bray was in the kitchen for a long time, putting his clothes on, folding the sheet he'd used to aid in his shameful escape, getting water. A gallon of water, Jack said. Bray only had a 1 litre bottle that he filled with cool water and cut up some slices of lemon to put into it.

It oughtn't have taken him that long but he procrastinated going back. Jack was there. Was he naked? Even now Bray could remember the outlines of his body, his chest, the shapely silhouette of his long limbs. Graceful neck. Beautiful smile. Eyes that smiled, eyes that silently betrayed his pain at those odd moments when he let his guard down--when he was drunk or tipsy.

Bray put a hand to his lower stomach. Imagining Jack naked was fine and all for showers and when he was actually alone, but he didn't want to do that here or now. His head still pounded, too, so he grabbed a glass and downed it, then took up the bottle for Jack. "Oh." When he turned, Jack was there. Dressed. His clothes were a little wrinkled, though, from having sat on the floor all night, but he still looked much more presentable than Bray did--on any given day.

"Thanks." He didn't refuse the painkillers and popped two in his mouth--after reading the bottle again to make sure that, yes, two was the recommended dosage. Had to be sure. Bray pushed the water over to him across the counter. One of the pills stuck in his throat so he refilled his glass again and quickly gulped that down too. Afterwards, he had nothing else to pretend to do so he hung out in the little kitchen area like an idiot, feeling like an idiot, looking beyond Jack at the mess on the floor like an idiot.

Idiot, idiot, idiot.

Bray was all kinds of an idiot, every single kind of idiot that it was possible for one person to be, that was him. He promised himself that he wouldn't--that he would wait. Be patient. Let Jack know that it was okay to confide in Bray, that he wasn't just out for a good time in bed. He wanted to remember everything, too, if they ever got that far and now there was just a hollow, black void where precious, beautiful memories ought to have been. Bray ran a hand over his forehead, fingers tightening slightly against the top of his head.

"I'm sorry." He closed his eyes but--nothing. No memories. "About last night."

Why... was there this... strain in the air between them? Jack could sense it. Brayden was so tense. His words sounded short. Clipped. Was he avoiding making any eye contact with him? Jack sighed and leaned his hip against the counter, taking the bottle of water that Brayden held. Without preamble, he tilted his head back and drank greedily. His dehydrated body thanked him. He was sure that his liver also thanked him for the respite from more alcohol.

After a long moment, he set the bottle down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He'd demolished more than half that bottle in moments and his stomach felt uncomfortably full and sloshy. He... was probably going to regret that.

Jack raised his brow and lifted his chin slightly.

"What are you sorry for? There's nothing to be sorry for."

He lightly chucked a hand to Brayden's chin. Nothing to be sorry for at all. It was... good. A little bittersweet but that was life for you. He wished he wasn't right about Brayden not remembering anything but Jack had it there, held in a safe with other memories. At the moment, he couldn't decide if he wanted to cherish them or push them away. His subconscious would hold onto them, though, regardless. It always did.

Moving back and away from Brayden, Jack turned toward the living room and all the cards and tokens that had been scattered during the part of date night that was game night. Slowly, he knelt down and began gathering together the pieces of the game. Flashes of the night before kept coming back to him. Brayden pretending to go for a snack. Knocking everything down. Look, he lost. Date night. The kisses. Jack licked his lips without thinking, then swallowed hard.

Realizing he'd paused, he took in a breath and continued to collect the game pieces together, setting them neatly on the coffee table.

"There's..." said Bray faintly as Jack chucked him under the chin. Chin up, sport, that seemed to say. It was... artificial. Everything about their interaction was wrong and strange and weird and Bray couldn't stand it.

There was something to be sorry about. There was a lot to be sorry about, like the fact that he thought alcohol could make him brave. Like if he drank a little, his inhibitions wouldn't get in the way of his feelings and he could stop sitting on them. That was a stupid move. Of course he'd get drunk; he didn't know his own limits. The wine was deceptively sweet, it went down smooth and easy and even Jack fell under its spell.

Except Jack could hold his liquor and Bray couldn't, and now things were so, so unnatural.

After a moment of watching Jack picking up pieces of the game, he let out a small noise. A small, fed up noise. Bray, he was so tired of feeling this way. Maybe it was the hangover and the headache shortening his usually even temper, maybe it was just having to hold those feelings so close to his chest. Maybe it was the real fear that whatever steps he made with Jack were disappearing before his eyes.

They were going back to being strangers, awkwardly exchanging meaningless conversation. Things couldn't end this way! Not like this. Bray was over and kneeling beside Jack before he knew it, stopping his hand. "I'm sorry," he began evenly, but his voice shook as he went on, "I don't remember anything. Because I wanted to remember everything and I got drunk and... I'm sorry. I know you said you didn't want a relationship, Jack, so I didn't want to push you into anything. But I... do... I-I want..."

Jack's hand was stilled and for a long moment, Jack didn't even look up. He only stared at the hand on his, at the handful of cards in his own hand. Why did he keep insisted on apologizing? Brayden was always apologizing for everything--all the little things, things that were really not that important. It was fine that he didn't remember the night before--that wasn't something to be sorry for. He couldn't help that it happened, that he drank too much and blacked it all out.

Slowly, Jack's hazel eyes lifted to meet Brayden's, though the rest of him didn't move. In silence, he listened to Brayden. Tremulous emotion wavered in his voice when he spoke and he tumbled over his words in that just-so way that Jack had come to attribute to Brayden. He thought it was cute. When he was too excited, he did the same thing. It turned out, he did it when he was stressed, too.

Jack blinked. Swallowed hard. Relationships hadn't come up last night. A date, yes. Jumping into a relationship hadn't, of course. One strange date night didn't make a relationship. Slowly, Jack's gaze dropped back to their hands again.

Relationships weren't Jack's strong suit. Past relationships ended in pain, for him, for them. Somebody always seemed to care more than the other person. It was all lopsided. And Jack was a terrible boyfriend. Just terrible. He gave into hedonistic desires--a lot. Because he didn't have true respect for himself, even if he played himself off as such with his careless affect.

Moving his hand away from Brayden, Jack dropped down to sit on his ass, rather than continue kneeling there in front of the table. He rested an arm against his tented knee. And he looked up again, meeting Brayden's gaze.

"My track record as a boyfriend is... less than stellar, Brayden."

There, he said it. The words tumbled out in a rush because if they didn't—if he took the time to think about what he was saying—they would never come out. Even Bray winced once he stopped babbling, winced visibly, shoulders ticking up, body tensing. Shit. He said that almost nonsensically, and Jack wasn't even moving. That was probably the worst part. Or, no. If he had made a joke out of it...

Bray watched him in silence, heart right up in his Adam's apple. And then when Jack slid his hand away, his heart plummeted. Now it was Jack avoiding his gaze, Jack moving away, sitting down. Bray didn't move. Every muscle was locked in place and he was sure that disappointment featured prominently in his expression. He took a breath, a shaky one, as hazel eyes lifted to his brown. Muddy brown, not very exciting. Not as beautiful as... hazel.

Brayden Smith was by all accounts the most boring man in town. He didn't do things, he didn't try new things, he had a schedule that he stuck to obsessively. His things were kept over many years because inside he was broken and he couldn't let go of anything that once belonged to someone he loved. He loved a lot of people. That meant a lot of things were kept hanging uselessly around, constantly reminding him of people that went out of his life.

And now... Jack was leaving too. Jack was trying to let him down easy but it just made his desperation worse. Ugly. Oh, it was an ugly feeling, an ugly, ugly feeling. Bray shook his head. "But-but Jack. I am too. I know. I know I'm... boring and geeky and. I like card games and I don't even drink. I—" There was a lot that he could say about how bad a boyfriend he was, that people told him over the years as they ground his confidence into the dust.

Jack only ever lifted him up, though.

"Can't we. Try anyway? Jack?"

Brayden was a bad boyfriend? Jack watched him as he tumbled over his words again, hurriedly espousing all the terrible things he was as a boyfriend. Boring. Geeky. Gamer. Non-drinker. As if these were crimes, as if these were reasons for people to break up with somebody. Well, maybe the first one. Jack wasn't fond of boring people any more than any person was. But boring was subjective. Jack personally couldn't find Brayden boring. He was far too anxious and enthusiastic and oddly sad to be boring. He was complex. More than it seemed on the surface.

Jack lowered his head, shaking it. All those terrible boyfriend traits paled in comparison to the ones that Jack had hidden up his sleeves. It honestly made him feel physically ill just thinking about it. And he could feel them welling up, shoved to the forefront of his mind where he didn't want them.

His hand reached for the table and he spread the cards out as his hand shot over them.

"I've lied. Cheated. Hurt people." His voice was soft as he continued, flicking his gaze up to watch Brayden. "I fucked Allie twice and I already pushed him toward suicide. We weren't even in a relationship. I'm not who you want me to be, Brayden."

His heart felt heavy saying it, but was it not the truth? He turned his head away from Brayden. He wished he could be all those things that Brayden made him into. That he was really a star. But he was in serious doubt that it took a single person to make that change. Who was he when he wasn't around Brayden, then? The same... monster as before? Did something really change inside him or did he just really, really want it to? He lowered his head, catching his forehead with his palm because he didn't want to look at Brayden and see his face fall or the light in his eyes die out.

But I love you too. He swallowed hard, blinked back a nasty sting in his eyes and swiftly got to his feet. Abandoning the game, he swept his coat up in his arms, his things.

"You can keep the game." Without looking at Brayden, he touched the top of his head, then turned for the door. "I'll see you..." He swallowed again. "At work Monday."

Couldn't they try? Couldn't they make something beautiful out of the broken shards of them that were still left? Bray wasn't perfect by any stretch of the imagination and he knew that Jack, too, was far from perfect. They all had their small quirks, their bigger issues, their own idiosyncrasies. But the beauty of a relationship was working on them together. Making the jagged pieces align and fit, making a whole out of two halves.

He idolized Jack, it was true, but he also strove to see the good in him. In everyone. Bray didn't want to be so bitter and so hardened that he could no longer accept others or love them. He grew up with love; he thought maybe he had a lot of love to share with someone and that was one of his strong suits. He thought maybe Jack needed some of that, too. Stability. Trust. Someone he could come home to instead of just bringing home another person from the club.

Bray saw him before—before they started speaking. He saw Jack with a new face every time, staggering home from the club, singing and laughing. Sometimes it was Jack alone, though. Sometimes there was just something lonely about the way he stopped at his door and paused and looked up at the skies. Was he lonely, still? Even when he was with Bray? Somehow Bray didn't think so—and that wasn't just his optimistic hopeful side. He saw the light in Jack's eyes. He heard the peals of laughter when he made a dumb joke or did something silly that amused him. He thought there was something really special between them.

No amusement now though. "But... but I don't..." He tried to stammer soft responses to Jack's list of alleged crimes. Cheater. Liar. Drove Allie to suicide—that one really alarmed Bray. But that wasn't a side of Jack he had ever seen. Jack only ever treated him with kindness and respect, so how could he also be those terrible things? "You're not," he tried again, only to be stopped as Jack... gave up. On the idea of them even before they got anywhere.

"But..." But didn't drunk Jack want to be with him that time? Didn't he say that he was thinking about how good they could be together? Then, Bray refused him. He wanted to wait, to bide his time, to strengthen their friendship. Did he wait too long? Bray was trembling. He didn't notice it until Jack's hand landed on his head; it was bent, chin almost at his chest and hair screened over his face.

"Oh-okay," he said softly to his own knees. Discreetly Bray wiped a thumb over one eye. Just a little... little eyelash in it. Yeah.

"I'm sorry Jack."

God. Fuck. Damn it. Jack stood there with his eyes closed, as if that could ward off the pain surging in his chest at the sound of Brayden's small voice. Jack didn't want to be somebody who made Brayden smaller. He wanted him to stand taller, to be bolder, to be brave and stick up for what he felt and what he believed in. But Jack was just grounding him down, the way he ground down his own sins, the way he ground down people before him with flippancy.

I've killed people. Brayden.

The words hung in his mind, stark and violent. If Brayden could strike down the rest of it, he could never strike that one down. It was an ugly weapon, the final trump card to keep somebody at bay. A truth that was as ugly as it sounded, as ugly as it made Jack feel. Jack was the worst person he knew in his entire life, would always be the worst person. And Brayden, he was the best. It was a bad match.

Wasn't it?

Wasn't it?

Could he...

Could he possibly have something he didn't deserve? Was there ever any way to redeem a person that really hurt people? Not just their feelings? Somebody whose delusions rose up... whose voices in his head drowned out his own, to tell him what he did was Good?

Jack stood there, frozen in place, not quite to the door, standing there with his coat slung over his arm. When he turned back to Brayden, he clutched his coat like some kind of security blanket. Brayden looked like the portrait of despair. Loneliness. Abandonment. Jack leaned back, sagging against the front door with his heart in his throat, hand so tight that his knuckles were turning white.

"Don't," he said to Brayden. "Don't be sorry. You've never had anything to be sorry for."

He laid his head back against the door, eyes closed. Everything that Brayden named off was just him. They weren't sins. They were hardly even flaws, really.

"You're too good for me," he said to the ceiling, eyes still closed. He didn't want Brayden sulking and wallowing in sadness over this. It really was a "it's me, not you" type of situation, no matter what Brayden was quietly telling himself.

The sound of footsteps leaving was a sound that Bray knew all too well.

His heart cracked again, just a little more, let in a little more daylight into the frayed core of his hopes and dreams and beliefs to burn up that small, small wellspring of happiness that he still harbored. Bray didn't move. He thought back on all the words he babbled, he thought about what Jack said to him. He thought and thought and thought and thought. And that was his problem. Thinking. Over-thinking. Reading too much into everything.

Was there nothing between them all along? Were the signs that he thought he saw just his own delusions? A smile, a laugh, they weren't unique to him. Jack smiled at other people. He laughed with everyone. What made Bray think he was special? Because Jack touched his cheek and kissed him on the forehead and told him that he was cute?

Cute?

Cute wasn't special. Cute wasn't desirable. Cute was... benign. Friendly. And like a fool he seized on that, made something out of nothing, told himself that he was special and that Jack might have liked him—might have loved him. Bray loved Jack. With all of his heart and all of his being, he loved him as he loved everyone who came into his life. But Jack was walking out on him just like everyone else and Bray didn't know what to do now.

But Jack... didn't leave. He walked to the door and Bray was waiting for it, waiting for the click of the lock as the door closed behind Jack. Jack just stopped. And he spoke again, and Bray didn't dare to look up at him, didn't want to look at him with so much pain destroying him from the inside-out. He didn't know how to talk without apologizing, so he didn't. He said sorry a lot. Sorry for existing, sorry for breathing, sorry please don't leave. He would rather take the blame than to risk driving someone away.

"What? N-no. No!" Bray finally looked up, stung to respond. He let out a soft cry and stumbled to his feet, nearly pitching and falling onto the coffee table. "No Jack, you're—you're wrong. I'm not. I've never-never been too good for anyone. Not. You're so—why would you say that?" How could Jack think that Bray was too good for him? Breathlessly Bray walked toward him, reached out a shaking hand to latch on to Jack's own, pleadingly. "Jack. Jack what if. What if it could work? What if we just-just tried it? Just for a little while? I know it sounds crazy but. What if?"

He lifted his head away from the door when he heard Brayden's voice rising, the sound of him bumping into things. And as usual, Brayden was clumsily scrambling to get to him, like he thought that if he could just rush over and shut Jack's mouth, he might stop him from spewing words he didn't want to hear coming out of his mouth.

Why was he still on this? Why did he look past the things Jack said? Those were all warning signs. Red flags, to most. The kind of thing nobody wanted to be involved with--nobody wanted to date a liar and a cheat. And Jack did those things. He lied to people he cared about. He fucked around with people who had boyfriends. For fuck's sake, he did it as early as a few weeks ago--with Allie!

Brayden didn't want to see any of the bad parts of him but that was almost the problem. Jack so wanted to be seen and he so wanted to be seen in a positive light. He wanted nothing more than to be the miracle Brayden sought and not the monster Allie knew he was. Could there be no in-between?

What if.

Did anybody look at somebody with so much hope in their eyes as Brayden did in that moment? Jack should have left before he let Brayden look at him. Or he should have left before he looked back and saw him, sitting there in utter dejection. Weak. He was becoming weak.

Philosophy was all about what ifs. What if there were no classes, no genders, what if people didn't live this way but lived that way. What if they never invented this. What if they did invent this. What if this Jack was a new existence, the old Jack was dead? What if that Jack never existed? Would this Jack then take Brayden's hand? Would the brand new star Jack leave? He wouldn't. A Jack with no past. A Jack with a better past. He would put his hand on Brayden's cheek, like so. And he would lean in. Like he was now. And he would kiss him, in a way that was not meant to be construed as a friend saying goodbye but more as a lover inviting his lover in. Jack hovered before that kiss, eyes closed, lips a hair's breadth from Brayden's.

"What if..." he whispered. "...you find out you don't want to after all?"

What if—it was a curse for those who dared to have hopes and dreams. What if things worked out? What if they found happiness in one another? What if everything they saw in themselves wasn't what the other saw? What if they each inspired the other to be better, to be stronger? What if instead of hurting—instead of cheating, lying, driving the other to the brink of madness—they healed the cracks?

What if Bray was just good enough for Jack, and Jack was just good enough for Bray?

He was still shaking physically. There was too much emotion inside of him to be contained and he was hovering so close to his own precipice. This was the defining moment. This was the moment that meant everything to Bray because even though he loved all, he didn't love equally. And somehow he knew in his heart of hearts that there would never be another man like Jack ever again. No one would ever bring him up as high as Jack; no one could ever inspire him to be the best version of himself, geeky and boring and clumsy and all, as Jack could.

"Jack..." Bray's heart soared and he couldn't help that. Jack touched him again. He looked at him with such heartbreaking, sad eyes but there was still a glimmer of hope in them. Or was that resignation? Was he giving up? Giving in, maybe? Bray's hands went to his sides to clutch at him as he leaned in so close that his face blurred before Bray's anxious gaze. Their lips barely touched; Bray's eyes flicked closed and he breathed in, breathed him in.

"What if you were wrong?" He took the initiative to kiss Jack, a desperate but still somehow sweet, soft, loving kiss. A brief kiss, because he had so much to say and not enough time to say it. "What if I'm so in love with you that... that I don't care if you're a liar and a cheater, Jack?"

"About...?"

Wrong about what, Brayden? What if he was wrong about what? The question fluttered away with a sweet, soft kiss. Disappeared, out of sight, out of mind. Ah. And there it was. In love. It shut down everything. The entire world just stopped. No sounds, no lights, no voices. Just nothing.

Until Jack swallowed. Hard. He could hear it in his own head. He wondered if it was so loud that even Brayden heard it in the quiet. YOU SHOULD CARE, Jack wanted to scream. Brayden should care! Did he think it wouldn't happen to him? That Jack was infallible? That he wouldn't make more poor life choices, just because somebody loved him with all of his heart? How could he not see how much this scared the shit out of Jack?

People relying him. People loving him. People needing him. What could possibly make this time the time where he didn't fuck something up? Brayden wanted him so badly that he wasn't seeing the forest for the trees. If he was the one cheated on, lied to--hurt--did that mean... nothing to him? How could he put so much faith into this--into Jack? It didn't make sense to him.

But oh, oh, oh how Jack wanted it to. He wanted it to fall into pretty little lines. For the universe to come together for once, to align into something wonderful and magical and powerful. His lips brushed Brayden's. Another sweet kiss that threatened to break his heart into pieces. He could feel it. Somehow. Brayden's emotions were practically tangible. And he could see it. Something beyond the bloodstains of the past. It was a little like one of those rolling dioramas. Starting with some sad stupid kid looking at the stars and ending with him becoming one.

It didn't feel real. It felt just like the nightmares but he was awake. It was just something small. Instead of the terrifying vision of blood slashed across his face, it was so simple, so mundane. A kitchen table in the morning light. A dog tailing Brayden hopefully as he carried an infant against his hip and Jack... Jack reaching for the infant as naturally as breathing.

He sucked in a deep breath, as if he'd been drowning and only just found the surface. Quickly, he dropped his hands from Brayden, heart beating wildly, almost sickening him in his current state. Too full of water. Hungover. Swallowing hard, he marched straight over to the couch and laid right down on his back, feeling bloodless and pale. What was...? Oh. He slid his hands over his face, up into his hair, looked up at Brayden.

"I forgot my..." He cleared his throat in embarrassment. "My meds."

Did Jack think it had never happened to Bray? That he had never been cheated on, never been lied to? Or was that the problem? That he did know and he didn't want to be lumped in with the regrets of the past? Thing was, Bray never regretted having loved anyone. He regretted the way relationships ended, he regretted the things that he could have done better, but he couldn't stop seeing the good in those past lovers, too. It was never all bad. There were always good moments, golden moments to hold on to.

He did care if Jack cheated on him or if Jack lied to him. But the prospect of future pain didn't deter Bray and it wouldn't hurt half as much as never being able to try to make a relationship work. Something good and pure could come from this; maybe every relationship didn't have to end in hurt and betrayal. Instead, they could find in each other what they had been searching for all along: acceptance, love, the willingness to care for someone. Companionship for Bray and an anchor for Jack.

Maybe their hearts just... needed a break from being broken.

What if things worked out perfectly this time, but they would never know it if they didn't try?

"Jack, please," he whispered into a second kiss, clutching at him fearfully. He was afraid that Jack would run away again, that he would turn and march out the door and come Monday, they would be co-workers bumping into each other in the hallways. Bray didn't know if he could handle that kind of forced interaction, if his heart could recover from being broken this time. It barely healed from the last time he truly loved someone—and that person didn't love him back. A small part of him was willing to bet on Jack being different, though. A small part of him whispered What if he loves you back?

He thought Jack was genuinely about to leave, but instead Jack marched himself over to the couch and laid down on it. Bray stood at the door staring at him, eyes wide. "O-oh!" Again he almost tripped over himself to get to Jack, kneeling by the couch with a hand at his shoulder and concern etched on his face. "Where is it? I'll go and get it! Are you okay? Should I call a doctor?"

For a second, he thought he was going to throw up. But the sensation wasn't nausea. It was something else. Something that left him feeling lightheaded--and not in the good way--and sick--also... that was never in a good way. Sick like he'd forgotten to eat all day and it was catching up to him. Not hungover. Just... something else. Startling. He wasn't sure what it was but it had his heart fluttering and he still felt strange and bloodless.

Not the best sensation in the world.

It had to be the meds. Or the lack of them. Jack took them in the morning when he woke and before bed at night. Like clockwork. Pill in. Shower. Breakfast. The day. The night. Dinner. Shower. Pill in. Bed. That was all it was. He closed his eyes. And he could hear them, like echoes in the back of a cave--voices. This was too much. Too fast. He didn't understand it. Normally, the medication was more forgiving than this. He only missed one pill--last night's. Then he would go home and take it, like nothing.

Hopefully. But he didn't want to go anywhere until that strange lightheaded, bloodless, echoing feeling went away.

"No, no... don't call a doctor. I'll be fine..."

Lying down did make some of it feel better. His heart, for example, wasn't rushing to burst anymore.

"It's in my bathroom, orange bottle--" Jack honestly didn't want Brayden seeing it though. If he didn't know what it was, fine. But he could always google it and then he would have questions. Most sane people would. But the second Jack sat himself back up with the idea of just going himself, he could feel it coming back. It didn't make sense. This wasn't normally how it felt to be off his meds. Slowly, he sank back down, but he grasped onto Brayden.

"Call Marge, she's already there." She practically moved in by this point and it was weirdly fine with him. "Ask her to bring it here."

She probably already saw it anyway. Jack took her for a snoop and she definitely would have checked the medicine cabinet and googled anything she didn't know.

God, Jack looked terrible. That was saying something because Bray didn't think he had ever seen Jack looking like anything other than his very best. Even straight after a nightmare, he still didn't look like this! Was it—was this the wrong time? Was being emotional doing this to him, on top of not having his meds? Bray didn't know that Jack even took medication and in the moment he was too worried to wonder about it.

"Okay, okay, no doctor," he said as he half-rose as if to go and call a doctor despite promising he wouldn't. He sank back down, hands at Jack's face, feeling his forehead, smoothing his hair. Worried hands, a flurry of motion. "Bathroom. Orange bottle. Okay! I'll-I'll go—" Nope. Jack was up, Bray was holding on to his shoulders and Jack was clutching him. "Marge? But—oh. Yeah. Okay, yeah."

He... was not the most level-headed in a situation. Oddly, Bray was more suited to action than to thinking in moments of sheer panic. He gently set Jack back down and dove for his phone, laying with the cards on the table. Bray fired off a panicked, typo-filled text to Marge asking for the orange pills from the bathroom and then almost threw his phone down in his haste to get back to Jack.

"She'll be right over," he murmured. Bray briefly ran to the kitchen to get some more cool water. "Have a sip of this, Jack. Just a little, I got a straw for you." Jack didn't look like he wanted to get off the couch and it was probably better to not move too much anyway. Bray stroked his hair and sat with him until Marge knocked loudly and then he was off and away again, running for the door, opening it, being shoved aside.

Marge dropped beside the couch and sort of pushed pills into Jack's mouth without a word. Bray stared at her, and then tentatively sidled closer to take one of Jack's hands.

"You idiot," Marge was saying in her usual tone, seeming... not as panicked as Bray, that was for sure.

Chaos. That was the only word for it. Brayden appeared to be in complete chaos. Up and down, moving hands, words starting and stopping. Jack couldn't help it; even though he felt like raw dog shit, he turned his head away, covered half his face and let out a soft rumble of a laugh that he tried so hard to contain. It was just so... funny. Jack was fine. He'd been through worse, felt like worse, and was pretty sure--even if somewhat alarmed--that he was going to live to see yet another day. (And if not, oh well, right?)

But Brayden was still in chaos mode, like a restless spirit that couldn't stop moving. And then he was off to the door and Jack laughed aloud, his hand waving Brayden away as if to say shoo, shoo, go get that door you raving lunatic. Because one of them here was a lunatic but it might be him.

"Ah, there she is," he said as Marge entered stage left and looked as unperturbed as usual. If she thought anything of the scene she walked in on--Jack laid out on the couch like a hysterical queen, Brayden bouncing back and forth between couch and door, and all the scattered parts of a forgotten card game--she didn't even blink an eye. She just stepped in and shoved a couple pills into his mouth and practically down his throat.

Jack coughed as he sat up, then took the water Brayden offered earlier, popped the straw out, and took a deep gulp. And... scene.

Or would be, if he wasn't still sitting on a couch in Brayden's apartment feeling like he was on a bad trip. He drew his legs up onto the couch and crossed them, as if he were about to meditate upon it all. He didn't. But maybe it could have helped. Taking in a deep breath, he rested against the back of the couch, letting his head drop and his eyes close. Everything was fine. It was fine. He didn't know what the hell came over him but it was a one time deal and the meds, the meds would do their thing.

It wasn't funny!

One moment Jack was distressed and the next he was laughing--Bray heard him, yes he did, despite how Jack tried to conceal it. But it didn't stop Bray from feeling concerned until Marge stormed in and shoved pills down Jack's throat. He hovered anxiously nearby as Marge took a seat on the couch as well, but glared up at him.

"He's not dead," she said matter of factly.

"...no..."

"Or dying."

"...no..." Bray edged away, around the other side of the couch.

"So I ran over here because...?"

"...I... I was worried."

"Because you were worried."

Bray cast a look that clearly said HELP to Jack as he coughed, but also thought to drape the fleece blanket over Jack's shoulders. Marge rolled her eyes and then reached for the half-empty bottle of wine, taking a long, long gulp from it. Idly she reached over and patted Jack's thigh, as if to bring him back out of his trance.

"Had fun last night? Hm?"

Jack did come out of whatever trance he was in, lifting his head up and waiting. For what, he didn't know. For Brayden to stop buzzing around like he was waiting for Marge to stick a heel in him? Or Marge to do the heel sticking, maybe. He'd heard the exchange between the two and he couldn't help wondering just how Brayden phrased the situation. Dead and dying. He cracked a smile. But he was neither.

"I'm fine," he said, before realizing that wasn't the question Marge put forth. Of course it wasn't. As long as she saw him with her own two eyes, she knew he was fine. Just forgot some meds and had a minor brain... seizure. He wasn't sure what to call that. Whatever just happened. And he really, really--as Jack was wont to do--didn't care to chase down what caused it or why it happened. As long as it didn't happen again, he was as fine as he claimed he was.

"Hm."

There it was, that little sound he made when he had no answer or no answer he wanted to share with the class. His gaze slid sidelong towards Brayden, who was fully clothed. And himself, who was also fully clothed, if rumpled. Self consciously, he put a hand to his head, as if his hair might be on fire or slanting in a wayward fashion that sold him out.

She had to know. The bottle of wine she brought was nearly empty. The cards were scattered about, as if they'd just tossed them aside and started fucking on the coffee table. And Jack stayed overnight. But Brayden wasn't nearly as relaxed as a man should be post coitus. Jack slid another sidelong look at Brayden, who looked wary, like he still thought Marge was going to murder him.

"We had fun, didn't we, Brayden?"

Hm. Mysterious. Marge took another swig of wine as she waited for a response, feeling Brayden growing more and more restless, more and more anxious. Cute little Bee, he was so skittish and jittery--and he didn't even drink coffee, if Jack was to be believed! Only water, juice and soup. Her gaze flicked to the kitchen like an addict who sensed a line of coke nearby, nostrils flaring ever so slightly. Hm.

But of course she knew. She saw it in Jack--that light in his heart, it was so strong that it was almost blinding. She had to turn her powers down, or risk actually getting so overwhelmed--hence the booze. Great for dampening magic. The light from Jack was probably only outshone by the one from Brayden so--yes. She knew. They fucked.

"Oh. Uh. Yes!" Brayden was trying to sound cheerful and not suspicious as he sat on the armrest closest to Jack, placing a hand on his shoulder. Sweet. "Yes. It was. Fun."

"Describe." Marge drank more wine and wished it was soup. (Damnit.)

"What?"

She turned to arch her brows at him. "Describe the fun."

"That-that's very personal," Brayden muttered, avoiding her gaze. "It was just. Fun."

Marge turned to Jack with a smile. "Jack? Do you have any answers for the class?"

Now it was Jack's turn to raise his eyebrows at Marge and her probing questions. Describe the fun? Did she want a detailed blow by blow? (Of course she did, this was Marge they were talking about.) Jack didn't mind sharing blow by blow details of sexual encounters. They weren't typically something he held closely guarded to his heart. Sex was fun, a way to blow off some steam, get those good feelings in, relax. But typically, describing an encounter didn't occur with said encounter sitting right there, perched on the arm of the couch next to him.

Who was to say what Brayden recalled? Who was to say what he wanted revealed? That was the thing of it. He couldn't tell if Brayden's hesitation to say anything beyond the term fun came from a lack of memory or from an innate shyness regarding sex. Some people were just wired that way, to keep it between the people that participated, guarding it jealously like a secret.

Brayden did use the term personal. So Jack put up his hands in a nonchalant shrug. "Let's not make a big deal out of this, all right?" He looked from Brayden to Marge. "I gave him a blow job. End of story. Now will you drop it? Hm?"

Now it was out there. It was out there and he wasn't sure how Brayden would take it. If he remembered it at all, if it jogged any sort of memory in him. If he thought Jack was lying. If he wished Jack said nothing and kept it to himself. But it was just the three of them and it wasn't as if Jack was going to open up the door and shout to their neighbors about what happened.

Besides, for him--for Jack--the important part was still locked away in his heart. The sweetness of the words, the idea of stars and black holes. That, to him, was much more intimate than the sex parts.

Brayden looked like he was hoping that a hole might open up underneath his feet. He was watching the floor very carefully for signs of cracks as the conversation went on. For Marge (and Jack) it was normal to discuss things like sexual encounters. No different than talking about the weather, really, or which bitch said what about them and how Marge was going to execute the perfect murder as revenge. You know--benign, every-day conversational topics.

She could tell that Brayden took matters of intimacy--sex--quite seriously. He took most things seriously, come to think of it. Marge smiled pityingly as Jack offered up some flimsy response about a blow job, and as Brayden's face went beet red. It took a while; she sat there watching him changing color. Cute. Really, he was so shy and so... easy to bully.

"You sweet, innocent babies," she purred, as she finished off the wine and set the bottle down gently. By the looks of the game table, more than 'just a blow job' happened. Well, she'd get the answers from Jack sooner or later.

"I'm. Going to take a shower." Brayden had suddenly stood up, avoiding both of their gazes.

"All right baby. Do you want Jack to go with you? Make sure the water's... fine?"

"N-no. No I. I'm good. Thank you." After flashing them a stiff smile, Brayden hurried away and after he had disappeared into the bedroom, on the way to the bathroom, Marge let out a laugh.

"All right, enough games. What the hell is happening over here Jack?"

Damn it. He went about it the wrong way. In trying to shush Marge up and sling a little information Brayden's direction, he seemed to have... hurt Brayden instead. Jack noticed the way he wouldn't even look at either of them and that weirdly tangible emotional feeling came back, just as strong as ever. It was unlike anything he'd ever felt before in his life, like his heart lines were connected to Brayden's. Like he could feel not just his embarrassment but a sort of... betrayal at Jack's apparent flippancy about it.

"B..." He tried to set things right but Brayden was out. He was gone, scurrying off like he probably wished he never had Jack over in the first place. Jack swallowed hard and leaned forward, idly collecting pieces of the game that were close by. Mostly it was just a way to get some energy out before he did something... crazy. Not killing crazy. Just.. off the charts emotional. That kind of thing. The kind of thing he preferred not to.

Jack reached for the wine bottle this time and he was quite disappointed to find it was now empty. With a sigh, he set it back down.

"Nothing. Just the same junior high shit you were laughing about before." What? Didn't all junior high boys suck off other boys in the bathroom in exchange for alcohol and drugs? No? Well.

"He wanted me to fuck him," he said, hoping to hell that Brayden wasn't listening in on them. "And then he told me he hadn't had sex in three years so I... couldn't go through with it." Again with the nonchalant shrug. "So I sucked him off instead." His gaze fell away dreamily. "He was so happy that he..."

Oh. He almost gave it all away. Jack didn't finish the sentence, only wished he'd brought something to smoke to tamp down his newly jangled nerves. He lowered his voice further, knowing how small the apartments were and not knowing just where Brayden was at the moment.

"I'm so in love it's sickening. You're right. And I can't do anything about it. He really wants it. Us. But all I can think about is how he's just going to end up hurt." His tone was weary as he added, "I'm so tired of hurting people, Marge."

"Three years?!" Marge whisper-screamed with a hand at her mouth. This time no histrionics--she was truly shocked. She was so shocked that she didn't even have words to describe how shocked she was, so she sat there staring at Jack as though permanently frozen in place. Who... three years... what? How was Brayden not dead? And Jack thought his week-long journey through abstinence was bad!

"Oh honey! That's the most disturbing shit I've heard all day!" She put a hand to her heart as though wounded. Not fucking Brayden was probably a good idea then, if they were drunkenly getting it on. Three years was no joke--didn't they say that people were practically virgins again after a year of not having sex? That made Brayden a... a triple virgin! He definitely needed more time and preparation than a drunken partner could give him.

More disturbingly, Jack. His light. Ugh, it was blinding again. It dimmed earlier as Brayden went away but now it was back with that sappy look on his face and with that love-struck look in his eyes. Marge didn't even ask. She could imagine how happy a man who'd been sexless for three years could be, even from getting a blow job. Sighing, she pulled Jack closer and wrapped comforting arms around his shoulders.

"You're so fucked, Jack," she said pityingly even as she was stroking her fingers through his hair. "I think..." She glanced in the direction of the sound of water running. Hm. Brayden. A complicated little thing--or he attracted complicated people. But Brayden's own desires seemed so simple and almost childish. He wanted love. Easy, right?

"I actually think refusing him would kill him." Marge shrugged. "More than you hurting him through other means. You know? Doesn't he just... seem like that type? He could take being cheated on or whatever, but... not being rejected. And you want him too. What if you don't hurt him? What if it all works out this time? You'll be kicking yourself if you miss this opportunity baby. Braydens don't come along every day, do they?"

RIGHT?! Jack's expression screamed right back. As a sexually charged man, Jack couldn't imagine going three months without sex. Three years was damn near torture. But he also understood, somehow, that some people weren't as sexually motivated as he and Marge were. Some people thought less about sex and more about the intimacy of it. Jack used to think those people were prudes as a teenager, having been through what he'd been through.

Sex sort of lost whatever magical hold it might have had on him otherwise. Experiencing sex the way he did for the first time, it was hardly a surprise that he didn't equate sex with love. The two were definitely two different things to him, very firmly planted in separate categories. Sex was a diversion, a good time, a way to have somebody's attention on him for as long as he wanted it. And then... throw it away to the winds for the next pretty thing to come along.

"Believe me, I know that." He was fucked and not in the good way. It was more like he was trapped between the proverbial rock and hard place, without much wiggle room. Was he supposed to pretend he didn't have deepening feelings and just trot off to the club for a quick fuck while he figured things out? And patience was a definite necessity when it came to Brayden, especially given how vehement Jack was about not hurting this one.

"...what?" Jack blinked and nearly choked on his own damn spit, he was that surprised by Marge's words. Refusing Brayden would kill him? But Marge was never wrong and she hadn't even been there to see what happened when Jack nearly walked out on him. His gut twisted unpleasantly and he slid his hands over it, as if it soothe the roiling anxiety swirling inside.

Did she know? Somehow? Did she know that Jack was about to leave before whatever that thing that happened--happened? Was it just an overreaction to seeing Brayden like that? Rubbing his temple, Jack wished fervently that the damned painkillers would kick in already.

"I don't think he remembers last night."

"What? Are you having a stroke?" Marge rubbed his back as Jack started and began to choke on nothing. Not that it was helpful, probably, but she hadn't done anything to him (and no jury in the land would convict her even if she did). Ah, stomach ache...? Jack was rubbing his stomach, anyway, so Marge patted him on the cheek in a rather affectionate way (for her).

She only smiled at his defense. The last line of defense, it sounded like. Marge made the answer sound probably easier than it actually was. "Then you'll just have to make sure he remembers tonight, won't you?"

Seriously, what was the hold up? Not wanting to hurt Brayden would hurt him even more. Marge knew that such a delicate soul--such a fragile heart, with its light flickering--couldn't handle much more of Jack's yoyo act. The light was strongest when they were together; it was weak, dying, when they were apart. Marge had seen the way Brayden looked at Jack. The way Jack looked at Brayden.

They were truly enough to turn her stomach. In a good way.

"Woman up, sweetheart," she said as she slapped him on the back. "Either you fuck that man and start calling him your boyfriend, or you let me stab him right now, as an act of mercy." The choice, she thought, was very simple.

"I'll have you know, that wine was never my idea."

Jack had vague plans for the evening that didn't involve alcohol. Although once it was sitting there in front of him, he couldn't fight the urge to drink it, no better than Brayden did. What he wanted was to spend time alone with Brayden and the game nights gave him that opportunity. And maybe... if something happened between them during the game night, he would roll with it. He thought.

But if it weren't for the wine, would he really? Marge was right. He was playing a cruel game with Brayden, inadvertently, but he was. Flirting with him and then backing out the second he brought up the idea of a relationship. It was... cruel. There wasn't any other word for it. He wanted it. Brayden wanted it. And Jack kept telling himself it was to keep Brayden safe and unharmed but really, he was the one doing the most damage. If he wanted evidence, all he had to do was burn that awful image of Brayden right before Jack nearly walked out on him.

"You're not stabbing him." Although part of him believed it was half true, that Marge would make good on the threats she delivered.

His mind went to that strange dream-like vision again and he shivered. Not unpleasantly but it scared him more than death itself. Pets and babies. Some kind of domestic life. It was so farfetched that he almost wanted to laugh at the idea of it. What was that, anyway? Not actually some kind of vision, certainly. Probably just... his subconscious hammering at him.

Who knew his subconscious wanted kids? He sure as fuck didn't see that coming.

"It wasn't my idea either. It was God's." In the face of a higher calling, who was Marge to refuse? And she didn't know Brayden hadn't had sex in three years, or that Jack cared about him to such a degree that he would hold off having sex with the person he loved. Look at him, so noble. So adorable. So disgustingly in love. It turned her stomach and twisted her black little heart.

She leaned over to pick up a card and studied it idly as the sounds of water splashing dimmed. "Then you stab him with your dick." Her smile was purely teasing, a flash of irreverent humor. Marge turned her head towards the bedroom, watching for Brayden. "I think I'll go back and check on our crazy little baby boy. You can handle things here, can't you?"

She heard some kind of commotion, like someone clumsy stumbling into something. Ah, little Bee. He was so lucky to have someone love him the way Jack loved him. And Jack was damned lucky he had such a good, pure man. It was a burden, too, though, Marge didn't downplay that. Having that kind of pressure, being loved so thoroughly... It sounded scary, if she had to be honest.

Scary but exhilarating.

She stood finally and flicked the card back onto the table. Kissed Jack on the lips. Patted his dark little head. "Love you baby. Bye~"

Nooo, she did not just bring god into this. Jack rolled his eyes expressively and threw a facetious smile at Marge for her efforts. God had nothing to do with that wine. And if it weren't for the wine, things might not be this strained right now! (Or they could have been worse but who was he to say?)

"Ha-ha," he said at the mention of stabbing Brayden with his dick. Not that it hadn't crossed his mind. It had crossed his mind plenty of times. That was the thing about attraction and lusting after somebody. And it was even worse when the feelings got all complicated--because if the feelings weren't tangled up, he could just go ahead and do it. They would fuck like rabbits and get all this weird tension right out of the way.

Jack wasn't accustomed to letting tension like this last so long. If it was in the air, they took steps to take care of it. This was getting... it was getting ridiculous. Why did Marge have to be so right about everything? Maybe she really was a wicked witch. And Jack now had odd feelings in regards to fairies and their dicks. Ahem.

"Bye," Jack said as he reached for Marge and held onto her hand for as long as he could before she moved away from him and the couch. He almost wanted her to stay for moral support but that was like a kindergartener clinging to his mom's legs. Jack wasn't that undignified.

Once she was gone, everything felt too quiet. Jack felt a prickly sort of sensation all throughout his body--awkwardness? Restlessness? He wanted to run out the door and never come back. Should he even have stayed? Brayden probably took that shower in the hopes they would leave by the time he got out. Jack busied himself picking up the card game for real this time, putting it all away into its box. He set the box on the coffee table. Then he reached for the water and drank greedily.

He was actually starting to feel hungry now. Glancing toward the kitchen, he stayed where he was, on the couch. Waiting like a fool.

Bray stayed in the shower for as long as he could, hoping that by the time he got out, at least Marge would have left. Knowing her though, she'd stay and poke fun at him—at them. Yes, it did hurt his feelings to have a moment that was supposed to mean so much to him be made a joke of. And while he knew that Jack and Marge didn't do so maliciously, their casual comments really hit home. But also, knowing the kinds of people they were, Bray couldn't be—wasn't—mad. He just wanted to get away for a little while to settle his nerves.

And Bray still didn't remember anything; it still bothered him a lot. Jack remembered, though, didn't he? But when he let slip those intimate details to Marge, it was the first time Bray heard them too. He was unprepared. He was embarrassed, humiliated, ashamed. Everything was so uncertain now and so up in the air...

Also he felt like a boiled lobster by the time he got out, and picked out fresh clothes from his closet to put on. (And new underwear.) Bray stood in the middle of his bedroom feeling strangely lost. Lost and at a loss as to how he could face Jack. What... what happened to them now? Their friendship? There was that moment they had but it didn't resolve anything and soon after, Jack fell ill.

Jack fell ill.

Bray rushed out, no longer so worried about his own feelings. Those could wait; he had to check on Jack. When he got out into the living area, Jack was sitting on the couch. Bray hurried over to him and the first thing he did was feel his forehead and peer down at him with worried eyes. "Are you okay? Marge left. Does that mean you're feeling better? Do you still need anything?"

Whoa, slow down there. Jack raised his brows and his head when Brayden finally made his reappearance--by rushing out and promptly making sure Jack was fine. Which he was. He told everybody already that he was. He was fine. Nothing really bad happened, it was just some one off weirdness from probably not taking his meds (didn't seem likely) or the prospect of what happens when a man swallows fairy cum (which also didn't seem likely).

Jack did sort of Look at Brayden, as if he could somehow see it--whatever it was that had Marge convinced he was a fairy. Honestly, he still thought it was either crazy talk or Marge was on something when she suggested it. But then, she talked at length about various topics on the matter and she seemed fully coherent the whole time.

No, no... He didn't see it. All Jack saw was the worried face of a good friend. One who wanted to be more than that. One that might be vulnerable to being kicked when he was down. Who was reaching out for something and Jack... Jack kept sliding his hand back and watching him drown. It really was cruel, this game he was playing with him, unintentional though it may be.

His gaze remained steady on Brayden, but almost in a daze. Almost like a baby staring at a brand new person. What? What was he saying? There was a whole flutter of words coming at him and a hand on his forehead. Was he sick, though? Or was it just... what they did last night? What he did last night? (Was he really letting Marge get to him--it had to be some elaborate hoax being played on him.)

"No, no," he said. "Just..." He pulled Brayden down beside him on the couch. "Can I ask you a crazy question?"

Jack looked slightly out of it and Bray kept trying to bring him back to no avail. For a moment he seriously considered calling an ambulance but then Jack seemed to snap out of his thoughts. Oh. He was just thinking. Bray really ought to stop freaking out, except he couldn't. Sickness and death were prevalent themes in the later parts of his life; it hit him hard and it hit him right in the gut, any time someone close to him so much as mentioned having the sniffles.

At this point, really, all he wanted was to limit the damage. Keep people in his life, keep them safe, healthy, happy. It wasn't always Bray's prerogative or duty to do that but he tried anyway—he cared too much not to. He was the friend with the homemade chicken soup always at the ready. The friend who went out on midnight vitamin runs, the one who lined up at the pharmacy on cold days to get prescriptions filled because he happened to be in the area. As long as no one else faded out of his life...

Slowly he sat, still anxiously looking at Jack, looking him over. "Yeah. Yeah of course, anything, Jack." A crazy question? Color him confused. What kind of crazy questions could very sane Jack ask?

Honestly. Seriously. He just didn't see it! Weren't fairies supposed to be all glittery and glitzy with flowery hair colors and weird little gemstone eyes? Wings? Fairy dust? Brayden looked like your average, normal, everyday guy. Albeit one with a cute smile and way-too-sincere giant brown eyes. Shouldn't a fairy--at the very least--have some kind of unnaturally crazy eye color, like an icy blue, maybe, or purple?

"Are you..." Jack trailed off, feeling beyond stupid even thinking of asking it. Especially with Brayden staring at him like that, so expectantly. Jack was going to feel like a real fucking toe if he asked this question and Brayden thought he was joking with him. Maybe he should have asked in a lighter tone, with a little laugh.

He tried. He tried to lighten the mood with a little laugh but it sounded so forced that he winced inwardly and he felt like every part of his soul had just been sucked in through his belly button.

"Are you a fairy?" he asked, and then quickly threw Marge straight under the bus by adding, "Because Marge thinks you are and she won't leave it alone."

Yes?

Yes?!

Bray held his breath, waiting, staring. Did Jack... change his mind about them? About forging a relationship with them that went beyond friendship? Was that... crazy, necessarily? Bray thought they worked. There was obvious chemistry between them, and an intimate connection. Didn't they keep ending up together? Weekends playing dumb card games, evenings with takeout containers balanced on their knees, analyzing TV shows and pointing out goofy obvious flaws in the plots or characters, nights where parting at Bray's door seemed so reluctant that a few times Bray almost followed Jack back to his own apartment. DIdn't they owe it to themselves to see what a real relationship could be?

"Oh."

He didn't know that that was what he expected Jack to ask. Marge... knew? He stared at Jack for a long, long moment. That little half-dazed laugh... the way he hurriedly pointed out Marge knew—and Marge herself was a... ah... Actually Bray didn't know what Marge was. In their circles it was generally polite not to ask—and Bray was oh-so-polite! He thought perhaps a witch...

But she knew what he was, apparently. Bray lowered his head and looked down at his hands, which were laying in his lap. He had no reason to tell Jack anything either way. No real incentive. But if Jack was asking, he had to already suspect something, Bray thought. It never came up. Bray didn't think that being a fae—or fairy—had anything to do with their friendship so he said nothing. The only time he used his powers on Jack was to help him through a nightmare, and then afterwards, never again.

But he could use them to help Jack more. That was what made him eventually nod silently. The thought that if he came clean now, he could offer Jack respite from those haunting nightmares. "Yes," said Bray quietly, lifting his eyes to Jack's at last. He looked him in the eye and nodded again. "I am."

"Hm."

That. Was not the answer he was expecting. Mostly, Jack expected to hear laughter or maybe even an angry retort. Something to show that it was a joke. But for some reason, just like Marge, Brayden somehow managed to pull it off with serious aplomb. Yes, he was. Simple. Matter of fact. Jack looked him right back in the eye, and he waited for some sign or signal that something was up. That the two were in on a prank together. That Brayden was holding back a laugh.

But no, he appeared dead serious. Jack blinked, then creased his brows slightly as he turned his head away. He looked out into the middle distance, as if he could ruminate on what it all meant. Philosophize on it. No... No, he could not.

Then he felt like he had been hit in the gut with sick realization. Automatically, he reached out, his hand grasping gently onto Brayden's arm.

"No, no. I'm not calling you out. Obviously. I'm as queer as it gets, you know?" He passed a hand down over himself, as if it wasn't visually obvious--although even that, he thought, was unfair. "I was actually talking about fairies. Actual fairies. Like... as in magic."

Jack was taking this quite well, all things considered. Bray only had to 'come out' to human friends twice in his lifetime and those two times couldn't have been more different. One went into completely hysterics and fled the scene; Bray never saw her again. He assumed she moved away and it really saddened him that he couldn't explain to her that he wasn't... a monster. The other one took it in stride, laughed, patted him on the back and then sort of fainted dead away. Luckily they remained friends until he, too, moved away but only to nearby Portland for a better job.

This time, no fleeing. No fainting. Well Jack hadn't seen his other form yet. Bray watched him trying to process it, wondering if he had encountered others before. Witches or shifters perhaps. Vampires, even, though Bray didn't see the tell-tale marks on his throat. "Jack?" He asked softly, tentatively, confused as Jack grasped his arm.

"Oh. Ye-yeah. No, I mean. I know you didn't mean that kind of fairy." The gay kind. Fairy was a derogative term for them but Bray knew Jack would never use those kinds of words or that kind of language against him. He smiled and patted Jack's hand gently. "You mean fairies with wings, right? Like. Tinkerbell." That was the first name to come to mind, he didn't know why. Bray patted his hand again. "I can show you if you want."

"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."

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! (https://www.arup.com/-/media/arup/images/projects/b/butterfly-garden-project/2000x1125heroimg_0389.jpg?h=1125&w=2000&hash=B60F69AEA472C812C04FD67985FAFB96))

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.

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...

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."

"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 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..."

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?"

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."

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."

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.

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.

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?"

"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?"

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?"

He thought about it. He really did, he thought about it long before this and he stopped again to think, not giving in to the hasty urge to say yes, yes, yes to his heart's desire. Bray thought. A lot. He couldn't visit the future but he could check that impulse to leap to a conclusion. That had always been his downfall in certain respects, because while he was introspective and a deep thinker, other people were long gone, doing things, experiencing life.

He thought about what it meant to love Jack. He thought back to their random encounters in the courtyard, their conversations about important things and about not-so-important things. He thought about the way he felt with and without Jack, thought about those moments just after waking up when, half-asleep and groggy, he reached for that place beside him in bed. Bray thought about the mornings rushing off to work, waving to Jack--who took a more leisurely approach to getting anywhere on time. He thought about lunches during cold but sunny days out on the campus grounds, sitting on a bench somewhere, and dinners at home (not always soup; Jack was actually quite an accomplished cook).

And he thought about the nightmares. The tiny voice whispering into his ear that Jack wanted to die. The idea of Jack feeling unloved, tormented by his mother's treatment of him. Bits and pieces of Jack's past had come together for Bray. Not the whole picture, but there was enough for Bray to have a vague picture in mind, of a cold and hostile home life, and the struggles Jack had to overcome to find love and acceptance. He thought about what just happened, too, the way Jack turned from him to leave, the words of rejection that left Bray feeling so hollow and despondent...

He thought about all of those things and so much more. And then he leaned in and kissed Jack, deeply, passionately, to affirm his decision. It was all worth it. Even if they didn't have a good life together, or a full life together, it would be worth it. Happiness for a moment, loved and beloved for a moment, it was worth it. Jack was worth it. They were worth it.

"I understand," he whispered against Jack's lips, scarcely able to breathe through the stifling blanket of emotions covering him from head to toe. "I still want you."

They could never go back. It was already too late. Jack said what he said. Brayden said what he said. The words were out there. The feelings were out there. If they ignored them now, it would only destroy them both. Jack wasn't so stupid in love that he didn't see that. After confessing feelings so deep, there was no going back. There was already no going back.

Because... how could they go on living the same way after they knew? If they didn't even try, they would both be miserable. They would live close by but not speak. They would barely be able to look at one another. The strain would be enough to kill them, to drive Jack that much closer to old vices, to death. And where would that leave Brayden, if he saw all that? If they spoke of this now, and did nothing, and Jack started back on his old path out of pure desperation to stamp out everything good that he spat on...

It was already too late. Jack wanted the decision to be taken from his hands. Well, it had been. Not because Brayden forced it upon him, not because either of them demanded anything from the other. It was just that confessions like this couldn't be ignored. Because if they tried, it would only fester inside, the longing and regret and the hurt. The hurt that Jack kept trying in vain to swerve away from.

They could never go back, short of wiping away ever memory they ever shared together.

Now the only path was forward because going backward would kill them both. Maybe not physically, but it would kill some part of them, their hearts, their souls. Jack kept reliving that moment when he nearly walked out the door, with Brayden in such a state of dejection that it indeed killed a part of Jack to see it. If he walked out now, he would be leaving Brayden in that same place. Wondering why, wondering what he could have possibly done differently. And Jack would go home and he would drink until he passed out. Or worse still, he would seek out the shit he'd kicked years ago and ruin his own life.

Were any of those possibilities remotely better than the one he saw? Of simple domestic life? A home and children? His heart felt full to bursting; it was almost a real, physical pain. Jack cupped Brayden's face against his palm. Emotion welled up so strongly that he could barely whisper out his next words, meant distinctly and only for Brayden's ears.

"Then you have me."

Well, that was... that, wasn't it? That was the end--of loneliness, of being adrift in a world that didn't always feel very friendly towards people like them. The end of cold nights reaching for someone who wasn't there, the end of wondering what life--living--was all about. It was the end and it was also the beginning because, yes, they could never go back. There was no path backwards; they had burned the bridge that led back to their old ways.

Bray couldn't speak so he only nodded, and then he threw himself at Jack and buried his face away. He let his head fall, squeezed his eyes shut to seal off the heat threatening to spill out. There were no words left to say. There was only this moment, and them. Bray did sniffle softly, though; the happiness that overflowed also forced out the wetness from behind his closed eyelids. And then he laughed, out of sheer joy and relief and--oh, but his heart was light! It was full and yet it was so light, feather-light, floating on air.

"I love you," he half-laughed, half-sobbed into Jack's shoulder. Bray loved him so much that it didn't make sense. He was willing to give everything, to put it all on the line for this one relationship and maybe that was madness--crazy, stupid--but it felt right. It was the right thing to do, the only thing to do. He just sat there on his threadbare couch, holding on to Jack with so much... conviction inside of him, so much optimism and hope.

"I love you." Jack said he could say it as many times as he wanted--so he did. And it felt so good to say it!

Oh... Jack smiled, eyes closing as he breathed Brayden in. Did he... he actually do it? Did he just commit himself to a relationship? After all those excuses about relationship detox? Even he had to laugh and he could sympathize whole-heartedly with that beautiful half sob, half laugh that escaped Brayden. Jack's arms wrapped tight around Brayden, almost as if he thought this was a dream, the kind he never had. Beautiful dreams of things he could never have. If it was all an illusion, it was a good one. Brayden felt so warm and real. He wasn't just an illusion, nor a figment of his imagination.

His smile only grew with every admission uttered by Brayden. Could there be a limit on how many times a man could hear those words? I love you. There was no condition upon it, either. Jack tried to warn Brayden. He told him bits and pieces of things, showed him red flags. Somehow, Brayden was still here, still gently speaking into his shoulder. Holding onto him like something precious. Somebody loved him. Somehow. Somebody loved him. And more miraculously, Jack loved somebody... more than he loved himself. (If one could even call how he felt about himself love. Really, it was quite the antagonistic relationship.)

Jack lowered his head, kissed the tip of Brayden's ear. "I love you too." He gently poked Brayden in the cheek, though.

"We're really going to have to have a serious talk about this other business." He tilted his head back and regarded Brayden appraisingly. "What else do I not know about you, hm?"

Jack loved him too. He was loved. And now he wasn't alone and it felt like such a tremendous weight lifted off of his chest. Bray laughed again--this time an actual laugh--when Jack poked him and he poked back, somewhere in the shoulder blades. Well, that was where his hand was, so he did it. No thinking. It was a silly response and he knew it but somehow, he didn't think Jack would mind.

"Other? Oh. Oh you mean the--" Bray coughed. "The... Being a fae. Fairy." The terms were interchangeable to Bray; he didn't mind what Jack called him as long as he called him! He leaned back slightly just to have another good, long look at Jack. Smiled. Brushed away a stray tear--silly thing--and shook his head. "I don't have any other secrets, Jack. This is--oh. Oh wait."

He didn't have a secret but he did remember why he revealed his identity to Jack. Slowly, Bray touched Jack's forehead as though he could sweep away his nightmares. "My powers, Jack. My abilities. I-I think I can help you. They're--well I'm what's called a dream fairy. That means I can enter dreams and control what happens inside them. And--" He leaned forward, excited, eyes shining with Ideas.

"And maybe I can make the nightmares go away! If I know what causes them, I can get to the root of them and... Well I think I can do it, Jack. I can help."

Exactly. The fae thing. Fairy. Whatever it was. Jack had no idea which was the right term. Was it more PC to say fae, then? He raised his brows slightly, watching as Brayden smiled, somewhat alarmed at him brushing away a tear. No more secrets. Well that was--oh? More?

Jack's teasing had been in jest. He didn't actually expect Brayden to start listing off every little thing they had yet to share with one another. The universe knew Jack wasn't about to do the same. Not yet. Maybe... in time. But not yet. With their relationship--it was a relationship now, was it not?--just blossoming, it seemed like a horrible time to make any wild admissions.

Plus, he was still afraid that his past was going to catch up to him sooner or later. And he just wanted this time with Brayden. Without his baggage weighing on Brayden, too. Making him regret ever loving him. The idea of Brayden looking at him with disgust or horror...

"Hm?"

Dream fairy? Wait... there were different kinds of fairies now? Jack briefly closed his eyes as Brayden touched his forehead, imagining what Brayden might see if he entered his dreams. His eyes snapped open, heart banging against his chest. Brayden looked so excited but Jack... Jack slid away from Brayden and off the couch.

"I don't think so."

Jack couldn't let him see his nightmares. He bit his lower lip, pacing away and then dropping down on the edge of the coffee table. Realization dawned on him. That first night they slept together--when they really just slept together and nothing sexual happened.

"...have you seen them already?"

"Wh-what?" Why was Jack moving away? Bray followed him, still eager, excited about the plan forming inside his head.  Wasn't it a good thing? That Bray had a solution for those horrible nightmares? Didn't Jack want peace of mind, the ability to have a good night's sleep without being haunted? Bray... didn't understand...

"I saw... once." He didn't sit beside Jack but he stood nearby, slipping a hand over his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to--sometimes it happens when I sleep. I don't control it very well but..."

He knelt in front of Jack. Looked up at him, into his eyes--or tried to catch his gaze, anyway. "I'm sorry. I know it's a huge invasion of privacy. But I think I can help, Jack. Really..." His hand slid over Jack's knee, innocently. Comfortingly, he hoped. "You don't have to say yes right now. Just think about it, okay? It won't--I mean I'm pretty sure it won't damage you. It's--you know. Magic." His smile was brief and a little hopeful still. Bray wanted so badly to help. He wanted it with all his being, to soothe the heart and soul and psyche of the man he loved.

The man he loved! Bray edged closer. "I love you."

He saw once? What did he see? Jack tried to remember which nightmare he had while he slept beside Brayden but he had so many of them that they all blended together. And there Brayden went again, with the apologies. Jack swept a careless hand through the air.

"Don't be sorry. Believe me, you'd know if I was angry. I'm not angry." How could he be? Brayden crept into his nightmares. That was less anger inducing and more oh shit inducing. Brayden could get too close to the truth. And it not only would ruin everything between them... it could also end with Brayden being dragged into the mess he'd made. Maybe there was a way to get rid of all of it. If magic was real.

"I love you, too, Brayden," he said with a sigh. "But it's not me I'm worried about."

A little bit. But for once in his life, somebody else mattered more. And if Brayden kept poking into his nightmares, he was going to end up hurt. Brayden looked so hopeful and wanted to help so badly. Jack wanted to tell him. He wanted to tell him... everything. He wished that he could.

Did he say something wrong? Something too—forward? Bray knew that dreams were very personal things, much less nightmares, and what he saw that night frightened him. So much blood... And that face, those eyes, staring away at him. No. At Jack. Sightless, staring eyes within a sunken bloodstained face, staring at Jack as though—as though to accuse him of something so horrible that Bray couldn't bring himself to believe it.

"I—well." He didn't think Jack was angry but perhaps perturbed? To know that his nightmares were seen by another person, even unwittingly, must have come as a shock. Not to mention, Bray using magic to do it, being a dream fae. Maybe that was it. The shock. The reality still having yet to sink in. Yeah, it must be.

"Let's. Let's put that away in the some day jar." He tried to smile brightly as he mimed putting something in a jar. A little silly thing of his—putting things away into invisible maybe jars, or some day jars. Tucking the idea or thought away for later, instead of harping on it now. This wasn't the time, probably. Once Jack got used to the idea of fae, he might... take that thought out of the jar. But that was his prerogative, and it wasn't Bray's place to keep pushing.

He stood up and held out a hand to Jack, still smiling a little. Hard not to smile, really, when Jack said that he loved him back. "I think... we should eat. Or do you want to shower first?" He debated it, thought it over once or twice, and then—what the hell. They were partners now, he could afford to look a little dumb.

"Maybe you... you should've showered with-with ah... me earlier."

The delivery was trash—but hopefully it cheered Jack up a little, or at least made him laugh at the terrible come-on.

"Cute."

A some day jar. Jack didn't even want to think about that some day. Maybe he would get away with living that full life with Brayden, one with few hitches. It would be too much to hope for no bumps in the road but hopefully any bump that came their way wouldn't be insurmountable as long as they had one another's backs.

And hands. Jack took the hand Brayden extended to him. Food. His stomach probably could use a good meal. When was the last time he ate? Long before he showed up to game night. Normally they ate enough during game nights that he didn't have to eat a big dinner beforehand. This time, he hadn't even touched Brayden's two different types of popcorn. They drank the cursed wine and then there was the water and pills...

Before he could agree to eating, Brayden had to bring up the shower. And not just any shower. A shower... together. How could any red-blooded man say no to that? Jack winked as he spun Brayden toward the bathroom with him, a tug on his hand.

"Maybe I can still shower with you... now."

Cute. Somehow that word sounded different now to Bray, and it was definitely because he and Jack were—together! No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't repress his feelings. His joy, that bubbly, effervescent sensation lifting his heart, couldn't be contained. Bray was barely hard-pressed to stop grinning when Jack took his hand, and his fingers immediately curled around Jack's. How nicely even their hands fit. Like maybe they were meant to be.

Uh oh. Jack did perk up but that wink... Bray whirled around as he was tugged; his foot caught slightly on the carpet and he stumbled forward. "But. But I already—" He wanted to cheer Jack up with a corny line, but he wasn't prepared for Jack to take him up on that offer! Why? Because this was Brayden Smith! He tried to ease his hand out of Jack's subtly.

"I can order some food while you're in there," he said hopefully... But at the same time, a part of him liked the idea of taking a shower together—and what red-blooded man wouldn't? Did that mean they were going to do—things? Things he would remember this time, instead of waking up with horrifying blanks in his memories, freaking out over what might have happened?

They could just... shower together too. That sounded actually nice. Intimate, but not dirty. Did that make him a prude? He knew Jack was a sexual man and Bray wasn't not—he had needs too—but he also wasn't the type to go anytime, anywhere, with the smallest bit of prompting. Maybe that made him high-maintenance instead of a prude...?

Already...? Yes, Brayden did already take a shower but wasn't he the one flirting just now? Or was he just being a tease? Corny lines or not, showering with somebody was always nice. Something about fucking in the water made it a little more wild. Clean, too, oddly. Also a little slippery, especially depending on whether the shower had the safety bottom or not.

Jack remembered once, he'd taken a shower in an older tub, the kind with the too-smooth bottoms. It ended with Jack's tail bone banging against the faucet as he took a dive. Hurt like hell for days, too, and he was walking like somebody literally split his ass in two. He joked about it being the reason whenever any of his "friends" at the time asked. But no, it hadn't nearly been that fun.

But the Sunrise apartments had the nice safety bottoms and the massaging rain shower heads and the warm, warm water... Honestly, with or without Brayden, a shower sounded massively delightful. His head was still not a hundred percent recovered, even with the painkillers and despite how much water he downed, his mouth still felt a bit like he'd fallen asleep with cotton balls filling his cheeks.

"Fine," he acquiesced to Brayden's hopeful face. He drew him forward by the hand he still held, though, and he kissed him. A real kiss. A real kiss without any excuses to hide behind later, like alcohol and... alcohol. He lingered for a moment, soaking it in. Then he reluctantly let go of Brayden's hand after giving it a squeeze.

"But if you don't mind," he sang as he backed into the bathroom, "bring me clean clothes. These ones are disgustingly wrinkled and I can't handle it. Thanks!"

Ahh—a kiss. A real kiss, the kind shared between lovers, instead of a peck on the cheek or a soft brush of lips over his forehead. Bray had been tormented by those other kinds of kisses, replaying them, looking for answers where there seemed to be none. Was Jack merely affectionate? Or did that look in his eyes—this current look in his eyes, as he drew Bray closer—mean something else?

"Clean—yes. Of course, clean clothes." Dazed, Bray watched him disappearing into the bathroom. He licked his lips; he could still taste the kiss and Jack. Ah... Having a lover was really something special, wasn't it? Just knowing that he didn't have to be alone now... The warmth in his chest settle in and took root. Bray massaged the area over his heart, smiling, and turned away.

Clothes.

Clothes... meant visiting Marge... across the courtyard...

Bray worried his lower lip. Well there was no way around it, he'd have to go! He couldn't let Jack wander around in crinkled, wrinkled day-old clothes, that wouldn't be right. So he went, gently closing the door behind him and walking across the way to Jack's place. Marge came to the door after he knocked softly; her Look indicated that she knew something had happened. Before Bray could speak, she yanked him in by the arm and had locked the door behind her.

And she wouldn't let him leave! Bray sat uncomfortably on the couch beside Jack's friend Allie—ah... he remembered Jack saying something about sleeping with him... Bray glanced over; the young man smiled at him but there was a little something off about the smile. Before he could make smalltalk, Marge was grilling him and he-he was so taken aback that he stammered answers before he knew what was happening.

"Jack wanted clothes," he said faintly after a series of deeply personal questions, cowering slightly as she reached over to stroke the side of his head like a pet.

"Oh, right. Clothes. Let's go pick out some clothes for him." She pulled him along with her into Jack's bedroom. Bray cast an anxious look over his shoulder, a longing look at the door. Was she—holding him hostage?

Oh, a nice warm shower was just what he needed. Standing under the spray felt absolutely divine. It washed over the dryness left behind by the hangover and the strange zinging sensation that had been with him since he woke up finally seemed to calm down. He stood with his face straight under the water, letting it blast away that tight feeling in his throat.

It was with some private disdain that he found Brayden's washing things to be quite... lacking. Jack was particular when it came to his--well, his everything--and that meant only the best for his hair and skin. Brayden, however, seemed to purchase whatever was on hand when he needed new soap or shampoo. Still... When he opened the bottle of shampoo, he instantly smelled Brayden.

He didn't use a lot of anything--smothering the skin in any kind of soap or shampoo was bad for it--but he still felt clean and refreshed when he stepped out of the shower nonetheless.

With no clock in the bathroom and his phone in the living room, Jack had no idea how long he spent in the shower. Maybe a lifetime. He opened up the bathroom door to unfog the mirror and he poked his head out. "B?" he called, but there was no answer. It seemed as if Brayden had gone to get the clothes. Or maybe the food. Jack had no idea what food he meant to order but he could be out picking it up.

After he dried himself off, Jack wrapped a towel around his waist and wandered around the apartment for a moment. In the fridge, he found cold water. He drank some, then lowered his glass when he heard his phone buzzing. Ah. Clothes.

Jack perched on the arm of the couch, crossing his legs as he replied to the simple question with what could have been a treatise on male fashion. After he sent the message, he realized he had said nothing about socks nor underwear. Nor jewelry.

"Hm."

He looked down at himself, at his clean toes and his crossed legs. Sliding down off the arm of the couch and onto the couch proper, he propped his knees up over the arm instead. He held his phone to text back when he heard it buzz again.

Were those... clothes? Bray looked over Marge's shoulder at the text that she sent to Jack asking what he wanted, and after about ten minutes the response came. It left him scratching his head slightly. He knew they were words because Jack texted them and Jack probably forgot more about fashion than Bray could learn in one lifetime, but... none of them made sense.

He watched with mouth slightly open as Marge went straight to the things that Jack wanted. She grabbed articles, looked over them, pursed her lips and made little noises of approval. Clothing piled up on Bray's outstretched arm. He marvelled at the beautiful textures, colors, patterns and stylish cuts. Jack really had impeccable taste. That was the only word that fit: impeccable.

Meanwhile...

Bray looked down at his plain t-shirt and his jeans. Standard fare for the average bachelor. He felt almost a little ashamed, and definitely lacking, with so many expensive clothes draped over his arm. One shirt looked like it cost more than his entire outfit—if it could be called an outfit. Ah, but... Jack loved him anyway. He held on to that; that was his shield, his defense. His strength. Even if he was dumpy and boring and average, he had been allowed within this sphere of fashion and glamor—both Jack and Marge had those qualities in spades. Maybe with him here, their glamorous image would be elevated even more. See? Even Bray had a use.

When asked about underwear, though... He sifted through silks and satins and... and racy skimpy things until he found a pair of navy boxer-shorts. Marge's disappointment was palpable. She shook her head at him, rolled her eyes, snorted and sent him back to his own apartment—but not after slapping him soundly on the ass at the door.

And she groped him, too.

Bray stumbled back in a state of shock and knocked on his own door. "Jack?" He called plaintively, looking fearfully over his shoulder in case Marge came back out. "Jack please open the door..."

The clothes he'd worn to game-night/date-night were currently folded over the bathroom countertop, since Jack didn't know what else to do with them. He should have stripped down and told Brayden to trade off--the old clothes for the new clothes. But ah, well. Honestly, he could have gone home himself, showered, and dressed himself. Instead, he was lying on his back on Brayden's threadbare couch and laughing aloud at his phone. Leave it to Marge to check out his boyfriend's ass.

Then there was a knock at Brayden's door and Jack looked over, puzzled. Was that... food? Did Brayden end up just ordering pizza like a bachelor would? Not when he had Jack around! He could easily feed them something much better--oh, wait. That was Brayden.

Jack rolled off the couch, the towel barely hanging onto his hips at this point. He opened the door as if the place belonged to him and he eyed Brayden, standing there with a pile of Jack's nice clothes in his arms. Jack reached out to relieve him off the pile, moving aside to let the man into his own home.

"What took so long? Did Marge try to proposition you?"

Oh thank God, Jack heard him. The door opened, Bray started to smile with relief, then he saw Jack's half-naked state and. Oh look, was that his couch all the way back there? That was his couch! Look how exciting that couch was! It needed his full attention immediately. Jack's naked body barely hidden under a bath towel that hung loose around his hips, nearly falling off? But the couch! His couch!

"Sorry, she. Grilled me about what happened after she left," he muttered as he stepped inside, carefully avoiding Jack. Not only Jack's gaze but Jack in his entirety. His gloriously naked entirety. There was no reason for it—didn't they wake up naked? Didn't Jack go down on him last night? (Which he didn't remember but he believed Jack when he said it happened.) Weren't they lovers now?

But somehow Bray couldn't get past his shyness at the sight of another nearly naked man. His nearly naked man, but. They hadn't been properly intimate yet so it still felt odd. "And she. She touched my ass." That he half-muttered, half-sighed. Bray couldn't help sneaking a peek over at Jack, then quickly looked away again to give him some privacy. He realized in the back of his mind how absurdly he was acting, but it also wasn't something he could control. A naked Jack barely covered by a loose towel made his heart palpitate and leap around in his chest like a bucking bronco.

It wasn't that Jack was displeasing, either. No, the main problem was that he was altogether too pleasing and almost overwhelmingly desirable.

"Oh?'

Well, that would explain her comment about the wings. Which Jack was going to have to apologize for because he didn't know what fairy etiquette entailed. Once the door was closed, Brayden seemed to be revolving around Jack. Slowly, he followed Brayden back into the living room, wondering why he was hurrying so fast to make it to the couch. Meanwhile, Jack was sorting through the clothes and carefully placing them on the back of the couch in order of when he'd put them on.

Ew, those underwear. Jack made a slight face and let them drop somewhere on the ground, as if he'd "lost" them. Then he picked up his trousers and he laughed at poor Brayden's muttering before he made a sympathetic face. It was probably lost on Brayden. For some reason... he was keeping his gaze fixed firmly away from Jack. Hm.

"Do you want me to go over there and tell her to keep her hands off my man?" he asked in amusement--as he let the towel drop. Kicking it aside, he stepped into his trousers. There were pants that could be worn without underwear beneath. Typically, wool was a bad one for it--itchy. But these were made of a special wool/cotton blend and they felt quite nice against his naked skin. Careful with the zipper. Button up. Then...

"It's okay to look now. I put it away. Although," he said as he picked up the plum shirt and slipped it over his arms, "I find it slightly insulting you don't like it. I'm very fond of yours."

Laughter. Ah, the butt of jokes once again. Bray smiled, though, down at the couch as he plucked a stray thread off of it—probably from one of the blankets he liked to curl up with. Some of them were quite frayed; he needed to replace them. It wasn't as if he couldn't afford them, either. He saved diligently since he didn't go out, barely treated himself and only existed to work and come home to sleep.

It wasn't half bad to have Jack laugh at him, or laugh at his expense. Bray liked that he brought laughter to Jack's life too, because Jack brought a lot of mirth into his. Give and take, right? It was a nice feeling. He heard cloth rustling and felt his face heating up when he noticed the corner of a towel on the floor. Ah. Ooh. Naked boyfriend nearby.

Abort.

"No, no," he tried to sound casual as he picked at the snack bowls, stacking them together to bring to the kitchen. The popcorn was stale by now, the water lukewarm. The wine bottle... Bray sighed softly as he picked it up off the floor and stood it upon the coffee table to be disposed of later. "I'm sure she was just fooling around." Which was a funny thing to say about Marge—fooling around like a kid might—but... that was probably what it was. Another person poking fun at him. Not maliciously—never maliciously, he felt. Not towards him.

He stood there waiting for Jack to finish dressing himself, then tentatively turned only his head to check. "What? My what?" Bray blinked, drawing a blank. Jack liked his...? It? Bray liked anything of Jack's of course! He didn't get it. He should have—it was obvious when Jack said that he put it away—but Bray was all kinds of flummoxed in that moment, what with being groped by Marge and seeing Jack nearly naked and... and having Jack in his life on a permanent basis and just... everything.

Poor Brayden. Marge wasn't just fooling around. She saw something she liked and she tapped it. Some people would have been pretty angry about it, angry even on Brayden's behalf. It was a form of sexual harassment, especially if Brayden didn't like it. Jack didn't mind it but they weren't the same people.

"Really, I can talk to her if it bothers you."

Marge would be Marge but he highly doubted if Jack told her Brayden didn't like it, that she would continue. She was abrasive and outgoing, stubborn and a force to be reckoned with but deep down, Jack knew she had a soft heart. If she didn't, she wouldn't be babysitting their crazy son right now.

But the other topic at hand, that one... was one for the boyfriend. Brayden was absolutely clueless. Confusion was written all over his face as his head turned toward him but the rest of him remained locked down and ready to make a break for it. Like he thought Jack was going to take his pants right back off. Jack reached for him, shirt fluttering slightly since he hadn't buttoned it yet. Pulled Brayden in and nuzzled him before kissing his cheek and resting his own cheek against the top of Brayden's head.

"Oh, my sweet summer child. You have a lot to learn."

"...no it's okay." He couldn't say he didn't mind or that it didn't make him uncomfortable, but he didn't want to upset Marge. Not because he feared her but because he understood that that was the way Marge was. She was fierce. Fearsome. But also kind; she took care of Jack, Bray had seen her over on several occasions, fussing over him on the way in and out. She had a real fondness for Jack and also, Bray thought, for Allie and even him. She bullied him but she seemed like the type of person to bully the people she genuinely liked because she felt close to them.

"Thanks anyway, though." Why make a mountain out of a molehill? Besides, making Jack tell her was awkward when Bray could have said something himself. He was about to turn away from the lovely expanse of chest—a lot of chest underneath the fluttering purple shirt—but Jack pulled at him and he automatically turned into Jack. It felt natural to be embraced and for a moment Bray forgot his confusion.

Pressed right up close to Jack's bare chest, Bray half-deliriously felt the heat of his body through the thin fabric of his own t-shirt. He liked it. A lot. He smiled with his lips pressed to the front of Jack's shoulder, imparting a kiss as Jack's cheek landed on top of his head. "I was... born in winter," he objected, since he knew what sweet summer child meant and he was emphatically not one of those clueless dopes.

He—all right, so what if he was? Jack said the most outrageous things sometimes! It would take some getting used to! Bray nuzzled against his chest though, cheek pressed to it. Warm and solid, so real, so present. He couldn't help but smile to himself. "You're a good professor though, so... I'm sure you can teach me all I need to know."

Now that.

Was smooth.

He thought.

"Not what I meant, sweetie," he said, stroking Brayden's hair.

Jack had nearly forgotten the inappropriate humor that led to the current conversation. Then Brayden was praising his work and he raised a brow in question, even though Brayden couldn't see it. What did his job as a professor... Ah. Ha. Jack let out a laugh at that.

"How do you teach a man to catch an innuendo?" he posed the question to himself. Not one he would have taught in class, for certain. (He would promptly be fired for inappropriate language and behavior. Even Jack knew better than that!)

"But listen... don't be afraid of my body. I understand it's been, what three years? But I'm your boyfriend and I promise... you have my permission for whatever you're thinking about when you're blushing. Mkay?" Another kiss to the head. So chaste, really, in juxtaposition with the words coming out of his mouth.

"A--what?" Catch an innuendo? Bray had to wrack his brain on that one--and he didn't quite get it still. The moment was past, anyway; if he didn't catch it while it was being said, it was too late. Ah, that was the problem of being Brayden. Things so often went over his head. He suspected that if he were more receptive to things like flirting and innuendo, he might not have to wait three years--

Wait a minute.

How did Jack know about the three years of solitude?! Bray was aghast. That must have been something he said while he was drunk! Ohh, he was never drinking again! That wasn't something he necessarily wanted Jack to find out. Three years was practically forever, wasn't it? Most relationships didn't last three years... Bray sighed. Then looked up, brows lifting.

"You..." His voice was faint, surprised. "You called me your... Or--I mean you called yourself my--"

Boyfriend!

Exactly. See? Brayden missed it and now it was gone. That was flirting in a nutshell, actually. If the other person didn't catch on, it made the whole exercise moot. Why it didn't stop Jack... the world may never know. (Or it was because he was a lovestruck idiot, just the way Marge observed. Some things weren't so easily dropped. Also, he worked with Brayden. Also, he lived across the courtyard from Brayden. It was kind of impossible to pretend he didn't exist.)

Jack didn't know why Brayden went so silent for a long moment but he supposed he was doing that Very Brayden Thing he did where he overthought every single word. Maybe that was why the flirting hardly worked with him. People who naturally flirted just... flirted right back. And people who overthought every single thing... completely missed the message altogether.

Annnnd it sounded like that was exactly what was happening right now. Jack sighed and tilted his head back.

"Yesss," he elongated the word like a snake. "I did." When he took in another breath and righted himself, looking back at Brayden and his astonishment, he grasped his face in both his hands. Oh if he wasn't mildly infuriating sometimes--!

"Did we not decide to be in a relationship?" Or was that whole weird awkward conversation they had about something else entirely? Oh what he wouldn't give to be in Brayden's head for half a minute just to loosen things up a little.

Jack was dramatically Jack and Brayden was confusedly Brayden. And everything in the universe was right again. He stared at Jack's reaction, then stared some more at him when he confirmed his own words. Yes. He did. They did--they did agree to be in a relationship but it hadn't really yet sunk in for Bray. Not that he was waiting for the other shoe to drop but 'boyfriend' made them more official somehow.

For all of the flowery language and all the admissions they exchanged, boyfriend did it. Such a simple word, but it shook everything up for Bray. He wondered--really, he did--how it didn't do the same thing to Jack but then he realized that Jack probably had more boyfriends than he did in the past. Certainly, Jack had one before he came to Hazleton. Meanwhile... three years for Bray...

He tried to nod but Jack held his head in place. "We-we did. We did agree." He blinked. "We--are--" Oh. There it went--now it sank in properly. He thought he got it earlier but now the full weight of what happened struck him like a brick to the face. Boyfriend. Not to be afraid--that part he mildly contested because he wasn't afraid as such, merely hesitant.

"I'm--I--yeah." Why didn't it sink in when they said 'I love you' to one another? Bray didn't know how his brain worked sometimes. He did, however, know that he had never wanted to kiss someone as much as he wanted to kiss Jack--and he did. He did. He kissed Jack hard, fiercely, and when he pulled back, he was grinning so hard his mouth hurt. Or that was from the kiss maybe. Maybe both. "It's really... happening... isn't it? We're boyfriends."

Shit. Did he have it wrong this whole time? He was starting to think he had it wrong the whole time and that their wires crossed in the worst way. If so, Jack had to salvage himself from this heinous mistake. But he was pretty damn sure that Brayden put it out there and Jack agreed. Wasn't that how it happened? Or was Brayden asking for something else when he wanted to give it a "shot"?

Before Jack could mitigate the damage and control the impending shrapnel, Brayden finally spoke. And he claimed he agreed but he still had that weird deer-in-the-headlights look about him, as if he wasn't sure. Jack dropped his hands.

Kiss. A kiss. Another real kiss. And this time it was Brayden grinning like a little cheshire cat. Well all right then.

"Yes...?" Jack said with an uncertain smile. Brayden was really swinging around on the will he/won't he scale. But he said it with his own grinning mouth. They were boyfriends. It sounded almost juvenile but it made Jack laugh nonetheless, relief settling in. Okay. Finally. Were they on the same page or was Brayden going to pop out with another curve ball?

"So," he said, gathering back his social confidence and stepping back to start buttoning his shirt. "Get dressed, boyfriend. We're going on a real date."

For one single moment, Bray saw something he recognized in Jack because he knew it so well in himself--uncertainty. And while he didn't mean to throw their newfound relationship status into doubt, he thought that it was... nice to know that even unflappable Jack could feel something as Brayden-like as uncertainty. It made him feel less out of Bray's league--less of a star, more of a man, solid and real and in love. Perfect Jack was nice to look at and admire, but Jack with all of his hidden flaws and in these more human moments was infinitely more boyfriend material.

Bray laughed with him; they were on the same page on this one. Finally.

"Oh am I not...? Should I change?" He thought what he was wearing was fine--it was either something like a sweater, a cardigan or work clothes for Bray. He didn't have beautiful fabrics and silks to slip into for dates. Bray had no fashion sense but he wasn't a slob, either. He was just a normal man with normal tastes in normal, store-bought clothes.

As he watched Jack changing and putting on a million different things--that somehow pulled together into one effortless ensemble--he sighed. At himself. Frumpy and 'normal' didn't exactly cut it next to a man who looked like he walked straight off the pages of a glossy magazine. "Do you... want to pick out... what I should wear?" Hopefully Jack found something he liked... but Bray had serious doubts. But he could still hope!

"Yes. Absolutely."

He needed to change. Now. Did Brayden actually go on dates dressed like a football coach? Jack, meanwhile, did slip effortlessly into the various parts of his ensemble that he'd ordered Brayden and Marge to gather for him. God, he was lucky that he had a running catalogue of his own closet in his head. If he had Brayden choose, he'd be wearing the equivalent of those hideous boxer-briefs on the outside. But Marge wouldn't do him that dirty. Surely.

Adjusting his tie, he eyed Brayden. Was that a trick question, asking if he wanted to pick something out for Brayden to wear? Without answering verbally--he did sweep his gaze over Brayden critically--he pivoted on his heel and headed straight for Brayden's closet.

"Do you even have any date outfits?" he asked, because a man that hadn't dated in three years probably didn't. Nothing in Brayden's closet was coming close to impressing Jack. Seriously. They were just boring. It looked like Brayden didn't go out on a limb when it came to colors and patterns. And everything felt the same, too. No varieties in the fabrics.

"Why is everything in here in the same color palette?" he demanded to know as he turned toward Brayden. Everything seemed to be so muted! All these dull browns and tans and greys. Some plaids. Ugh. And they all looked like they came from a secondhand thrift shop! "You're not giving me much to work with here."

There was a single suit jacket. Jack looked it over with an inscrutable expression. Putting it back, he left the closet like a nightmare. "Let's just go," he said in a tone that could have also said you're hopeless. But now he was certain what kind of gifts his boyfriend was getting from him in the future. As he passed Brayden, though, he touched his hair before kissing him.

"You're lucky you're so pretty."

"I... did?" Bray might have something kicking around the back of his closet that he thought was a nice date-night outfit. Someone gifted him a nice navy-blue, ribbed knit sweater and he had dark slacks to go with it. Presentable, he thought. Jack apparently thought otherwise and the longer he sifted through Bray's closet, the worse Bray felt.

Color palette. His clothes had color though... But apparently not enough color. Nothing like what Jack wore on even a daily basis. Bray rubbed the side of his arm and looked away--not hurt, not angry or upset because he did ask Jack to help him choose something. He was just embarrassed. And he knew he wasn't adventurous. Colors and patterns didn't look... right on him. He couldn't pull them off the way Jack or even Marge did.

"Sorry," he said softly and meant it as Jack denounced everything in his closet. There wasn't much for a fashionista to work with in there, huh? Bray wondered if he should go out and get something rainbow... And he did have that one turqoise tie that he bought to impress Jack from the early days of their friendship. But why would he wear a gaudy tie on a date...? He wouldn't.

Bray waited around until everything had been picked through and offered Jack another apologetic smile. He leaned up into the kiss though. "Me? Pretty? But that's..." Bray trailed after him, sliding a hand into Jack's. "That's you. I mean--handsome. Really handsome. Pretty too but you know. You're. You look. Amazing." And Jack was always, always eminently presentable. Bray paused at the door to grab his keys, remembering with a little laugh how upset he had been to discover Jack's unique lockpicking skills.

"Does this mean... you wouldn't like me if I was unfashionable and not pretty?"

No, no, no. Brayden really had to stop all the apologizing. So he didn't have a grasp on fashion. What normal man did, really? Although... he had to say, he expected more from a fairy. Those gorgeous wings had nothing on anything Jack wore. Shouldn't something like that bring out the flamboyance in Brayden? Jack thought a fairy might be that--flamboyant. But it turned out that real life wasn't the same as the stories. For one thing, Brayden wasn't the size of Thumbelina. For another, apparently fairy wings were very private things.

Jack still remembered the way it felt, though, to touch his wings. Warm. And delicate. Surging with... magic, he now knew. Like nothing he'd ever felt before in his entire life. And here Brayden was, just sitting on that secret. How wonderful a secret it was that he kept, while Jack's were still literal skeletons. Shameful. Ugly.

He smiled. Of course he looked amazing. Jack spent time on his appearance. And he preened under the attention it garnered him. As a child, he was always so ashamed of himself but he hid it behind a veneer of bratty little attitude. He was ashamed of who he was, where he came from. But he rose from the ashes as a phoenix and with every intention of remaining fabulous. Sometimes, it was all he had--that which people saw on the outside. His imperiousness, his confidence, his style. Not everybody could get away dressed as flamboyantly as he did. But over time, he thought less of what other people thought about his choices and more about how he felt when he put those clothes on.

He felt good. Confident. And that confidence seemed to draw people in. For better or worse.

"Oh honey, you're already unfashionable," he said as he patted Brayden's cheek. "And I love you all the same."

He didn't know what to say about the pretty remark. Would there be this much chemistry between them if he didn't find Brayden reasonably attractive? Probably not but he had a feeling that would just hurt Brayden's feelings.

"...then I'm lucky I'm so pretty," Bray repeated humorously after he had his cheek patted like a good little boy. Most people would probably have been offended or hurt in the face of Jack's brutal honesty but it took a lot more to hurt Bray's feelings. Oddly, being hurt so much in the past had hardened him to these kinds of conversations. He wasn't, at any rate, thin-skinned.

He was a summer child, not a summer peach.

"Where are we going?"

He thought to ask as they were walking out; Bray cast a fearful look towards Jack's apartment. Marge didn't spring out to grope him in the ass or to put her hand down his trousers. Thank God. Bray found her attractive--and she was, she was almost like a female version of Jack but with less humor and more unfiltered rage--but he was also, at all times, slightly afraid for his life around her.

Look at him. Taking it in stride. Jack smiled proudly at him. See, that was his man. His boyfriend. That term really seemed to set Brayden aglow. He was going to have to remember that and use it to his advantage. Simple things really seemed to bring delight to Brayden. Fancy clothes and furniture didn't seem to have much of an effect on him. It was just the simple things, like their fingers intertwined and the word boyfriend and playing whimsical card games together.

Together being the key word. It didn't seem to matter what they were doing. When they were together, the chemistry and the attraction and the comfort was there. Eating lunch together at work, sitting next to each other in meetings, just passing by in the halls of the school. It was there. Jack felt it from the moment they locked eyes in the courtyard the day Jack moved in. But it took how long? Several months? Before they said anything more than the perfunctory greetings of passing neighbors, of co-workers.

"There's this adorable little cafe that I've heard only good things about. They serve brunch on weekends. And I thought it was aptly named, since it's called Birdy Bee Cafe." He smirked at that. B was his nickname for Brayden, of course. B. Bee. His little buzzing anxiety-filled bee. "Have you been?"

"Birdy Bee?" Bray laughed at such a cute-sounding name but shook his head to the question of whether or not he'd previously been there. Little cute cafes were always going up and down, popping up on street corners, nestled between antique shops and second-hand book stores. They didn't seem to last long, though; the people of Hazleton, for the most part, were down-home folks. The younger population definitely liked them, that Bray knew.

It was lucky that they lived in the heart of downtown, within walking distance of all the popular places. Bray didn't go to many of them but he passed them by. He peered in through windows and smiled sometimes at the happy people inside. Yet, he didn't feel as if he belonged with those people. They were colorful and vibrant and Bray was gray; he had one color palette apparently, while others had many.

But now he had Jack, and Jack was more than colorful enough for both of them. Bray looked admiringly at him as they walked, probably the least likely couple in the entire town. Beautiful Jack who stood out and dull Bray who sought to hide in the shadows... Yet they had chemistry. They found a way to look past their respective exteriors and to see and accept and love the person inside. There was something very touching about that, Bray thought.

"I think Mrs. Thompson is going to be very upset about this," he mused with a little soft laugh. "Us, I mean. I heard her trying to tell people that it was only a matter of time before you two became a couple."

Oh good. Brayden appreciated the name as well. It was cute. Almost sickeningly so, but it also sounded like a place that served cute little baked goods and interesting drinks. And who could say no to brunch? Brunch was possibly Jack's favorite meal of the day and he so rarely had a chance to do brunch anymore. It was in that odd time between breakfast and lunch. Which luckily for them, with all their adventures of the morning, was just perfect for today.

"Well, Mrs. Thompson could not be further from my type," Jack said facetiously, knowing full well that Brayden meant her son. "Awfully presumptuous of her to think I'd be attracted to her, by the way. Plus, she's married... although that hasn't really stopped me in the past..."

He side-eyed Brayden, wary of his reaction to that comment. Well... he had admitted to being a liar and a cheat. But... the idea of cheating on Brayden... just didn't seem possible. But maybe that was because they were still in that lovely honeymoon phase, where the other could do no wrong.

Jack opened up the gate that protected Sunrise and led Brayden out by the hand.

"I've walked past it a couple times now," he said. "It's up two streets from the club where Marge works."

"Ah? Oh no I meant--" Bray trailed off as Jack went on to make it very obvious that he understood Bray's meaning--he meant Wyatt, not Mrs. Thompson herself--and chose to tease him about his poor wording. Well, both of them were unsuited to Jack, he thought, and when he caught the tail end of a glance from Jack, he gave Jack a Look of mild censure. She was married... and casually skipping over his own role in others' infidelities was no laughing matter.

That was all in the past, he knew; Jack shouldn't be tried for crimes he didn't commit against Bray. And Bray also understood that not everyone was a saint. As much good as he saw in Jack, he saw the vices too. The alcohol dependency, the substance abuse Jack alluded to in past conversations, cheating and lying--things he wanted to shield Bray from. Jack was black and white--a man with virtues that shone but also a dark, stained past.

Bray loved both sides of him, though. Knowing that Jack had cheated in the past didn't dissuade him from pursuing a relationship. Jack might cheat on him; he might lie and he might do real damage. But Bray hoped that he wouldn't. He wanted to start out with trust and respect and love, not suspicion and dread. Jack hadn't done anything, so why punish him for a crime he may or may not commit in the future?

"Why didn't you go in?" He pushed the gate closed behind them and started off down the street for Birdy Bee cafe. Bray didn't want to think about Jack being unfaithful; they only became a couple today! There was time to revisit past crimes and right now, Bray only wanted to enjoy the moment. Strolling along with his boyfriend, talking about the cute cafe they were going to visit for brunch, it all felt like a strange fever dream. But when he squeezed Jack's hand, he knew that he was awake.

"Hm?"

Why didn't he go in where? Did he mean the cafe? Jack made a slight hand gesture but he didn't have an answer for it. Why hadn't he gone inside? It wasn't as if he hadn't been hungry. But he'd walked past it several times without going inside, despite having marked it inwardly as a place he'd like to eventually visit.

"Maybe I was waiting to go with somebody special," he speculated aloud, then smiled mischievously. "Maybe it didn't have meaning until I got to know you."

After all, he could have eaten at any cafe but not every cafe had a cute pet name that coincided with the pet name he'd given his lover. His boyfriend. There was also the fact that this was a small town and Jack was still trying to find his place here. In his mind, he planned to be here for a long time. That was part of the reason he'd chosen a small town the likes he'd never lived in previously. And part of that was to push the past aside and to try and grow into something less monstrous and more... what he hoped was always inside of him, just waiting to find its way out.

But those first few months were lonely. Going to the various bars and clubs was fine and all. He met a few cute guys to sleep with, to keep him sane. But as he had told Brayden, he wasn't looking for a relationship. He just wanted... to fit himself into this two horse town, to nestle into it as if he'd always belonged. Which was a little impossible, given what a figure he cut amongst those in town. Even his co-workers talked about how he was some big city Harvard graduate.

"You've never been there either, so now it's the perfect place for us to make ours."

"You do always call me cute," Bray mused as he avoided a crack in the sidewalk that, under normal circumstances, he would have tripped on with comedic earnestness. Today, this time, he saw it and he stepped past it. Today, he was a new person--or at least he felt like a new person and maybe along with that personal growth came a new awareness of himself and his surroundings.

But--yes. The cafe was cute, by all accounts, and Jack called him cute. There was a Bee in the name; Brayden was 'B' to Jack. It was a funny little game of word association and maybe, just maybe, the time to visit that particular cafe wasn't right until Bray showed up. He liked the thought of that, somehow. Things clicked into place for them; it was like a puzzle with wide-scattered pieces suddenly, magically, self-assembling into a beautiful image.

Or it was coincidence but couldn't Bray just believe in something exquisite happening to him for once?

"So now we have two things? The cafe and the stars?" He glanced heavenward but there were no stars in sight--rightfully so, given that it was the daytime. Bray smiled at the sky; his heart was lifted and happiness enveloped him like a warm hug. "We should go up to the top of Eagle Ridge one night and see the stars from up there. Maybe... for our second date?" Since first date was brunch at Bray's namesake cafe... but he also thought that maybe the first date had already happened, that night they sat out there in the courtyard and looked up into the night sky together.

Jack smiled. He did call Brayden cute but it was impossible not to. Sometimes he was just stupid cute. Jack noticed it even before they were on actual speaking terms--the perfunctory greetings not withstanding. He noticed that Brayden always seemed to hunch into himself, as if he didn't want anybody to notice him and he always seemed surprised when somebody said something to him. He never seemed to interject himself into the co-workers' conversations. He seemed content enough to hover nearby and just listen.

Jack noticed, too, that when he came along and the co-workers flocked around him, that Brayden was watching them. And he was pretty sure even then that it was him being watched, not the co-workers. Unless Brayden had a crush on Mrs. Thompson and the others. But if Brayden wanted to say anything, he didn't. Again, he seemed content to just be close by, listening in on Jack's outrageous stories of his college days, of various schools he'd worked at when they asked. Jack knew how to tell a story and he never seemed to run out of them.

"We have a lot of things," Jack said. "And we'll make a lot more."

It made him feel good. Special. Oddly... grounded. There were always "things" with previous relationships. A favored restaurant, inside jokes, pet names. In that regard, this relationship was no different than any of Jack's relationships. In fact, he stepped right into it without missing a beat. He wondered if that bode well for them... or not.

"Why not tonight?" he asked. They could have everything. There was no reason to put the brakes on now. Jack had already decided and that meant he was here with both feet in. He grinned as he knocked his elbow against Brayden's arm. "You can show me all the constellations, since you're such an expert."

Bray had never really been the main character in his own story--his life's story. His was a bit part. Man walking by, or onlooker #5, someone adding to the overall background scenery but not important to the story. Non-essential. A lot of that was because he was uncomfortable in his own skin, unused to too much attention. Even now, when Jack looked at him for too long, he felt that prickle of embarrassment and shyness, wondering what Jack saw, what kept his eyes on Bray. And yet despite that, it made him feel like a star, for brief moments at a time. When they met in the hallways or passed by in the courtyard, he felt noticed.

He was unused to being someone's sole focus, too. Past lovers ran hot and cold, but were never like this. None of them came close to Jack and he had to wonder at his own incredible luck. Logic dictated that a man as beautifully polished as Jack must have a number of skeletons in his closet but Bray had seen his closet. It was filled to the brim with beautiful things.

"I'd like that," he said to seeing the stars that night, already envisioning a blanket stretched over the damp grass, and two people in love nestled together on top of it. Bray held that image for a long moment and then blinked a few times. It was a beautiful thought. He smiled at the nudge to his elbow and he nudged Jack back. "That's silly. You're the expert, since you came from up there." He pointed up. The heavens.

Jack really felt like an angel who came down to Earth. Cheesy, he knew, but again--so genuine. Nothing facetious about Bray's earnest admiration of Jack. But realizing how it sounded anyway, he laughed at himself and shook his head. "I'll point them all out but that might put you to sleep." There were major and minor constellations; he could sit there all night tracing them out. Maybe he would, if Jack humored him.

Up ahead, he thought he saw a cute yellow and black awning. "Is that it?" Bray sped up a little, excited to see the cafe Jack spoke so highly about. It was! The logo was cute--a birdy bee, as advertised. "Oh it's cute, you were right Jack," he said almost breathlessly as he paused in front of it. But then his eye fell to the menu inside and he winced. "Wow. That much for... a sandwich?" Yikes.

Jack laughed. "Says you and nobody else!"

If anything, Jack came from a pile of shit and struggled to rise out of it. Brayden didn't know that, though. They weren't at that point in their relationship where they talked about their childhoods. Or maybe Brayden was. Jack still didn't know how much he wanted to share on that front--not even aware that he'd already given a few unintentional clues while he was drunk.

"And there's no nicer way to put me to sleep."

Hm. Actually... there were nicer ways to put him to sleep but it was top ten, he decided. Sitting under the naked sky with Brayden while his soft voice spoke of constellations in that over-eager way he did when he was enthusiastic about something... Jack could see that as a pleasant lullaby. It did his chaotic, torn up heart some good just thinking about it.

The adorable little cafe came upon them and Jack nodded as Brayden picked up speed to get a better look at the cafe. It was brand new, clean and cute, ready for business. Jack paused as Brayden appeared crestfallen and he peered through the window to see what had him wincing.

"Oh, that's nothing," he said. "I'm paying. I invited you, it's only fair. Besides, places like this charge so much because they use locally sourced ingredients. It's not a bad trade off, really. As they say, you get what you pay for."

And Jack was accustomed to nice things--and nice things cost money. He led Brayden inside. "Order anything you want."

"Do you think they have toast?" he asked Jack quietly as they walked inside. The person behind the counter was flipping through a magazine, but immediately shoved it away, out of sight, and beamed at them. He beamed. Bray stared. That smile was very bright and very white--sort of reminded him of a certain enigmatic, charismatic man standing, oh, less than a foot away.

"Welcome to Birdy Bee Cafe~!" He sang. "I'm Luka, let me know if anything catches your eye!" His glance fell approvingly over Jack, then somewhat slowly over Bray, who leaned closer to Jack as though Jack could help deflect some of the young man's interest in their clasped hands.

Honestly with those prices... toast would probably cost an arm and a leg, too. Bray scanned the menu again and meekly ordered the cheapest thing on it, not wanting to put a dent in Jack's wallet. He wasn't a cheap date himself, but he didn't feel right going up and having the most expensive thing when something cheaper also looked equally tasty.

"And a glass of lemon water, please," he added, before the young man's overly curious glance on him made him look away to one of the nearby empty tables. What was the look? The smile? He was still smiling--beaming--at them and Bray didn't know if it was normal for people to act like that.

Toast? Jack looked scandalized. They were going on their first date and Brayden wanted to ruin it by nibbling on toast? Then again... Jack recalled that Brayden had been drunker than... he'd ever been, from the looks of it. As if to comfort him, Jack gently rubbed Brayden's back. Poor, poor little lightweight. Jack winked--it was force of habit, okay?--at the pretty young man behind the counter.

Oho, something caught his eye, all right. But he kept that to himself. Even if it was harmless flirting, after admitting being a liar and a cheat directly to Brayden, he had a feeling that wouldn't go over very well.

"Well, I'm trying the weekend special," Jack said. It looked absolutely delicious. There were poached eggs over potatoes and green peppers, a honey glazed biscuit, and a side of fresh local fruit. "With orange juice for me. Thanks."

"Avocado toast and weekend special coming right up!" Luka their overly cheerful waiter turned to presumably make their food, while Bray slid into an empty seat at a table near the window.

He did see the wink and he noticed the smile growing brighter from the young man, and he didn't know quite what to think of that. There was no harm in a wink. No harm in a smile. Bray looked down at his hands clasped together, on top of the table, for a long moment. He started to say something but then thought--thought--thought--thought better of it and just smiled softly at his own insecurity.

"Ah. So. Is... there somewhere you want to go or something you want to do next weekend? We don't always have to do game night." He knew some of them bored Jack, who wasn't made to sit still for that long without some form of rebellion. And Bray didn't want to be selfish; he was very eager to please, also, now that they were together. It was his force of habit to try and cater to his partner's every need, while his own took a back-seat. He barely even noticed that he did it and quite honestly he was happy to, but people called him a doormat and easy to take advantage of, and he smiled it off--like he did that wink. Smiled and waved it all away as his own over-reaction.

Besides, Jack was paying for this lunch date and he was accompanying Bray up to Eagle Ridge. What things did Jack want to do purely for himself? Bray... thought maybe he could expand a little, too, if Jack could buckle down for hours of boring card games for him. He could try, at least, to be more like that bubbly, bright young man behind the counter, if that was what normally caught Jack's attention. Bray wasn't angsting over a thing like a wink; it was more like a learning opportunity in disguise.

Jack followed Brayden to a spot near a window, sitting across from him. He noted the way Brayden's hands were sitting on the table, like a little kid in kindergarten waiting for snack time. Crossing his ankles together and kicking his feet beneath his chair, Jack reached out and slid a hand on top of those clasped hands.

Brayden had that over-thinking face on again. It didn't take a Harvard genius to understand why, either. Everything went swimmingly until that wink at the kid behind the counter. He wished Brayden didn't take it too seriously but he also couldn't ask Brayden to be anybody but himself. And some people didn't like it when their boyfriends flirted openly with other men in front of them. In fact, Jack would say probably 75% of the people he'd been in serious relationships with were the same way. And some of them didn't even start that way--it only happened when they became serious.

And he could see why. When a person was in love, they wanted the object of their affections to look only at them in a certain way. What Brayden didn't see was that Jack did only look at Brayden in a certain way. The winks, the flirting, that was pretty casual stuff. Admitting to being a cheater, admitting to being afraid of hurting him, looking at him with the softest gazes... Those things were reserved for Brayden. And well, maybe Marge, but she was a special case.

"I like game night," he said, because game night became date night and the last time that happened--last night--he got to see Brayden in the throes of ecstasy. He tasted him, from the top of the head to every last drop of his orgasm. Even if that... led to some odd things.

Jack rested his chin in his other hand, while the one atop Brayden's gently stroked and coddled him.

"Don't be jealous, B." He tugged at those clasped hands to pry one up, to bring it to his lips, to kiss those fingertips. "My boyfriend, my lover. That kid will never know me like you do."

Jealousy wasn't the exact word for what Bray felt in that moment, watching Jack openly flirting with the handsome young man behind the counter. It was more like... envy, he supposed. They were entirely different things. Jealousy meant he wanted Jack to look at no one else except for him, to command and capture all of Jack's attention—which he didn't. He had no intention of becoming so possessive. Besides which, Jack was his own person and he was accustomed to acting a certain way, which Bray saw every day in his interactions with students and peers at the college.

Envy, though, was far more complicated for Bray. He envied the young man for his ability to seem so free and generous with his smiles. He did beam and it made him seem that much more attractive. Bray wished he knew how to do that; how to come across that effortlessly confident and attractive to Jack, whom he wanted to impress with all of his heart. It wasn't that Jack flirted, and he became upset, it was that he saw something he wished he could do, but didn't know how or even where to begin.

He smiled down at the hand that slid overtop of his own clasped ones, warmed by Jack's reassuring and thoughtful gesture. Bray liked game night, too, because it allowed him to spend time alone with Jack, to steal his complete attention if only for a few hours, one night a week. He was also allowed to shine, as he had a natural if geeky affinity towards things like card games and board games, and strategy games in general. They had fun, too. Jack had fun even if he got a little antsy sometimes. Jack brought the fun, if anything, with his over-the-top reactions to losing rounds and his lively banter.

"I know." Bray's heart stuttered when Jack kissed his fingers. Such a loving gesture from such a loving man. That love was merely displayed in ways dissimilar to Bray's, in winks and half-hugs and pats on the butt (he saw those happen at the college to others, too!). Being overly friendly was who Jack was. Bray lowered his gaze. What Jack must think of him now, to have to openly reassure him that he was special and beloved and that his place was a vaunted one.

"I'm not jealous, Jack. It-it's just... I don't want to be boring. I want to be. Someone you can take out and not—be disappointed about the way I dress or how I act. I thought just now, if I could be more like-like him, maybe..." Bray trailed off with a small shrug. It was hard to communicate in so many words how he felt in that moment, to express his secret longings and desires, or how important it was for him to be someone that Jack could be proud of. Bray wanted to better himself for Jack, to be seen as someone worthy of holding that title of boyfriend, lover, partner.

Ah. It was easy to read into Brayden's feelings of jealousy because Jack experienced it before, with a previous boyfriend. Keith Hargrove, with his insecurities and low self esteem.... He didn't like Jack looking at other people to the point of becoming violent. It was so odd because when they met, dear Keith was a sweetheart like any other. And Jack ruined him, of course. Like he ruined everyone.

Brayden wasn't Keith, though. He seemed to be in deep thought--not unusual for Brayden--before he spoke. And Jack listened with a slightly tilted head and his gaze fixed on Brayden, taking in his every blink, every turn of his gaze, every moment when he stopped to try and word what he felt as accurately as possible. And Jack could feel it. Again, the feelings were practically palpable.

Swallowing hard, Jack lowered his gaze to that precious hand and those precious fingers. And he struggled with himself, with whether or not to say something or not to say something. Because Brayden, not unlike most people, had a very defined vision of Jack--in part due to Jack.

"I'm not," he said, flicking his gaze up without lifting his head, "disappointed by you. What did you think when you met me? The first time? First impressions?"

Bray watched Jack every bit as intently as Jack regarded him, and the two of them just... had their lines crossed a little. It was difficult to have this sort of conversation in private, much less out in a cute little bird and bee themed cafe. As much as Bray wanted the date to go well, some things had to be addressed. And they weren't causing a scene or embarrassing themselves; they were talking quietly while trying to work out the more delicately tangled knots in their personal expectations.

It all had to do with their respective experiences with relationships. Bray's were mostly a string of disappointment—of being disappointing. He was the one at fault, told that he was boring, that he didn't have it—whatever it was, that kept a partner interested. There were expectations that he failed to meet which hurt him deeply, on a very personal level, and his failings stayed with him long after the person had packed up their things and left. Little by little, Bray's confidence wore down and became as threadbare as his furniture at home.

And Jack? What did Bray think of Jack when he first met him? He stopped to think again. "I thought you were beautiful. There was a glow about you that I'd never seen in anyone else." His own gaze became faraway as he thought back to that first time he set eyes on Jack. It was his first day at the school and Bray went over to his office to give him some documents and paperwork to sign (of course, as was his job). He walked into Jack's office after knocking very timidly, and was told in an almost imperious voice to come in.

The door opened and Jack was standing there by his desk conversing with Jett, the department head. Bray remembered stopping short and stammering something about being sorry that he had intruded, and Jack... smiled at him. Warmly. And he looked not through Bray, but at him, like he actually saw him as a person. Like he thought Bray might be someone worth noticing.

"You saw me, and not a bunch of paperwork."

"...okay."

Jack let out a little laugh and brushed the back of his own neck. That wasn't what he expected to hear, actually. He expected to hear what he always heard--that he was kind of a snob. Judgmental. Looked like he came from money. That sort of thing. He had no idea why he thought Brayden would see him the same way as other people... But he sure seemed to see himself in a low light.

"That's true," he said, pointing briefly at Brayden. "I did see you."

And he definitely didn't see the paperwork. At least, not until it was brought to his attention. Being his first day there, he knew it was coming. He just didn't know it was coming in the form of somebody so cute.

"But here's what you were supposed to say." Jack sat back and lifted his head like an arrogant rich kid. "You were supposed to say I looked like I thought I was too good for everybody around me. That I was the big time Harvard grad with all the fancy clothes and that I came from some big shot family that probably invented something stupid but practical that people use everyday, like scotch tape."

He crossed his arms over the table and leaned forward.

"But I'm not. I only got into Harvard on a scholarship. My family..." He made a scoffing sound and rolled his eyes away, looking out at the cute cafe. "...isn't even a family. My mother tried to abort me and failed and she's never forgiven me for being born. And my father? Skipped town on both of us but hard to miss a man that uses his fists to show his affection."

He looked back at Brayden, hoping to hell and heaven both that he wasn't looking at him with great pity in his eyes. Jack hated pity and that wasn't why he was telling all this to Brayden. He wanted him to understand that Jack wasn't some lofty rich brat--he wasn't some far off star--that was beyond Brayden's touch. That, honestly, he wasn't anything special beyond what he portrayed himself as.

"I'm not anything special, Brayden. So you don't have to... impress me." He slid his fingers through his tie. "All this is my armor. That's all it is."

Was he... abashed? Bray watched Jack rub the back of his neck with a little half-smile of bemusement. Jack was beautiful in every way, there was never any doubt of that. His beauty was the first thing Bray saw, not only the physical attractiveness—though that was incredibly difficult to ignore—but also the warmth and the kindness in his smile and eyes. He saw real beauty and true beauty, in other words. Maybe he was lucky to have caught Jack at that moment and maybe others had different impressions, but that was what Bray saw.

What Bray didn't see was everything Jack described about himself. His expensive clothes and Harvard degree made him someone to be looked up to and admired. Surely no one would think that he was haughty and stuck-up, or that he thought himself above them. That was more of a reflection of the other person and their own insecurity and sense of inferiority than it said anything about who Jack was. Jack was Jack; he couldn't control how others perceived him.

What followed, though, Bray had gathered from disjointed drunk conversations he had with Jack. The mother who didn't love him; the father who beat him. He didn't know Jack's mother tried to abort him, though. There was more shock and dawning horror than pity in his eyes, at the thought that anyone could even attempt to do that. Why? How could someone try to snuff out a life? And—had she succeeded... Jack wouldn't be here. He wouldn't be sitting across from Bray confessing to being nothing, hiding behind glamor and glitz, and how could the world ever be the same without Jack in it?

Bray reached for his hand slowly, and he held it tight. "How can you say that you're not special?" Even from such humble—to put it lightly—beginnings, Jack made something of himself. He rose above the squalor of his childhood and made something of himself. "You-you made something out of nothing, Jack. That's... that's real magic. You're incredible."

Didn't Jack see that? Didn't he know how impressive he was, to have gotten himself into Harvard on that scholarship? (Harvard! Not Hazleton Community College but Harvard!) That he overcame his mother and father's abuse to become someone who could stand tall and not only believe in his own worth but assert it when the world tried to batter him down and convince him that he was worth nothing? Everything Jack had, Bray was willing to bet he earned. Nothing was assumed, nothing was given without struggle.

But Bray also understood where he was coming from. That maybe he didn't want to be put on that pedestal and treated like he was God. Jack wanted what Bray wanted—to be held, loved, to be seen as himself and not as the glamorous untouchable man-about-town his fancy clothes and expensive tastes made him out to be. He wanted a place where he didn't have to be that man, and... he chose Bray. He chose Brayden when he could have had his pick of all the single, eligible bachelors about town.

"...I understand," Bray said quietly. "I see you, too, Jack. And I'll try not to—"

"Careful! These plates are hot!" Luka came swinging by with their orders and plonked them down in front of each of them, forcing Bray to let go of Jack's hand over the table. "And. Don't take this the wrong way or anything, but." He leaned down closer to whisper, "You guys are soooo adorable! The way you look at each other is literally relationship goals." Then with another too-bright grin he was gone.

Bray stared after him for a few seconds and then looked down at his plate. Luka had made a smiley face in his avocado toast... with pepper flakes.

How could he say he wasn't special, Brayden asked. Because he wasn't. Even if he dug himself out of the shit pile that was his life, he hadn't made a better man of himself following that. Because there was still blood on his hands. The first time was an accident. The first time filled him with the most horror. He thought Brayden could forgive him that one. Anybody could forgive an accident. The five after him? Not so much.

"You..." Don't. He didn't see him.

Jack looked down at the food that had been placed in front of them, reflecting on how Brayden saw him. But he still didn't have the entire story. In his eyes, it seemed, Jack had just made himself look even better. That wasn't his intention. His intention was to show Brayden he was just any normal person. He had been born like everybody else. (Did fairies get born?) He had been raised--dubiously, but raised nonetheless. And he grew up, and he had a say in what he appeared to be in front of others.

And he liked that. He liked how people looked at him. But... strangely... he wanted Brayden to look at him and see the real him... and still love him. Instead, he was struggling internally with that need and the need to protect himself. The more he told Brayden, the more the curtain was pulled back, the more he thought Brayden was going to hate him. He would learn, one day, to hate him.

Jack smiled, though, if somewhat sadly. He didn't know how to make Brayden understand who he was, to love who he was... without breaking his heart in the process. Should he have disappointed Brayden when he had the chance? When he could have walked out on him? It would have hurt--both of them. But in the end, Brayden would be a lot less hurt.

This was their first date, damn it. He was going to enjoy it.

"Hm," he said as he noticed the smiley face on Brayden's toast. His smile was mischievous, as if he hadn't just bared a part of his soul before Brayden. "Seems like I should be the jealous one... I think somebody likes you~"

Hey, he heard they were relationship goals--but that didn't mean that Jack couldn't tease Brayden a little.

Well, they all said love was blind but not having all the pieces of the puzzle also made it impossible for Bray to see anything other than resilience when he looked at Jack. He admired Jack greatly and he trusted him. He loved Jack as Jack and he should have realized the harm in idolizing him too much. Being so anxious to impress him, Bray only pushed him further out of reach instead of drawing him closer down to earth, where Bray's outstretched fingers could reach him and hold on to him.

Why did Jack smile like that, though? Bray reached out to squeeze his hand again but the plates on the table made contact difficult. He looked down at Jack's delicious meal with all of those colorful vegetables and the perfectly poached eggs with a sprinkle of pepper and salt. Then he looked at his pieces of avocado toast with the childishly cartoony smiley faces on them.

They could have this conversation later, maybe, when they weren't within earshot of a strangely upbeat waiter.

That sad smile was replaced with a more familiar impish one and Bray shook his head. He delicately swirled the pepper flakes around the top of his toast until they stopped grinning up at him. "I think he thinks I'm five..." Bray remembered how the lady at the diner used to arrange his eggs and bacon into a smiley face too. She would pat him on the head and give him free glasses of chocolate milk.

He laughed, though, in exasperation and reached for his napkin. Jack was teasing him, he knew that. Under the table Bray lightly rubbed his ankle against Jack's calf—a safe, but still flirty, move. He shook out the napkin with the intention of laying it in his lap and paused. Then delicately folded it and wedged it under his plate, where the phone number written on it couldn't be seen.

Bray caught another beaming smile from across the room and hastened to stuff some toast into his mouth. "It's really good. Here, try some." He turned his plate towards Jack. "How's yours?"

"Hm." His thoughtful sound, as he watched Brayden destroy the cute little smiley face. "Maybe you're right. After all, it wasn't winking at you."

And he winked at Brayden for full effect. And maybe also a little bit because if the cute guy behind the counter got a wink, then Brayden should definitely get one. His smile was secretive as he looked across the table at him, feeling the ankle against his calf. Oh yes, he felt it. And he liked the playful side of Brayden, the one he normally only saw when they were alone during their scheduled game nights and sometimes in brief spurts at work. He got snatches of it at lunch, maybe, or a smile in the halls.

Now they were dating, he thought--hoped--he'd see a lot more of that.

This was easier. It was always easier to focus on the present, not to worry about the future, not to fly off the handle about the past. The only part of his life he had any control over was this moment, the moment he was living in. Beating himself mercilessly over past accidents and mistakes wasn't going to help this moment. And fretting over what may or may not come in the future also wasn't going to help this moment. He couldn't control what happened next. And he had already done what he did in the past.

All he could do... was keep holding onto the idea of the black hole that reformed itself into a star. He'd looked it up on his phone. It was a thing. It wasn't just his imagination, bad memory, or wishful thinking. It was a real theory. And that, somehow, was a balm for his sore and scared heart.

"It looks so dry," Jack said. The avocado might help but... toast was toast. He'd try it in a minute, if only to humor Brayden. As for his meal, though, he heaped some of it onto his fork and held it out toward Brayden. "Try, try! You're going to regret your dry toast."

It definitely wasn't winking at him... and now it was destroyed so it never happened. Bray laughed into his fist at Jack's wink, though. It was sweet. Cute. Like he thought Bray needed to be reminded what a wink looked like. The playful atmosphere which returned to them as easily as the somber moods overcame them helped Bray to relax slightly.

"It's not dry! He buttered it." Or there was some type of mayo, perhaps, which helped it to avoid being completely dry. Not to mention, the avocado was creamy and delicious and fresh. Bray reached for the fork at first—politely out of habit—and then threw caution to the winds and leaned forward. He used the hand to steady the fork—and also took the opportunity to hold Jack's hand—while he ate off of it. "Mm. Good." Oops! A bit of egg had smeared onto the side of his mouth. With his own napkin out of commission, he took Jack's.

Then he folded that one and wedged it under his plate too, on top of the first one with the phone number on it.

Bray wiped off the bit of egg with his thumb. None of that nonsense, not right now. 

"Did he now? Did he butter your biscuit?" He knew it was an awful joke and his shit-eating grin said it all. And he almost sighed, expecting Brayden to go for the fork handle rather than just--well nope, he was actually going for it. Jack continued to grin as Brayden ate directly from his fork, like a boyfriend would. And then stole his napkin. Jack raised his brows.

"Is there a reason you're hoarding all the napkins under your plate?" Jack asked, because the first one had been chalked up to eccentricities--and they all had those--but stealing Jack's napkin and tucking it there, too? Without even using it to wipe off the egg on his face?

Jack reached for Brayden's plate to get a peek at his secret napkin hoard.

"That's terrible and I hope you feel ashamed of yourself," said Bray dryly of Jack's joke—if it could be called that. Opportunistic play on words, Bray called it. But it felt so good to be able to exchange banter with him in public, instead of having it be restricted to the safety of their apartments. Bray wasn't without humor himself, honestly; he just didn't always find a good time to show that when there were other people around.

He tried to play off the napkin theft as normal but Jack wasn't having it, was he? Bray reached for Jack's hand when it snuck over to try and lift the two napkins under his plate. "No reason. You don't want to use these." That was phrased as an attempt at hypnosis rather than any convincing argument against unfolding both napkins to see the same number written on each.

What happened to adorable? What happened to relationship goals?! Bray was only in this relationship for one day—actually less than one hour!—and someone was already trying to take advantage. He knew what that young man Luka wanted, possibly, and he—he hadn't even had sex with Jack yet (that he could remember)! Why should someone with a pretty smile have the first crack at it?

"And yet..."

He shrugged artfully. He wasn't. Not even a little bit. It was a bad joke but he was having fun and that was so so much better than talking about his shitty past or ruminating over how or when or if ever to tell Brayden everything about himself. Yes, he much preferred terrible biscuit jokes.

"Why don't I want to use these?" Jack asked, using the same weird hypnotic tone Brayden used. Was he trying to use fairy magic on him? Jack scrutinized him for a moment. If so, it wasn't working. Maybe it didn't work after he swallowed. Everything.

His fingertips touched the napkins and as far as he could tell, they were your average, normal, everyday napkins. He gave it a gentle tug, because he didn't want to flip the plate over. He just wanted a good look at these special napkins.

"What... are... you... hiding...?" he asked slowly once he got a hold of one and turned it about in his hands--only to see... a phone number? He looked over at the cute guy behind the counter.

Three things Bray could have done in that moment—let Jack see both napkins, let Jack see one napkin or flip the table over entirely so no one saw any napkins. He didn't resist too hard when Jack's fingers closed around one for fear of actually upsetting the table and their food. It cost an exorbitant amount of money for some eggs and avocado and toast; Bray couldn't find it in him to ruin the meal by tussling with Jack over some napkins.

He supposed he could have used some of his abilities to put Jack to sleep before he looked at the napkin... but that felt like an over-reaction. Bray sighed and shook his head silently when Luka, behind the counter, gave them both an obvious wink. Steadfastly ignoring him, Bray ate his way through the first piece of toast. He looked up at Jack and frowned.

"No."

Not. Today.

Nobody consummated a beautiful relationship that almost never happened by propositioning the Birdy Bee Cafe wait staff to join a threesome, not on Bray's watch. Normally he was willing to bend over backwards but not about this! Reaching across the table, he reclaimed the napkin and stuffed it into his pocket with its brother, to commit to a recycling bin later.

"No?"

The napkin was snatched straight out of his hand. All right then. So... Wait, whose napkin was that? Was that his? Or was it Brayden's? (Did it matter?) Either way, one of them had just been given a phone number... after they were complimented on being "relationship goals."

Jack laughed gaily.

It wasn't mean spirited, it was just--poor Brayden's face. And his tone. It was like a storm cloud passed over him because of one little phone number.

"I wasn't going to call him," he said, of the napkin that had been torn away from him. But he sort of deserved it? Maybe? For telling Brayden he'd cheated on boyfriends before. It shouldn't even be funny, actually, that Brayden already couldn't trust him. They were really starting this relationship off on some bad footing.

"I really wasn't going to call him," he said again, this time in all seriousness. Luka... was young. The type he might have dated happily before. It was inappropriate, dating kids in his class. The dynamic was all wrong. He had a big smile, too, and he was cute--there was no denying that. But he was... not that black hole anymore. At least, he desperately didn't want to be.

"Now help me eat this," he said, sweeping that guy under the rug. "Their portions here are huge."

"No."

He didn't laugh along with Jack but he smiled because he saw the humor in the situation. And he knew Jack wouldn't have called Luka. He hoped Jack wouldn't have, because knowing each other as they did now, Jack had to at least respect the fact that Bray was a little slow-moving in the intimacy department. Hell, he couldn't look Jack in the face with a towel wrapped around his waist! How would a threesome work?

"I know... I know." His voice grew softer the second time Jack felt the need to reassure him, and under the table again he brushed Jack's ankle with his ankle. Bray wasn't offended. He wasn't even mad or upset. It was just that he needed to draw a line to avoid their wires crossing again. Sometimes even he was stung to speak up and this was one of those times. Bray didn't assert himself often, so when he did, it was serious. This? This was something that meant a lot to him and he was very serious about whom he opened not only his heart and life, but his legs to as well.

Mystified by this bizarre episode (was it common for kids to do this now?) Bray loaded his fork with some of the excellent food from Jack's plate. He also tore off a small part from the middle of his toast—the most tender and least dry part—for Jack to try. "He wrote it on both napkins," Bray said quietly as he offered up the toast, but not without a little amused smile to show that he wasn't upset.

"The answer is still no."

Say what? Jack looked over at the kid again. Kid had balls, Jack had to give him that. Propositioning the both of them... in the hopes for a threesome? Hey... how did he know Jack was up for those, anyway? Did he just look the part? Or was it wishful thinking from the kid? Jack's grin was slow to form but he was immensely amused by the situation.

"Okay, okay. No threesomes, either."

Which was... a bit disheartening. Brayden must be a bit prudish in regards to sex, but... the whole three year gap should have told him that. Maybe the Marge thing wouldn't happen, then. Aw, too bad. She seemed to like Allie a lot, though. But he was their crazy son. She wouldn't! Would she? Find him a boyfriend, have a good time with them both... It didn't have to involve Jack.

"And the toast isn't as dry as I thought," he conceded after he gave it a try. But he still thought his meal was better. It was a proper meal, for one. "But next time... I'll cook for us."

Jack leaned forward with an amused light in his eyes. "So guess where I learned to cook... since you know my big secret that I didn't have any fancy nannies or servants growing up."

"Not today."

Not 'not ever' but certainly not today! Bray was too tired and hungover for that kind of thing and besides, how old was Luka? He had to be in his early twenties. It seemed improper somehow, like taking a kid to bed. And yet, Bray had a sinking feeling that Luka probably had more experience than he did in the bedroom. That was a little sad...

Ready to move on, Bray nodded as he finished the rest of his toast. It was good; the pepper flakes really added a nice kick of heat to an otherwise bland meal. But Jack's was definitely better, he could admit, so he took bites of it between his own toast. "I do like the things you make more than takeout," admitted Bray, whose little hermit heart felt warmed any time he could sit down to a simple meal with a loved one. Fast food and takeout didn't evoke the same homey feel or draw up memories of sitting at the dinner table with his parents and feeling like a family.

As for where Jack learned to cook... Bray's smile softened. "Off a TV show?" He had no idea where a love-starved child might learn to cook, honestly.

Jack could accept that. Not today. If it ever happened, he'd be surprised. Brayden didn't strike him as sexually adventurous and he couldn't be that easy to get physically close to, either. Jack was just bold. Most people wouldn't touch a man they barely knew the way Jack touched him. Even a lot of close friends weren't so touchy-feely with each other and Jack could tell early on that Brayden was one of those people. He seemed to easily grow used to Jack's physical affection. Dare he say it, but it even rubbed off on Brayden a little, too.

But he appreciated that Brayden wanted to give him hope. It just... wasn't that big a deal. Jack had a boyfriend now. It was okay to just have a boyfriend. And they were still in the glow of the honeymoon phase. They'd barely done anything together sexually. And what did happen was one-sided... both in the nature of it and in the memory of it.

So he was fine with it. Holding off on adventures. Holding off on bringing other people in.

It was nice. When it was just the two of them. Even in public, it often felt like the rest of the world faded away into the background whenever Brayden was around.

"Nope." He smiled like a kid who knew something stupidly small that they were stupidly proud of. "Home ec! I mean, I learned a little on my own before that but it was shit." Back then, he basically lived off boxed foods or shit that came out of cans. Nothing from scratch, ever. "In junior high, they offered home ec classes. It opened my eyes to all kinds of things I never even tried before and Mrs. Hoffman was the sweetest lady you'd ever meet. She let me stay after school. Taught me things outside of class. She was a huge inspiration for me."

"Home-home ec? Oh. That makes a lot of sense..." Where else would Jack get access to ingredients, equipment, someone with the knowledge and time to teach him? That was such a strangely endearing mental image, of a young Jack hovering around a stove with a bunch of his fellow students... Bray lowered his head to hide his laugh. He wasn't laughing at Jack, or at how absurdly pleased with himself Jack seemed. He laughed because of the real, genuine joy that showed in Jack's eyes and expression. To think that the man who professed to be haughty and stuck-up, who was a hedonist by his own admission, could have that kind of innocent look in his arsenal...

"She'd be proud of you if she could see you now." There was no higher honor, Bray thought, than to make someone proud. He reached across the table to take Jack's hand, brushing a thumb over the back of it. Bray laughed again, still thinking about spindly-legged Jack busying himself at the stove, slaving away over bubbling pots and sizzling pans.

"I wish I'd known you when you were younger. What were you like? Were you mischievous? Did you get along with the other kids at school?"

His smile widened. Yes, that was his him. The kid who stayed back to learn how to cook. He was tired of the disgusting cardboard he'd been living off of. Hell, he was lucky if even that was in the house when his mother went on a real bender. Then he'd have to steal her money to buy something from the grocery store himself.

"Mm."

Maybe she would be. Jack hadn't seen her in such a long time but she was the kind of woman who didn't lack maternal instincts. Cooking, sewing, cleaning, these were things she genuinely enjoyed doing. Over time, Jack learned not every teacher enjoyed what they did. Or even liked kids, for that matter.

But he laughed--not unkindly--at the idea of Brayden knowing him when he was younger. If he met Jack during junior high... "You wouldn't have wanted to know me back then." He took a drink of his orange juice. Sweet but not too sweet. "I hated myself. My so-called friends were much older than me and they took advantage of that. I looked up to people like Mrs. Hoffman... I wanted to be more like her. But really, I was just following in my mother's footsteps."

He tapped the side of his glass.

Drugs, alcohol, sex. Anything to pretend real life didn't exist. Never in his life did he empathize more with his mother and never more in his life did he despise her for it. Nothing mattered except herself, her feelings, and her needs. They weren't just put first. She didn't just put Jack behind her. She really wished he never existed and for every moment of his life with her, she made damn sure that he knew it.

"I wasn't so self-actualized then as I am now." No, he was anything but self-actualized. "But so few of us are at that age..."

He looked up at Brayden. It was nicer to look at his face than it was to look into the face of his childhood. Setting his chin in his hand, he smiled, imagining the kind of kid Brayden Smith must have been.

"But what about you?" His smile grew. "Were you still a shy little super nerd? Do tell."

He hated himself? Bray wished that Jack could have elaborated on that but given their current setting... maybe it wasn't the right time or place for it. All of these admissions gave him a better glimpse into the turbulent life that a young Jack RIpley led but what he discovered made his heart feel heavy. If Jack could so easily and freely admit that he hated himself as a child, what other things would he reveal in time? What other, worse things did he endure to get to where he was today?

"You mean you weren't self-actualized at fifteen?" Bray's turn to inject a little humor into the situation, mostly because he didn't quite know what to say. He needed time to think about what Jack was telling him, time to digest the small pieces of information and unpack the large pieces of Jack's past that were being unveiled before his eyes. His heart hurt for Jack, though he tried hard not to show that, and smiled softly across the table at him as his fingertips brushed the side of Jack's arm.

"Shy super nerd sounds about right," he said wryly, pushing the food away now that he'd had his fill. "I was... I guess I was always too cautious. Too serious. I wanted to fit in but I didn't know how to, so I ended up being that satellite circling around every group. I don't think many of them wanted me around but I'd still try to fit in." Bray shrugged. "When you're a kid, you don't want someone to tell you what not to do. You don't want a voice of reason, you know?"

Although he supposed that he was still like that; old habits died hard. Bray was still too serious and almost too mature in some ways—though depressingly not in others. He didn't have as hard a time getting along with people but he still felt like a satellite, like he was on the outside looking in. Bray tapped his fingertips against the table as he tried to put young Jack and young Bray into the same scene together.

"I think we might have gotten along. Neither of us really fit in, did we?" Young Bray would have been overly eager to please, as he was now, and maybe young Jack needed someone to need him, someone who looked up to him and tried to look out for him. Bray smiled, though his heart ached. "My mother would've loved you." And he wished that he could have brought Jack home to her, to introduce him to her, because she—like Bray—recognized people in need of love and she would have provided the kind of support and care that Jack needed better than Bray ever could have.

"She—you know the time I told you I saw her in my dreams? I spoke to her. And she told me..." Bray's gaze was far away, looking into the past. "Be patient. Wait... and stay with you, and you'd let me know how to love you and take care of you. I think she was right."

Nope. He only smiled at the joke because really, who was self actualized at fifteen? Hell, who was really self actualized ever? It took so many years to carefully craft the person you wanted to be and even then, one sometimes fell short of that.

Jack could quite easily imagine Brayden as a child, even more so as Brayden described himself. It sounded like a lonely existence, merely revolving around others and not really being involved with any of them. Honestly, the other kids sounded mean, if they saw Brayden on the outskirts and just left him there. But kids, they didn't really know better, did they? And they didn't know why Brayden was there on the outside. For all they knew, that was where he wanted to be.

Oho, he wanted to say. He fit in--just not with the right people. Jack wasn't a satellite, even if he was lonely and in pain on the inside. Outwardly, he was just another jerk asshole of a kid. If little Brayden met him, he wouldn't have liked him, wouldn't have wanted to be him or be like him. And little Jack would have just been an asshole. Because that's what he was, there was no getting around that. He was an asshole.

But he was glad he didn't say it because Brayden's next words unexpectedly struck a dagger into his heart. His mother would have loved him. Well. What did he even have to say to that? Nothing, because he was struck dumb. Mothers did not love Jacks. Mothers wanted their kids away from people like Jack. But mother and love, those two words together. They never failed to hurt him.

Jack swallowed hard.

Was that something his mother would have said if she were alive? Did she speak to him through dreams because they were magic? Connected even through the veil of life and death?

"...and what are you learning?" His voice came out rougher than he would have liked; he hated showing real emotion when he didn't want to show it. He was supposed to sound flippant. At ease, unbothered. Instead, the tiny little cracks in his armor were showing.

Looking back on it now, Bray thought that as a kid, he didn't really know the extent of his own loneliness and isolation. As a kid he just... kept trying. There was a lot of hope in him that somebody might take notice of him and extend a friendly hand. Ali was always there, though. Ali tried to include him but he also had his own life, his own friends, and couldn't always look after Bray. A lot of the time Bray just accepted that he was the geeky weirdo that didn't even fit in with geeky weirdos. But he kept trying.

His mother helped him through that difficult time; she was his best friend, his closest confidante. Bray always had her in his corner and no matter how rough of a day he had—for a kid—he could always count on a warm hug and a warm bowl of soup. Listening to Jack's description of his own mother and childhood, Bray was struck by how fortunate he really was. Being bullied and excluded wasn't anything on not having enough to eat, or being taken advantage of by older kids. Young Bray had that happen to him too but... strangely, even those older kids found him too depressingly mature for their tastes.

There were parts of them that didn't fit in, he supposed was what he was trying to say. Snotty little kids weren't supposed to like cooking—that would have gotten Jack laughed out of every group in school here. Too-serious, thoughtful weird little kids weren't supposed to foolishly keep pursuing people who clearly wanted nothing to do with him—that wasn't logical. Parts of them didn't line up, but that was... kids, really. Kids were weirdly resilient things.

Adults, not so much. A lifetime of abuse and being battered took its toll. Bray saw that, lived it, first-hand. He watched the motion of Jack's throat as he swallowed, and as words finally deserted him. Jack, the perpetual chatterbox, out of words? Speechless? Bray made a miracle happen—but he wasn't laughing. He breathed in slowly, shallowly, as though afraid to make too much noise and stir Jack out of his currently vulnerable state. The walls were finally down.

"I'm learning," he replied slowly as his fingers slid under Jack's tie and curled around it, "that behind this shiny, distracting armor is someone who... who needs to be loved for who he is. He doesn't need another person to put him on a pedestal and tell him that he's... perfect." Bray tugged gently on the tie even as he stood, leaning across the table. Ooh, he was—he was crazy. Insane for doing it but in the moment there wasn't anyone else. There was only Jack, and the pain he saw through the cracks in that easy-going facade. Bray's heart responded to pain; he knew it when he saw it. He identified with it.

"Because he's not perfect..." His lips touched Jack's. It wasn't a hungry kiss, not a kiss that was meant to draw attention. It was just a small, simple, loving kiss. "And I love him more for his flaws than ever before. Young Bray might not like young Jack, but... I love Jack. Not the armor. Jack." That was what his mother meant, he now knew. The longer he waited, the more he saw past the armor. If he stayed long enough, Jack's pain would show; he would tell Bray how best to help him heal, instead of heaping compliments on someone who was already made out to be perfect.

That person didn't need another admirer—but the one behind the mask, he did.

Strangely accurate. Very accurate. It felt like Brayden was looking directly at him now and as much as he longed for and waited for somebody to do that very thing, it was possibly the most frightening thing in the world. To have one's soul bared. At the heart of him, Jack was exactly that. Imperfect. He told himself--and believed in it for so long--that he didn't want anybody to sneak this close.

But then, he hadn't admitted to these things to anybody. The fact that he didn't come from money, the fact that he came from a broken home, the fact that he wore his perfect clothing like armor. Nobody knew because Jack didn't want them to. Yet he was strangely compelled to tell Brayden. Like he could trust him with anything, even his broken heart and his worn out soul.

As frightening as it was, it was also liberating. Brayden's soft voice echoed in his head as his eyes closed over a helpless, stinging heat of emotion. The touch of his lips was almost too much, as if Brayden touched raw nerve, too sensitive to touch. He wished it not to be true but when he opened his eyes, the emotion spilled over. He could feel it on his face.

How could somebody see into his soul and still see something worth loving? How could anybody love Jack and not the armor he presented? It was absurd, it wasn't real, it couldn't be real. Was this another nightmare? Tormenting him with would-be scenarios that could never come true? It was worse, really, than any of the others, because it touched right through to the core of him, by-passing every other problem he had with himself, everything he managed to fix or paint over.

Love, he knew, was supposed to be unconditional but for Jack, there were always conditions. For his entire life, he had to work for what passed as love. But really, people only loved the idea of Jack. He set himself up for it, for failure. He knew that. But he didn't want to open himself up, either. To reveal the nothingness he knew he really was, for the ugliness and the neediness and the loneliness.

There was nothing in Brayden's eyes or his expression or his tone that indicated he thought any less of Jack for what he'd heard... so far. But he still knew so little. It was too good to be true. Eventually, the other shoe was going to drop.

Jack lowered his head, turning his face away from the counter, suddenly too aware that they were in a very public place and he was... crying. He pressed a hand to his face, to scrub away the tears. God, he must look like a fool.

"Just so you know, this is not how I imagined our first date turning out," he said to the window, which was no better than looking at the counter. Either way, he was going way too public with this vulnerability thing.

There was more, Bray could tell. This little tidbit of Jack was only his childhood—there were tens of years after that still left to be explored but now he was ready for it. This wasn't as bad as it got; they hadn't even touched on the nightmares or the blood that Bray saw in the one he unwittingly passed through. That was okay. Bray was accepting; he loved not for what he could get in return, but what he could genuinely, honestly offer of himself. That was his way of being noticed, of being accepted, and it was enough for him even if others still called him a doormat because of it.

He smiled through a veil of his own tears—though unshed—as Jack's emotions overflowed. Discreetly he passed a thumb under Jack's eye to swipe away a tiny little drop, blurring the path it took down his handsome face. "Let's get out of here," Bray said softly to him as he stood fully and rounded the table, using his body to shield Jack from that overly friendly young person behind the counter.

Jack was right—what Luka saw was only the armor. Bray, he knew Jack.

"Do you want to go to the park?" He passed a gentle hand over the side of Jack's head the way his mother used to do for him. Yes, she would have loved him. It was she who taught Bray to look past the exterior, to see the person inside. She would have realized that young Jack was in pain, and that his behavior was symptomatic of something deeper than 'a kid being a kid.'

"God, yes."

Anywhere but here, really. The idea that the kid behind the counter was witnessing this whole thing was embarrassing enough. Jack was dramatic, true, but he was dramatic in a calculated way. This was beyond his control, the entire situation slipped out of his control at some point and he couldn't seem to get a handle on it.

Brayden seemed to sense his unwillingness to share his little breakdown with the world at large--or even just the kid working in this cute little cafe--because he stood between them like a shield. Funny, that. Jack's armor just started to crack and somebody was there to act as his shield in its place. The idea warmed his heart. Here Brayden thought he was boring and ordinary but he was the warmest, most giving person Jack had ever met. It still felt unreal, like a person of this caliber couldn't exist beyond his imagination.

But if this was his imagination, he certainly wouldn't have chosen to start crying like a bitch in the middle of a public space. Thank you very much.

He needed to get out. Outside. With the fresh air. Jack turned his head into the hand against his head, then kissed the inside of his wrist. "Let's go," he whispered, before sliding out of his seat. He could not get far enough away from that cafe.

"Come back again soon cuties!" Luka called to them from behind the counter, waving energetically as they made their way out of the cafe.

To Jack—but mostly to himself—Bray muttered, "Never." It was too weird now to come back, when he knew that the waiter wanted to sleep with them both, and that they'd had a public heart-to-heart and cried and laughed and generally made a scene. Luckily the cafe wasn't packed so their secret was safe, but Bray knew that there were other cute cafes. There had to be other cafes; this couldn't be the one and only place they could go to for over-priced brunch.

Outside where it was chilly but brisk, a mild wind felt refreshing on Bray's face. It was too nice a day to stay cooped up indoors, otherwise he would have suggested going home to finish the rest of their conversation. The park downtown was a man-made space but it was still nice and green even at this time of the year, and if another meltdown happened, there wouldn't be too many people to see it. They could hide behind some trees and cry it out if need be.

Bray hooked his fingers around Jack's and smiled up at him as they walked. The park was maybe a block and a half away—nice thing about small towns was that nothing was ever far away. "Are you okay?" He asked, then added with a touch of mischief himself, "I have tissues in my pocket if you need them..."

Ah, fresh air. Jack felt like he could breathe again. The cold air stung his face but it felt good. He felt... alive. At least... he did until Brayden offered up tissues. Alarmed, he brought his free hand up to his face, where he could still feel the moisture of his own tears. Shit.

"Is it that obvious?"

He looked over at Brayden and the mischief written all over his face.

"Oh, you little..."

Change didn't happen overnight, okay? Jack still had a carefully crafted reputation to uphold. He didn't want people looking at him with pity in their eyes. That was a huge part in why he crafted all that pretty armor in the first place. If people were going to look--and it was hard not to notice a tall man such as himself--then he was going to make it on his own terms.

"I can't believe the audacity of that kid." And then he realized that Brayden held onto the napkins and he turned to him with feigned betrayal. "Or the audacity of you! You kept them? Are you planning to give him a call after all?"

"Yep." Hey, look—the tables were turned. For once. Bray liked being the one doing the teasing, and his was a gentle form of it anyway. He wasn't nudging Jack in the ribs with his elbow and guffawing about how he'd just bawled out in the middle of a cafe, right out in the open for everyone to see. That, he thought, was something an asshole would do—and he was not, nor had he ever been, an asshole.

Jack realized his joke and he couldn't help but laugh as it finally sank in. But it was cute. Jack was cute, even if all he wanted people to see was how amazingly fashionable and incredibly refined he was. And he was those things, but he could also be vulnerable, soft, weak—which was okay. Bray was here to act as his shield when he needed one, and he knew when to step back when Jack didn't. That was the beauty of a partnership; their burdens were cut in half because they could share them with each other.

He shrugged a little in the face of Jack's feigned outrage. "Well... no," Bray admitted, before that mischievous spark was back. "I'm giving him two calls, because I have two napkins."

He dropped Jack's hand and made a run for it, laughing. The park was up ahead anyway; Bray made a beeline for it (Beeline... haha), for the swings he could see were empty. He used to love the swings; they made him feel like he was flying. Bray ran to one and slid his butt into it, kicking off with that same old swoop in the pit of his stomach that felt a whole lot like falling in love.

"Come on! I bet I can go higher than you!"

"What?"

Brayden was off like a shot and Jack stood for a minute like an idiot before he raced after him.

"That doesn't even make sense!" he shouted. Two calls! For some reason, Jack could only imagine Brayden dialing the number and hanging up. Twice. Which was amusing. And probably true to life, because what would Brayden even say to the kid when he called?

Plop! Right into the swing, a little awkward, though, given his height. Swings were generally made for kids and his legs were too long. Jack couldn't even remember the last time he'd sat his ass in a swing. Probably in his high school days, but not to swing higher than anybody. Just to wait for a dealer in the middle of the night.

Now he felt like he was back in kindergarten again, when everything was still shaded through the eyes of innocence. Jack used to swing on his belly like a little moron, twirling in circles until he got dizzy. Now he was swinging with his legs out in front of him.

"I'm way too tall for this shit, B," he said, as a couple of kids walked by with big, wide eyes.

Jack was a little too tall for the swings, wasn't he? It looked like his feet kept wanting to touch the ground when he swung out and that wasn't how it was done! Had he never swung before? ...or maybe that didn't suit his image, to be gripping tightly onto the metal links holding the swing up, with the hair whipping in and out of his face.

Bray laughed as he jumped off mid-swing, stumbling a little. "Wait. Wait I'll push you." He saw the kids staring at them and he... didn't care. For once. He was out on a first date with a man that logic dictated was far out of his league, they cried in the middle of a cafe (where Bray also kissed him in plain sight of everyone), and now here they were. What was the judgmental stares of two kids compared to that list of incriminating actions?

Or maybe they were just staring at Jack, who was dressed like he was going to a fancy ball, swinging away in the kids' play area.

He ran around behind Jack. "Hold on tight!" Bray grasped the sides of the seat and ran forward with all his energy, pushing him off as hard as he could. He ducked out of the way as Jack swung back and pushed him again, grinning, having fun even if he wasn't the one hurtling through the air.

"Doesn't it feel like you're flying?"

"Hey--"

He didn't need help swinging! Yet it was happening. Like he was a kid again, back when he was still a shorty and his little legs didn't reach the ground. Now it was quite the opposite. Also, he didn't have to be told twice to hang on as Brayden shoved the swing up into the air.

"I can't say it doesn't."

It really did feel like flying. Weirdly, everything about hurtling through the air on the swing made him feel buoyant. He closed his eyes and let out an almost childlike laugh. When was the last time he felt this light and airy? Probably back in those kindergarten days. Weird how those were his happiest days, but that was when he realized that there was love in the world. A teacher that cared meant the world to him. It was no wonder Jack eventually went on to become a teacher himself.

"You better hurry and catch up to me or you're going to lose your own bet."

"Oh I'm not losing! I'm the King of the Swings!"

Yes... it was the stupidest thing he'd said all day. Again—no amount of caring. Bray ran back to his own swing and got back into it, pumping his legs to get up higher, higher, higher into the air. The wind sliced past his face and he let out an exhilarated laugh, and the higher he swung, the further away he left his worries and troubles behind. For a moment he was free as a bird, unfettered, unrestrained.

However, as energetic as Bray was, shorter legs meant that he couldn't get up as high or as quickly as Jack. Bray laughed again—and then reached over to pull on the chain links of Jack's swing to sabotage him a little. All's fair in love, war and swing wars, right? That was definitely the saying. Bray didn't count on his own swing wobbling so ferociously though, and ended up having to abort and jump off again before he collided painfully mid-air with Jack.

"Cheaters... never prosper," he gasped as he got to his feet, shaking his head and brushing off his pants.

"All right, Your Majesty. Then show me what you got!"

Never mind that Jack had to have a little help getting up off the ground. Who knew he'd be in his 30s and still awkward in his own limbs? Shocker.

"Oh--hey--what!"

Things were going oh-so-smoothly--up until the point where Brayden decided to play dirty. Jack didn't even know he had it in him. It seemed like soft little Brayden wasn't as soft as he made himself out to be! Jack found himself twisting around in his swing and before he could end up smacking straight into Brayden, Brayden made the decision to jump off first.

Meanwhile, Jack's swing was out of control and he swung his legs out in an attempt to grab hold of the nearby pole and stop the wild swinging. His head spun and he felt slightly green around the gills by the time he managed to wrap a leg around a pole. He slid up and off the seat, grasping onto the pole like a lover.

"I declare by default that I win, since you're a filthy little cheat!"

Jack's exit off the swing was slightly more graceful than Bray's—but not by much. As he grabbed onto the pole and slid off his own swing, Bray was on his feet laughing at the way he was hugging the metal structure. "Hey if you're not cheating, you're not trying!" He declared as he walked unsteadily over; his legs were broken. Both legs, broken from the way he landed after he leapt off his swing.

Bray pried Jack off the pole and collapsed against him, still laughing at their silly and very ungraceful play session. How did they do it as kids? When they could leap on and off slides, swing all the way up to the skies, jump off with scant regard for personal safety... Ah, it was good to be young. But it also felt good to let go for a little while, especially after such a heavy moment earlier in the cafe.

He wound his arms around Jack's waist. "So what does the winner want for winning?" Was there anything a filthy cheater like Bray could give him that he didn't already have? Glamor, grace (most of the time), fashionable attire and friends all around him, Jack seemed to have it all. His apartment was impeccably furnished; he knew how to cook and he told marvellous stories. It was truly difficult to look past all of that when it was so prominent.

"How dare you, sir, accuse me of not trying because I'm not a filthy cheat," Jack said in his most over-the-top imperious tone. It came to him so naturally. But there was a hint of playfulness that hadn't been there before. Now that he wasn't hugging a pole, he came to be hugging Brayden instead.

"Hmmm," he hummed, having to think that one over. What did the winner want? There were never any stakes in this bet. Brayden just made one without laying out the terms. Jack went along with it. And it was all for fun and games. Nothing serious. It was nice, actually, to see this more playful side of Brayden in full detail, rather in snippets and spurts.

"I want you," he declared, pulling Brayden closer so that he could kiss the tip of his nose affectionately. His voice lowered, in case the kids were listening but also because... it was really only meant for Brayden's ears, anyway. "I want you tonight. No wine."

No wine. Just the two of them. And then Brayden could stop being shy around his naked body. Jack wanted to see the emboldened side of Brayden. He knew it was there. Just like the playful snippets, there were sneak peeks here and there of a bolder Brayden. Like when he said no with absolution in his tone.

"Just," he said slowly, drawing the words out, "you."

Apparently he did dare, because he just did. But it was all in good fun. Winning or losing, it was all a game and besides, Bray wasn't that competitive! No one enjoyed losing but it also wasn't as if his life depended on coming out on top. Bray was simply happy—and he felt blessed, truly—to be able to share a moment and a laugh with Jack.

Arms around one another, he felt finally that he was home. Home was where the heart was, and his heart was with Jack. It seemed odd now to imagine having lived so long without him. How ever did Bray exist before? How did he get through the days and nights that dragged on and on in an endless loop? Jack really did flip his entire world upside-down, and all he did was move here and say hello.

"Me?" Bray smiled at the peck on the nose—such an affectionate thing, such a Jack thing to do. If Jack had ever been starved for love, it didn't show because almost deceptively, he was so affectionate with everyone that people must have thought he grew up surrounded by love and attention, and was accustomed to showing it. Not so. That was the trouble with that armor, sadly; it was too convincing.

Ah—but Jack wanted him tonight. No wine. Bray's gaze fell down to Jack's lips as they formed the words again. Just. Him. As if he had to repeat himself for Bray to get the implications of 'no wine.' But he wanted it, too. He really did, without wine, without anything to get in the way of what he felt was an important act of intimacy. Sex meant something to Bray. Love and sex, they were part of the same package.

"I want you too." He kissed Jack's chin softly, aware that kids were watching. Probably not a good time to start madly making out. A hug was fine, though. Soft whispers, they were okay. "Tonight. And every night." Not that he was propositioning for sex every night—how exhausting!—but he wanted to be with Jack when the lights were dimmed and the covers pulled up over them. He wanted to rest his head on Jack's chest, for Jack to rest his head on his shoulder, to hold, to be held. He wanted everything that being lovers entailed.

"...but maybe we should... stop hugging now..." He caught sight of a mother glaring at them and eased away. "Ahem. So. Let's. Not be here... with the angry moms...?"

This time, Jack was determined to make it good. Not that it wasn't good before but he was going to make it good. Memorable. Brayden wouldn't forget it this time. He would be present and in the same moment as Jack. That was what he wanted. None of this one-sided love anymore. Jack didn't want to be the only one holding onto a precious memory and he wanted... he wanted Brayden to have a chance, too. To show his love and affection in a way he wasn't prepared to when he was so, so drunk on that wine.

Satisfied that they were again on the same page, Jack smiled and nodded. His finger gently poked the same spot he'd just kissed on Brayden's nose.

This, Jack didn't mind people seeing. But he understood Brayden's sentiment. Reluctantly, he removed himself from Brayden's warm embrace and took his hand, tugging him along with him. His smile was wry as he said, "We're not welcome anywhere, are we?"

Which was a lie; they were probably welcome at the cafe but that was... Jack didn't like airing that sort of thing in public. The fact that he even said as much as he did, shared as much as he did--in public, no less--was a feat in itself.

As he walked Brayden away from playground, Jack said suddenly and apparently out of nowhere (but it had been on his mind when he searched Brayden's closet earlier): "Whatever happened to that nice tie of yours? I didn't see it in your closet."

Bray turned his back on the disapproving mothers and their no doubt emotionally scarred children and let himself be pulled off the playground. This was a place for kids anyway, not for men in their mid-thirties to declare undying love (and to sneakily indicate that they both wanted to have sex later that night). He did cast an apologetic look over his shoulder, though, unable to help himself. He really, really needed to stop apologizing for everything.

"What tie? Oh the-the turquoise one?" He only had one tie that Jack would consider nice. "It's... back in the tie box." The nice box he got it in, he put the tie back to keep it clean and safe. And that box, he slid into his drawers rather than leaving it just anywhere in his closet where he could crinkle it or lose it in that sea of 'one palette' grays and tans and blacks.

"Why? Should I wear it tonight?" There was a touch of humor in his tone as he imagined wearing only that tie and nothing else. Bray laughed despite himself. He'd heard of people leaving their socks on but... ties?

The image of Brayden wearing nothing but a turquoise tie made Jack laugh. He leaned against Brayden, then slid his arm around his shoulders.

"I'd say no, but now I kinda need to see it."

Brayden really just did this shit to himself. Poor, poor Brayden. But Jack hadn't meant to ask where it was for tonight. More like he'd been wondering if it was still in Brayden's position because, well... He could build an outfit around that tie. And he thought Brayden would look quite lovely in the right outfit. Already, he had various articles of clothing in mind. Turquoise looked really good, actually, with that soft grey that Jack seemed to like. A fitted coat and trousers, a nice white button up... He could pull it off, he thought. Maybe even a paisley vest. Or would that be overkill on Brayden...? Hm. Maybe.

He was quiet, content as they walked away from the playground and left it behind. There was a nice expanse of trees, bushes, and small woodland creatures nearby and Jack could even hear the cheerful babble of a creek he couldn't yet see.

"We didn't have this kind of thing where I grew up," he told Brayden as they walked through the cool shade of the trees that still held onto their leaves during the winter. Jack couldn't say what they were; botany or whatever that plant studies thing was called was never his strong suit.

"The best I had was the tall grass in our yard. I used to sit out there and hide and pretend I was one of the stray cats and dogs that lived out there." He lifted his arm and gestured to a place on the underside of his upper arm. "Got bit by a tick in there. I didn't think about all the bugs that were hiding out there with me. My father had to pull it out, I did it wrong. I kinda panicked and ripped it off, but did you know, the head stays if you don't pull them out right?" He made a face. "So gross, am I right?"

"I... I don't think you do need to see that," said Bray dubiously, realizing not long after that he effectively dug himself into that hole with his own two bare hands. Maybe all of this off-the-cuff commenting without thinking deal wasn't the way to go. When he over-thought every comment, at least he didn't get in any trouble. Of course he also didn't get anywhere but there was safety there—and not landing himself in hot water.

He sighed; if Jack wanted to see it, it would probably happen anyway. Jack had that way with him and Bray was so weak against him. There was no defense against Jack and it wasn't fair!

"You mean forests? You grew up in the city... Weren't there parks?" Probably not nature parks like these, though. Bray glanced around at the evergreens, the pines that scented the air, maples with their bare branches mingling with birch trees whose tall, straight, banded white and gray trunks stood out. Fae weren't as in-tune with nature as sylphs (supposedly) but Bray felt a great deal of comfort every time he strolled through the woods or through this park. He didn't think he could live in a big city full of concrete and chrome, where the air was choked full of auto exhaust and fumes.

"What—" He was about to ask what made Jack decide to leave all that behind, but Jack continued speaking so he fell silent and listened. "I-I didn't know that, no," Bray grimaced. The thought of a tick's head dangling off the tender arm of a little boy... "That's... not right." His arm slid around Jack's waist as they headed down a random path; all of them led around in a circle, so he knew they were in no danger of getting lost.

"Why did you hide there? Was it... did you go there to hide from your mom?" Most little boys pretended they were tigers and bears, not... stray cats and dogs. There was something to that. Did Jack want to get away so badly that he would have settled for being a stray neighborhood animal? Bray's hold on Jack tightened; he turned to kiss Jack's cheek affectionately, as though to make up for the neglect he faced all those years ago.

Jack smiled knowingly at Brayden's tone of utter doubt. What? What was wrong with a pretty, handsome man with only a tie around his neck? Those Chippendale dudes did it, didn't they? Practically the same thing. And anyway, it wasn't like Brayden had to do it for anybody other than Jack, who would love-love it and appreciate it. He gave Brayden his best puppy eyes, which didn't come into play often.

"Park has a different meaning in Boston."

At least, in the slummy, city parts of Boston. Parks there were dinky, sad little things. They were squeezed into places they hardly belonged, with barely any grass. Mostly, they just had filthy sand and that weird bouncy foam material in the place of grass. And the trees were tiny, pale half-grown things standing up only with the help of sticks as they tried to grow. Try being the operative word; the kids in slum town Boston weren't kind to those little baby trees.

"There's a little scar there now." Obviously, Brayden couldn't see it right now, underneath his clothes. But it was there. He lowered his arm. Why did he hide out there? Jack could remember it like it was yesterday, though it was so long ago.

"...it was best to just stay out of her way." That was answer enough, he was sure. When he was still too little to understand that his mother didn't love him, Jack used to cry a lot. He was one of those inconsolable babies that grew into a quiet toddler. In particular, he remembered one night when he was really sick. He didn't know what it was. Chicken pox or something. He had a bad fever and he just didn't feel good. His mother was sleeping on the couch, like she usually did, with the television on for comfort. She wasn't really sleeping though. She was passed out from some drug or other.

Jack remembered climbing onto the couch with her, slipping under one bruised arm and listening to the sound of her heartbeat. It was almost like being in the womb again.

"That was when I was small enough to get away with hiding in the tall grass. It was my secret place. I used to listen to the neighbors play their music, too. They were always throwing parties. Loads of drunks shouting and fighting. But I liked the music." He half smiled as he slid his gaze sidelong toward Brayden. "And I was the gayest little boy ever. I used to dance to it." He laughed. "And I had an audience of strays so I thought I was pretty damn good."

"I'm sorry."

Apologizing came second-nature to Bray but he had never meant it as much as he did in that moment, with his heart full to bursting but this time... with sorrow. Not with joy, like back at his apartment when Jack agreed to be his lover. Not with weightless happiness like it did only moments earlier when they flew on the swings. Now there was a deep, heavy sadness.

He could see it in his mind's eye: a lonely, unloved little boy swaying and twirling to the muffled music from the house party nearby, dancing with an invisible partner, dancing to a captive audience of other unwanted, unloved, lonely little things—cats, dogs, rats maybe. The image brought tears to his eyes. Bray breathed in suddenly and deeply and turned away. He swept thumb and forefinger across his eyes to rid them of tears, then pinched the bridge of his nose momentarily.

It was impossible to care for someone and not be moved by such sad stories. And while he knew that Jack wasn't looking for pity, he felt it in its purest form for Jack. Bray sniffed softly. "Sorry," he murmured to the trees and the grass, knowing that those years of suffering were long past, that Jack was loved in the present day. But the scars had to still be there; the memories never left Jack if he could speak so vividly about them.

There was so much pain there, contained within one man. How did Jack do it? How did he manage to laugh that breezily, and to recount those stories without wanting to break down? Even hearing it made Bray emotional. Jack was so, so strong. Or there were more barriers there to block out the horror, allowing him to speak of such a horrific level of neglect and make it out to be some kind of amusing anecdote.

Bray didn't want to focus on the terrible parts but they were glaring. "I don't know how she... How can anyone not love their own child?" It was abhorrent to Bray. It was unnatural. Was Jack not her child? Didn't she feel anything to have given birth to him? No sense of responsibility, not even a shred of affection?

"Hey..." He pulled Brayden in closer. "Don't. It's all in the past now."

His tales weren't meant to make Brayden... cry. Jack thought he wanted to hear these silly stories from his past, to be a part of it, even if he wasn't there. Maybe it was a mistake, though. Their upbringings and their parents were on complete opposite ends of the spectrum. A man like Brayden, who actually grew up with unconditionally loving parents... Jack didn't mean to but he felt like he was breaking Brayden's heart.

Jack thought about changing the subject but now that they were here, at this point where Brayden felt safe asking the questions and Jack felt safe answering them... it seemed like shutting the door in the face of what was building between them. So Jack sighed and toyed with his tie.

"She was still a kid herself when I was born and I never met my grandparents but I get the feeling they weren't that kind to her, either. But... that doesn't change the fact that she was the most selfish person I've ever known. All she cared about was her own pain and she spent all her time finding ways to try and run from it. Honestly, B... I don't think she knew how to love anybody, not even herself."

"It's too cruel, Jack. You-you didn't deserve any of it."

That any child—not only Jack—was made to suffer through that was unconscionable! And it wasn't just Jack, he knew that—there were hundreds of thousands of children who were born to poor families, who were unwanted and unloved, beaten and kicked and starved, and none of them ever asked to be born into that kind of abuse. Jack hadn't asked for it either but that was his cruel fate, into which he was unceremoniously thrust.

Bray's heart did break; he was heartbroken. Someone he loved with all his heart carrying the burden of all of that abuse couldn't fail to hurt him deeply. He turned into Jack and breathed for a few moments, breathed him in. Poor Jack. Poor, sweet Jack, trying to comfort him, trying to explain his mother's unforgivable actions. Bray didn't hate her—he couldn't truly hate anyone—but he felt strongly about her... to put it politely.

"How did you grow up to be so strong?" Bray finally looked up, dry-eyed but still torn up inside. His hands slid up to cup Jack's face, to stroke his cheeks with his thumbs. "You... you're so warm and loving and beautiful." Unlike her, selfish and self-absorbed. Jack managed to rise above that, somehow, and Bray had nothing but admiration in his heart and in his eyes for Jack.

"You're a miracle. I mean it."

Jack thought back to those kids on the playground and back even further, to the kids he knew in high school, junior high, elementary, and finally, all the way back to kindergarten. Kindergarten had been his saving grace. A place to go where he was guaranteed food, games, interaction. A lovely woman who spoke to him, talked to him like he was there and not as an irritant or a thorn in her side.

She must have known, Jack thought. When he came to school dressed like a homeless person. Too skinny. And the moment she talked to him, oh boy. Jack opened straight up. He had so much to tell her. Stories he made up in the back alley, his adventures with the strays, his love of the neighbors' music, even things he wasn't aware he shouldn't tell her about... Like the mother that slept all the time and how his father begrudgingly did fatherly things like bring home KFC or tell him to take a bath.

Jack didn't know if she called anybody or if anybody ever came. If they did, nobody bothered to tell him.

Brayden's mom sounded so much like his old kindergarten teacher, like her and Mrs. Hoffman rolled into one. And she raised Brayden well. Maybe he was too serious and too shy and he was a satellite but he knew real love and he knew how to love. Jack was envious of that feeling, while at the same time, not too stupid to realize... that he was feeling it now.

"I had no choice," he said, not to the ground or to the space between Brayden's eyes--but directly to him. Part of him wanted to deny that he was strong but if he wasn't strong, he wouldn't be here. He knew when he was at his weakest points; this was not it. Brayden hadn't been there during the weak points, when he was really off his shit, when the bad things happened, when the breakdowns occurred, and he could hardly paint himself as anything, let alone the Jack Ripley he worked so hard to become.

When it came right down to it, he had to at least be stronger than past Jack. The teenager that was sullen and given to wild mood swings, the idiot too high to know what he was doing, the struggles to stay afloat in a school where he suddenly wasn't effortlessly brilliant but had to actually work to keep his place.

A small scoff. A brief flit of the gaze. The Jack Brayden described didn't sound like him. Warm? Loving? He'd take beautiful. He wished he were the former two. Like he said, his idols were just that and he wanted so to be like them.

"Well," he said, after a long moment, hand rising up to the back of Brayden's head, forehead brushing forehead. "You only see those things because you're special. Most people would say... I'm kind of charming, if a bit snobbish, too sarcastic for my own good, and yes, maybe beautiful. That part takes effort, though, you know. You haven't seen me after a week long bender--and your stars willing--you never will."

He placed a gentle kiss to Brayden's lips, stepping closer, enfolding him in his embrace. "But I think you're mistaken. You, Brayden Smith, are the true miracle. I think... you might even have the power to save me..."

Maybe it was putting a lot on somebody but if anybody could... if anybody came close to it... Brayden... Brayden was the one. There were no games. His love was simplistic. He was so giving it was almost self-sacrificial. And that scared Jack. How far did somebody like Brayden even go... to protect the people he loved? Jack didn't want to think about it, because either direction deeply depressed him. Instead, he kissed him again, a little deeper, but not less gentle.

"No... People who take the time to really look at you know what I know." Jack might have wanted people to only see that carelessly affected man but Bray wasn't the only one who looked past that. Marge did too—he knew she did because she stuck around and she found something in Jack worth caring about. Marge wasn't the type to suffer fools gladly; she wouldn't be practically living at Jack's apartment, taking care of Allie, if she didn't love Jack—the real Jack—every bit as much as Bray did.

He was always so hard on himself. He worked so hard to push aside the positive things that Bray said about him, as if afraid that if Bray saw him in too positive a light, he might be disappointed later on. That meant there was something else—something more. Bray wasn't stupid, he knew how to read between the lines. And instinctively, he felt it. There were bigger secrets that Jack was hiding and he had to be patient and wait them out, just as he waited out this important conversation about Jack's parents.

Bray's hands slid down the side of Jack's neck, along his shoulders and around them, hugging him close as they kissed and as Jack pulled him in. "If you need saving, I—I'm up to the task." He half-smiled. Jack had already saved him—how could he not return the favor? Was he saving Jack now? Was having this conversation doing more good than harm? Bray was heartbroken but maybe Jack needed to get some of these things off his chest, too. Maybe he needed someone to know about his sordid history and to still stand there and tell him that he was beautiful despite his ugly past.

"You are... worth it." Bray leaned up into the kiss, and then kissed him again. Gentle, so gentle; tender and soft. Sad, too. The kiss communicated so much; it was a little bittersweet. "I love you, Jack. Marge loves you, too." His hand lifted to ease back some of Jack's hair so that he could gaze properly into his eyes. Jack was brave. He was beautiful and he deserved so much more than he had been given in life.

His next words he weighed carefully before he spoke again, in a lowered tone that was only meant for Jack. "No matter what happened in the past, or what other secrets you might have, Jack, that won't ever change. Okay? Just—just remember that."

Marge. Oh, Marge. Marge his other best friend. Somehow, she saw straight through him from the start and didn't fault him for a single thing. Jack knew he was lucky to have found her, to have found Brayden. Who knew that the people he needed in his life were all the way across the country all this time? And he'd been stuck in hell--excuse me--Boston. He could live his entire life never going back there again. He could stay here... forever. If his past didn't catch up to him.

It was hard not to believe in Brayden, with such conviction in his voice and in his eyes. Those eyes looked at him without condemnation. Somehow. He really looked at Jack like he sincerely thought he was some miracle, like he was worth saving.

No, damn it. He wasn't getting emotional again. But it was near impossible not to when Brayden kissed him like that. Not with passion and need but a soft sadness that pierced his heart almost as surely as his words back in the cafe did. It was as if Brayden had discovered the cracks in the armor and now knew where to wedge his knife in to chip it all away.

"I love you, too," Jack said, his thumb gently running down Brayden's chin. And he knew Marge did too. He knew. Their gazes were locked for so long in silence that Jack saw it; some internal struggle within Brayden. He wanted to say something but he wasn't saying it. Or... no. His heart skipped a fearful little beat. Did... did he know? Jack's mouth felt dry and for a moment, he thought he might be sick. Maybe he shouldn't have eaten so much at brunch and then swung around on that swing, he told himself. But really, it was the idea of Brayden knowing.

"I..." Jack reached for one of Brayden's hands, clasping it tight, to ensure it was real. Words wanted to escape but Jack wouldn't let them. He closed his mouth and lowered his gaze, his heart hammering hard against his ribs. A hard swallow, as if the words were there, stuck in his throat.

"...yeah, I'll try to remember that."

While Jack lowered his gaze and broke the spell, Bray didn't look away. He kept his eyes trained on Jack, memorizing every line of his face in that moment, knowing fully that Jack did have an even more terrible secret hidden away. The way Jack swallowed hard, the words on the tip of his tongue that wouldn't come out, he was doing the things Bray did when he was unsure and when he was weighing the consequences of each word. Was it worth it to speak or to hold his tongue? That was what Jack debated while Bray watched him almost like a hawk. A hawk with soft love in his eyes.

The hand that Jack held tightly turned to hold his hand. The other hand came up to his face again, to cup his cheek and raise his eyes back to Bray's. "Remember that." The same firm tone he took at the cafe to head off an inadvisable threesome with their server was taken here, again. Confidence Bray usually didn't display, surety that he usually never felt. They strengthened his voice—they gave him a voice, as a matter of fact. He was never more assured in that moment that he could and would weather any storm for Jack. Marge, too.

Bray had no conditions on his love. Love was love, and it was all or nothing. Either he loved all of Jack or he loved none of him. You didn't get to pick and choose which parts of a person to love while shunning and turning a blind eye on other parts simply because they were inconvenient or unpleasant. Bray felt that acutely. He kissed Jack again, poor sweet mistreated Jack who couldn't even see his own inner beauty because he was too busy pushing others away, redirecting them to the red herring that was his glamorous big-city charm and glamor.

Oh, but he didn't fool Bray! And he didn't fool Marge, either.

Why... What was it about Brayden that made him want to sit there and spill out his guts to him? It was like he opened up a door that couldn't be closed. Jack had never told these things to anybody. They had just been festering deep inside of him, in his subconscious for all this time. Refusing to be looked at, refusing to be acknowledged. Jack was every bit the Jack he portrayed himself as for a long time because he didn't acknowledge his shitty life growing up. He didn't acknowledge what fucked with his head, what made him, what molded him into the chaos that was Jack Ripley, even today.

Brayden seemed to know something. Or suspected something. Jack wondered if he'd said something while drunk. If Brayden was waiting for him to remember, like Jack so desperately wanted Brayden to remember what happened between them with that wine acting as a blockage.

"I want to tell you," he said finally, leaning into Brayden's loving touch. He so loved this. He could get used to this. He was already getting used to it, his heart blossoming under Brayden's soft tutelage. Jack was the dying flower in the pot. Brayden was the sun, sending his warm rays through the window, reaching for him while Jack leaned into his warmth. Jack closed his eyes.

"Just not now."

He didn't know when, either. When was there ever a good time to share something so dark with somebody who loved him? Sooner... rather than later? Was it better to rip off the bandaid and get it over with? Or keep burying his worst secrets until they were forced into the light by somebody else? Jack embraced Brayden again, pressing his cheek against the side of his head, gently rocking him side to side. Something he used to do as a child. By himself. To get himself to sleep. To get through sickness on his own. To make himself feel better.

"Not now."

Bray could only nod as a knot formed in his throat and his arms were ready to embrace Jack, to lift around his shoulders and pull him close. He hugged him warmly, tightly, with all the support and comfort that he had in him to give. Even though he didn't know what secrets Jack kept, he knew that they existed and that they held the key to those nightmares that plagued Jack night after night. Some traumatic event tore Jack up inside and he couldn't leave it behind even though he kept moving around the country.

Jack could run as hard and as fast as he could, but he could never run from himself.

Demons had to be faced. There was no other way to banish them. Perhaps he had never found the unyielding support that he had in Bray and Marge before, but he had them now. He had them—Bray, Marge—now and forever. Bray never spoke for others and even he could say without a shred of doubt that he and Marge would be on Jack's side until the day they breathed their last breath. The kind of love he felt and the love he saw in Marge, both for Jack, was too strong to be defeated by mere secrets.

"Any time." Bray's hand cradled the back of Jack's head as they rocked together, to hold him as Bray's mother used to hold him. A hand sifting through his hair, soft words of love in his ear, that was love. "Any time and anything, Jack. Don't be afraid. We won't leave you. You're a part of us and-and we're a part of you now." That was love, too.

And that was all he ever wanted. To stop being nothing. To be something to somebody. It made him think to his conversation with Allie and it pained him to think that Jack finally found his something, his somebody. And Allie was still out there floundering. Marge and Jack could only watch him for so long before something happened. They had to find him somebody... somebody that could be what Brayden had become for Jack.

Having found what he wanted, having aired some of the things that had been tightly bottled inside for far too long, Jack felt... light. Lighter than he could remember feeling in so long. After several moments of just being embraced and embracing Brayden, Jack eventually let out a soft sigh. Another kiss to the temple. He could never tire of that. It was part of being a close friend of Jack's. And especially a part of being his lover. His boyfriend.

"I'm ready to go home. I feel like I need a nap before we go up to look at the stars tonight. Who knew being emotional was so tiring?"

"Really? I feel pretty good." Bray's laugh was a mixture of relief and joy and the same lightness that he heard in Jack's tone. It was good to be a part of Jack's life, and although the burden across his shoulders grew heavier because of Jack's admissions, knowing that he lightened the load across Jack's shoulders made it all worthwhile. This was what love was--sharing their pain, growing and becoming stronger than ever before.

"Maybe you're getting old." Tongue-in-cheek, he teased Jack as the smile refused to fade. Bray led him back down the path, back to civilization and back to the disapproving mothers at the playground. Jack was right, though--emotions were draining, especially for someone who didn't look as though he was used to sharing much of his real thoughts and fears and feelings with others.

His mother hurt him so badly, Bray thought. So, so badly that it made Jack afraid to hurt others, which was a real shame because Bray did see kindness and warmth and affection in him. He lifted their clasped hands and kissed the back of Jack's hand reverently. Bray was here to love him now--and so was Marge, in her own... unique way. Together they could try to undo some of the damage that had been done all those years ago.