We Are Bulletproof

"Welcome back," the Brayden on the throne said softly, reaching out a hand to Bray, for him to take as he fought to maintain a straight face. The throne was large enough for both of them so he sat down heavily beside himself and placed his face into his hands.

He could still taste the desperate kiss. He could still feel Jack in his arms and still hear his voice and it all hurt so much, to be separated from him so violently and abruptly.

A hand rubbed up and down his back gently. "They always did say I had a tendency to be emotional," the other Brayden said close to his ear, before his arms wound around Bray and enclosed him in a warm hug. He seemed to know just what Bray needed--but of course he would. He was Brayden and Braydens always anticipated the needs of others first and foremost. "Guess I haven't changed much..."

"I suppose not." Bray leaned heavily into him and allowed himself a quiet moment to absorb his own grief. To come to terms with the fact that someone had killed him--and this time perhaps permanently. Now his mother wasn't here to push him back from the brink. The last particle of magic she possessed in the world had been expended; she was one of the stars now, twinkling up in the night sky.

So who was left to help save him? A surprising number of people... actually. Jack. Always Jack and he knew Jack would never give up on him. Jack would do everything within his power to bring him back, Bray knew without a shadow of a doubt. And the Brayden beside him knew it too, didn't he? If he went so far as to take over Bray's body just to tell him what to do and how to do it...

There were others too, though. Ken. Bray saw Ken in the room with them but he didn't really acknowledge him, because he was focused entirely on Jack. There were Jack's brothers too--Niall and Rhys. Even if the latter still had reservations about them, Bray didn't think that he was as prickly as he presented himself. (The number of times he caught Rhys cuddling with Raphael--and liking it--was testament to that!)

Niall... Raphael... Bray wished he could have left them some kind of message too but there was no time. He didn't have long to say good-bye and... well, he didn't want to squander that time. Even if he could visit Jack in his dreams, he wanted to say good-bye in person at least one last time.

Bray took in a shuddering breath, still processing what had happened. He only looked up when he felt ready to, knowing there was no pressure--no hurry. "What's going to happen now?" he asked haltingly, unsure if he wanted to hear the answer and yet still needing to know it. For a moment he looked into his own face and as jarring as it was to stare at himself, he felt oddly reassured as well. The Brayden looking back at him radiated a sense of calm and assuredness, of the kind that Bray had never had. And if that Brayden could do it... maybe he could learn to as well.

"We trust Jack. Our Jack." The other Brayden's smile was serene. "And in the meantime you will learn how to fully use your powers, now that you've realized them. There is so much potential that you have yet to tap into, Brayden."

"Um. Could--could we maybe use different names? It's just--it's incredibly weird if we're both Brayden. Just call me Smith maybe?"

Brayden laughed but nodded. "All right, Smith. Even though you are me." He levied 'Smith' with a humorous Look but continued, "Once you have learned how to use your powers to their full potential, you can protect both Jack and yourself from future attacks. You know by now that this Keith is... our brother. Half-brother."

'Smith' nodded--that part was a little hard to accept, to be honest, and the thought of being related (however distantly) to that man made his skin crawl. "What happened? Why does he hate me so much?"

Brayden sighed and leaned back against the ornate arm rest of the throne; his gaze was faraway.

"We were born in a time of war with the Fallen. Keith was born first, the bastard son of our father, the King of our House, and a concubine of another House. Everyone saw that as a sign of bad luck and they blamed our House's ill fortunes on him. My mother was heart-broken but I think she still tried her best to raise him properly, but of course he was a constant reminder of my father's infidelity.

Our father denied him; he saw Keith as a mark of shame and that hurt Keith deeply. Then when I was born, everyone saw me as some kind of savior. I won't deny that my life and my brother's were vastly different. He was forced to hide in the shadows while I lived in the light, and the darkness sank into him and wouldn't let go. He came to resent everyone, but especially me, whom our father loved and protected. He thought that I had stolen everything from him--all the love, the attention, the rights to sit on the throne.

Keith turned to the Fallen, our enemy. He fell in love with one of the Fallen princes and even went so far as to bring him into our kingdom, disguised as his companion. I think it pleased him to flaunt our father's rules and laws in his face, and to openly defy him. And I... knew what he was doing, but I said nothing. It was foolish of me, I know, but at the time I thought maybe if he saw that he could trust me... That he might love me as I loved him, and we could repair our fractured relationship.

But the problem was, the Fallen prince--Jack, although he went by a different name back then--was not Keith's soul mate. He was mine. And I'm sure you know--" he paused here with a little twinkle in his eyes, "--how difficult it is to resist his many charms."

'Smith' nodded with a similar twinkle in his own eyes. Yes, he knew how hard it was to resist Jack. Coupled with the fact that he had no defense and plain didn't want to deny him, and it was a pretty bad combination. (Or a very good one...)

"I tried to refuse and refute my feelings at first. And his. I told him that we couldn't betray Keith, and that we could only remain friends, but... well. Love doesn't work like that, as you well know. And when Keith found out, that was the end. He Fell. The Fallen King claimed him with promises of revenge and corrupted his already wounded heart. Keith came to my room one night and killed me. He stabbed me through the heart and tried to corrupt my soul to bring back to the Fallen King.

I don't know how I managed to save myself. I think part of me always knew that Keith would fall so I had been unconsciously prepared for that moment. And I'm sure my love for Jack also saved me. It's powerful, ancient magic that not even the Fallen or the Celestials can overcome. So I came to be trapped here, watching myself go through different lifetimes, always with the same result. I left messages for myself to find in different lives, hoping that one day one of my reincarnations would fully realize his powers and find them, and--here you are! The only one to do it."

"I..." Smith sat there for another long moment and attempted to digest the information presented to him. "I'm not--nothing special, I just--"

"Ah, that's something I would definitely say," Brayden laughed. "But you are special. Only those with awakened powers could see my messages. It might not feel like it, but you are more powerful than you think. Once we train you up a little, you'll feel better about all of this. And just think of Jack--he is vulnerable right now. You can help close his mind to outside influence."

For a lingering moment, Brayden's gaze settled on the tall, dark-haired man seated at the side table beside his brother. At the long high table at the front of the room it was himself, his father and his mother--the royal family of the House of Dreams--alongside other Kings, Queens, Crown Princes and Crown Princesses of the remainder five houses. They were celebrating the union between two houses and while Brayden also had the option of bringing a guest, he decided to come alone so as not to stir up unnecessary rumors.

His brother, however...

Brayden dropped his gaze for a moment as his brother looked up--and looked directly at him with those piercing, judgmental blue eyes. There was nothing but contempt in them and Brayden could feel his gaze sweeping across the conservative tan robes that seemed somehow out of place among the brightly colored celebratory garb of the other royals. In an attempt not  to stand out, Brayden ended up standing out anyway...

He fiddled with the subtle gold hem of his sleeve. It was no secret that the first Prince of their house was not the Crown Prince and it was no secret that the first Prince was one of mixed blood, unsuited to assume the position of High King. Out of an indiscretion with a concubine of another House, Brayden's brother was born and since childhood, he had been viewed as something of a stain upon their father's legacy. 

After Brayden was born, however, focus shifted away from scandal. Everyone lauded him as the next King and with his even, quiet, obedient temperament and soft-spoken ways, he was well-liked by everyone. Meanwhile, his brother began to act out in the worst ways imaginable and everyone turned a blind eye because he was no longer relevant or important.

But to Brayden, he was still his brother. Brayden still tried to mend their relationship, tried to get closer to him and to show him that not everyone disliked him or dismissed him out-of-hand. He didn't want his brother's heart to be filled with resentment and anger and hatred towards anyone, not only himself. Naively perhaps, he thought that if he only tried hard enough, he could sway his heart.

It was a long, uphill battle but Brayden was determined. Even though his brother clearly hated him the most--and not subtly, either--he loved him. They were brothers, joined by blood. Brayden refused to turn his back on him, and so he said nothing about his brother's companion, though he knew his identity and he knew that should the truth come out, their House would be plunged into chaos and scandal once more.

So far, however, there had been no trouble, for which Brayden was glad. He kept his head down after being glared at and missed the look that his brother's companion sent his way. Dessert was served on beautiful bone china platters and Brayden stared glumly down at the concoction of flower petals and delicate blancmange, knowing that the 'social' part of the evening had yet to come. And he dreaded that--he dreaded having to strike out on his own while his parents mingled with the Kings and Queens of the other Houses.

Brayden fared much better alone. He was more at home in the library studying and being tutored than outside romping about in sunshine and tall grass. He preferred the company of books over the awkward, stilted conversations that came from being shoved at other young men his age. And at social functions,he preferred to hide, which was why directly after dessert was taken away, he melted into the shadows and found the nearest exit out of the banquet hall.

Outside, he reveled in the refreshing, cool night air. For the first time that evening he felt comfortable in his own skin, and he took in a deep, long breath before strolling into the gardens to find a quiet place to sit and observe the stars. Stargazing was his favorite activity, above all else. To see them twinkling away up in the heavens was a unique joy. So he found a bench and seated himself, and smiled as he tilted his head back.

Soft footsteps behind him, however, made his head snap back down. Brayden turned his upper body in the direction of the sound, startled; his brother's companion had followed him outside. He tried to school his expression so as not to look like a surprised owl--but he was still surprised when the man seated himself on the bench beside him with a very casual greeting.

"H-hello," Brayden muttered, unsure in the moment as to what the proper etiquette was. "Good... good evening..."

The only thing that got Bray through the exhausting days after he and Jack saw those visions was the knowledge that he would soon have some alone time with his lover. It was all arranged by Allie; Bray was going to the motel room that Allie rented out for him, and Jack would join him later, coming straight from the community college.

Despite their hectic private lives, they still had to make an effort to live normally, after all--that meant work had to be done, classes needed to be taught and for Bray, paperwork had to be shuttled back and forth.

He didn't mind going to work, actually. It brought some normalcy back into his life. In the midst of all the magic and sorcery, visions and past lives, paperwork provided a sense that things weren't all crazy. There were still forms to fill, professors to hound for paperwork and lunches with Jack out on the hill in front of the student union building, a staple of their lives even before all of this madness occurred.

But undeniably, Bray had lost his simple, easy life. Marge shadowed him to and from work now, since she took the night shifts at the club. Any time he stepped outside he felt a sense of unease, like he was being watched. Yet back at the apartment there were so many people that he felt claustrophobic and crowded, so it was... safer at home, but not much better. They were all suffering, though, so Bray didn't complain to anyone and kept it all to himself.

Which was why he felt bad as he slipped out under the pretense of going for groceries, while Marge was taking a brief nap before work. Poor Marge pulled double duty, working her job and protecting them. Bray wanted to thank her somehow... This was probably not it. But he would be with Jack, and Allie! And it was only for a few hours, just to get away from the others and to have some time to themselves. Bray wanted to hold Jack and be with him. He wanted to be able to kiss Jack without feeling like someone was watching--usually Raf, with a very obvious kind of admiration on his face. He was sweet, but... sometimes it made Bray uncomfortable.

So he slipped out and made his way to Little Asia, to the quaint motel with its obvious Asian decorations--red paper lanterns, gilt dragons, bamboo screens. He met Allie in the lobby and was ushered into a room. Allie hugged him fondly; they hadn't seen one another in so long! But they could catch up later, Allie said with a wink as he handed Bray...

"Ah." Condoms and lube. Hm. Bray laughed gently and let himself be pushed inside. It was the standard motel room, with one big bed in the middle of the room, a television, table and chair. He dropped off the condoms and lube at the bedside table and sat down to wait. Bray smiled to himself. This was kind of fun, he thought. Some couples did this--pretend they didn't know each other, role play a 'first encounter' type of scenario. Was that kinky? Or normal? He might have to ask Jack about it...

Somebody slid a keycard into the door and Bray sat up straighter, his heart inexplicably beating faster in his chest. He patted himself down. Jack would like the colorful clothes he wore--with Allie's help. A nice soft, pastel aquamarine sweater, dark wash navy trousers; nothing fancy, but not that tan-beige color palette that everyone seemed to find so abhorrent. He had done his hair slightly differently, too, than the usual neat part. It had a little more artful mess to it tonight.

Fresh off a successful game night, Bray felt extremely uplifted and optimistic. Everyone had a great time; the most unexpected person won (Niall) and there was some controversy over how he did it, but overall nobody came to blows over the card game and in the end they all agreed that Niall deserved the grand prize, which was to not have to clean up. It surprised—and amused—him how seriously some people took the game, though. Ken even pulled him over to one side to ask what the next game was, and when Bray told him that he didn't know, Ken requested that when he did know, to let him know so that he could appropriately research it and read the rules.

Ah, Bray thought, Ken was like him—he liked to be prepared.

As he was clearing up with the others, he heard a certain sour somebody claiming that he might as well have cheated too, and used his powers to sway the dice rolls. Bray couldn't help smiling to himself. He saw Rhys taking Raf's game pieces throughout the evening, as though he had every right to have them—and Raf offered up no resistance, looking happy to be there even though half the time he didn't know what he was doing. Well, at least he had fun. And Rhys did too, at points, Bray was sure, despite his grumbling!

But throughout the evening, Bray was distracted thinking about his past, shared lives with Jack. The evening of the game night there was too much going on to properly dive into their conversation but Bray did what Brays did best—think. He thought about it as they were cleaning up, thought about it as he laid in bed with Jack and he thought about it the morning after and throughout the day. The next evening presented an opportunity for him to be alone with Jack briefly; Ken had taken Niall out to the courtyard in search of privacy, the two young lovers were over at Bray's apartment—Bray told Raf he could pick out a teacup to start his new collection—and Marge...

Marge was laying on the couch with a hot towel over her eyes, still suffering from a horrible hangover from the night before.

Bray slipped a hand up Jack's arm. Dinner was simmering on the stove, garlic bread was baking in the oven and for the first time in what felt like years, they had no prying eyes on them. "Hey." He pulled Jack closer by the arm, smiling. "I've been thinking about those visions. Do you think you're ready to give them another try tonight?"

@Jack Ripley

Hi 😉

@Jack Ripley

"What the fuck do you mean stir counterclockwise? What does the direction have to do with it?!" Marge looked like she wanted to throw the wooden spoon at him, or at least gouge out his eye.

Bray winced and huddled closer to Jack. He was on the couch recovering, and trying to tell Marge how to make his soup—the chicken soup to save their souls. It was a cold, rainy day—an indoors day. Bray finally felt good enough to be out of bed but he was still quite weak, so he was bundled up on the couch with a blanket over his shoulders and a throw over his legs. He'd been reading through the instruction booklet of their newest card game with Jack, resting against him with his head on his shoulder and occasionally sneaking in a kiss or two while Marge had her back turned.

Although he didn't quite know all the details about the encounter in the woods, Bray knew enough to know that it could have been much, much worse. That man—Keith—wanted to kill them. No... he wanted to kill Bray. He wanted to corrupt Jack, it seemed, or to drive him crazy because Keith himself was out of his mind. He hoped, truly, that it was a one-time thing and that Keith had been taken care of once and for all. It sent shivers down his spine to think of what might have happened had Marge not come along when she did.

A few nights ago she and Jack went out with shovels and stayed out all night. Bray saw them blearily through his bedroom window and when he asked the next morning about it, he received several suspicious answers about... planting a garden and... making fertilizer. Marge had exchanged a Look with Jack before declaring that she was going to shower, whereupon she disappeared for a while. When she came out, there was no longer dirt under her nails and she was humming to herself as she relieved Jack. While Marge showered, Bray tried to ask Jack what happened but. Um.

They didn't have a lot of time to be alone together so. Talking took a back seat to. Other things.

Marge seemed to have decided to move in with them. Bray offered her his apartment—since he was staying with Jack while he recovered—but she declined. Claimed she needed to protect them, brought over her own things and set up shop. Jack's bed was luckily large enough to accommodate all three at night, which was nice and... not so nice. Hands went places under the covers but Bray was too shy to do anything with Marge right there! She wouldn't mind, or so he was told, but it felt strange.

And now, here they were. Bray being threatened by Marge. "It... just trust me. That's how my mom used to make it and—it just works."

"Can't believe this shit," Marge grumbled as she turned her back to them, stirring counterclockwise. "Thought it would at least be something like Cloud 9 or... lard or something."

Bray snuck in another kiss, a soft one to the corner of Jack's mouth. Ah... he really wished they could be alone together for even a half hour. They were a couple but it felt more like they were some kind of strange threesome. He smiled at Jack and then turned his eyes back to the booklet, which was trying to explain how the dice rolls worked, absently tucking his hair behind one ear when it fell over his eyes.

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

Friends.

Was there ever a more damning word in the entire English language than friends?

After that night, they became friends. Jack didn't remember anything that he said or did--or claimed so--and Bray didn't push him to remember. It seemed better not to bring up the kisses--plural--or the admissions--plural--of weakness. It seemed better to let it go, to be satisfied in the knowledge that he now knew more about Jack than he did... oh, two days ago.

Remarkable how much ground they covered in the span of only two days and two nights.

But it was undeniable that after spending two nights in bed with Jack, helping to stave off nightmares, Bray and he were friends. Dare he even think it, good friends? Two people who went through the ordeals they did couldn't remain strangers. They worked together so on a daily basis they bumped into one another-simply acquaintances didn't cut it, either.

They lived so close to each other that it was only a matter of crossing the courtyard to visit. That made them good friends, for which Bray was both relieved and glad. Overjoyed, really. Sure, it was bittersweet to think that he and Jack could have been more--if only he'd given in to temptation that night and let Jack persuade him into sleeping with him--but Bray regretted nothing.

He cared so much for Jack. It was crazy but it was also true. There was no law saying that he couldn't come to feel deeply for a man he knew almost nothing about a week ago. The feelings sort of blindsided him, though. He didn't realize it until that night. He didn't even know the severity of his own feelings until Jack claimed that he wanted to die and Bray's whole world ground to a halt.

A world without Jack... Bray simply couldn't envision such a thing--and that was how he knew that he cared.

That weekend felt like a fever dream, in a good way. Bray stayed the next day to help Jack recover from his hangover--and Jack seemed perfectly content to let Bray wait on him hand and foot. His glass of lemon water didn't go empty once. Bray himself, overly eager to please on a bad day, ran himself ragged but it was a labor of love and he wanted to do it. He was pretty sure he did fall asleep on the couch at some point, though, leaving Jack to wonder where he'd gotten to with lunch. When he woke up there was a sandwich on the nearby table and a blanket over him, and both made him feel warm and fuzzy inside.

The next week went swimmingly too. Bray was no longer alone. He was no longer alone! He felt good waking up Monday morning for the first time in years. There was something to look forward to now--mornings stopping by Jack's office for a quick chat, lunches with him in the staff room fondly watching him laughing and joking with other professors and evenings where it was just them, sharing a meal, talking about nothing at all.

Several times during the week he was tempted by an overwhelming urge to kiss Jack but he didn't go for it. He just sort of shuffled in closer when that happened and found some excuse to touch Jack's hand or arm. Kiddy stuff, Ali would have said, with his head shake of infinite disapproval. Part of him maybe hoped that Jack could read minds and might kiss him--giving him an excuse to kiss back--but it didn't happen. Ah, well.

Jack really did bring back the color into his world though. In fact, Bray went out and bought a turquoise tie. He showed it somewhat childishly proudly to Jack the next morning when he wore it to work (but also self-consciously changed out of it when someone commented on it not being his usual color).

Friday night rolled around and Bray roped Jack into playing Unstable Unicorns, a funny little card game that he'd excitedly picked up at the hobby store downtown. Now that he had a close neighbor and good friend nearby, he could finally go out and buy games meant for more than one person!

Bray had a blast. He loved staying in and being all cozy at home, feeling comfortable, safe and happy. And not alone. With two people it was a little tricky playing the game but they managed to get through it, although he sensed that Jack was getting kind of antsy. Card games and popcorn weren't exactly his cup of tea, was it? Not when Jack was the outgoing type who easily went out with co-workers to bars and came home blitzed. But the alcohol... Bray didn't think it did Jack any favors.

Saying good-night that night felt a little strange. Bray didn't know why until he got into bed and realized that he wanted to be in Jack's bed. He really, really did want to curl up with Jack and be comforted knowing that he was close by, within reach. Bray reached out a hand to touch the edge of his pillow, sighing, eyes on the window. There was a bright star twinkling and winking down at him. His lips twitched as he closed his eyes.

Nope.

Bray already had his star and he would not be seduced by another, even if it promised to only shine for him.

It might have seemed odd, a man like Brayden living in a glitzy glamorous (for Hazleton) kind of apartment. A beacon, brightly lit, Sunrise Apartments seemed more the type of building meant for high rollers and the wealthy elite. Brayden Smith was neither of those things. He was humble, quiet, retiring and unassuming, retreating from the spotlight of life to hide in the shadows.

But opposites, they say, attract.

He didn't know what drew him to this building in particular, at the heart of downtown Hazleton. New downtown, of course--old downtown had a flavor of its own but it was nowhere near as exciting. The nightlife here was about as good as it got for a small town. They had their clubs, their bars and a strip club that Bray passed by every day to and from work, furtively shooting glances at the racy blown-up pictures of half-nude male dancers.

He didn't have a car so he commuted. Thirty-two minutes each way (give or take a few). He caught the 110 in the morning at 7:12 am and came back home on the same numbered bus, stepping off at anywhere between 5:15 pm and 5:40 pm. The time it took to get home varied--even in a small town, somehow, there was rush hour traffic. He knew the bus driver by name and sight but rarely spoke to him, nodding mutely as he scrambled on and off.

Tonight, though, Bray broke his schedule. He was home late after spending too much time going over paperwork at the school. Even now he had a huge file folder stuffed to bursting with papers and forms under his arm, which he juggled with the takeout bag dangling from the same hand. The other hand was desperately clutching his messenger bag sliding off one shoulder, which had--you guessed it--more files inside. It was audit season, so Bray was looking forward to working through the night to finish all the paperwork before the school board superintendent of the county came to visit.

Outside, he saw some kids loitering by the front door. They had skateboards but only a few were zipping around. A couple of others were watching a video of some kind. Bray watched them with anxious eyes; he could take the back way, maybe, to avoid running into them. The group dispersed and got back onto their boards. Ah--they were watching some kind of tutorial, he'd bet. Yep. Some tried out the new trick; most failed and fell, stumbling, onto the pavement. Their laughter mingled in the cold night air.

Bray half-smiled to himself as he swerved to take the back entrance. He didn't want to disturb them by going through them to get to the front door. As he got to the back, though, there was already someone there wrestling with the door. Bray's steps slowed; anxiety built up again. The door looked stuck. Or maybe the stranger was trying to break in...

"Ahem." He coughed ever so softly to announce his presence. All he wanted was to get to his apartment. 1B. Ground floor, nothing fancy, not the penthouse, but it was all his. The woman at the door started and whirled around, a look of fright on her face. Bray smiled reassuringly, shyly at her. "Locked out?" The woman let out an exasperated sigh and launched into a story about leaving her keys at home and not realizing it, as Bray walked up to the door.

"I'll get it." He tilted his head to the side to trap the strap of his bag against his shoulder, while fumbling around in the bag for his keys. A few papers slipped out and as the woman helped him to retrieve them, he unlocked the door. With an awkward laugh he took the papers back, bade the woman good-night and shuffled down the hall towards his own apartment. Just as he entered, his phone went off and Bray just let everything drop to the ground--including the take-out bag. He stood there, semi-defeated, before grabbing his phone out of his pocket and raising an eyebrow at the name of the person who had texted him.

Jack Ripley. What a name. He was new to the psychology department; Bray had only seen him a few times when he went in to drop off forms and paperwork and such. But the few times he encountered Jack Ripley left an impression on him. A good impression. Bray's lips formed a smile of their own accord as he toed off his shoes and went inside to sit on the couch with his phone, leaving everything else at the door. He could pick them up later.