Pick your poison

[Brayden Smith]

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."

[Jack Ripley]

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."

[Brayden Smith]

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!

[Jack Ripley]

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?"

[Brayden Smith]

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."

[Jack Ripley]

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?"

[Brayden Smith]

"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."

[Jack Ripley]

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.

[Brayden Smith]

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.

[Jack Ripley]

"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."

[Brayden Smith]

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...?

[Jack Ripley]

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!"

[Brayden Smith]

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?

[Jack Ripley]

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.

[Brayden Smith]

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..."