Fanfiction: J2 - So Much More (Or How Jensen Learned not to be Such a Judgmental Prick) 4/?
Title: So Much More (Or How Jensen Learned Not to be Such a Judgmental Prick)
Author: conclusivelead.
Fandom: J2 RPS (AU).
Rating: Right now, PG-13.
Genre: Romance/Humor/Drama.
Warnings: Just Ridiculousness, Incorrect Geography, & Blatant Misuse of a Celebrity. So far, anyway.
Word Count: ~5,500.
Challenge/Inspiration: The idea was taken from a prompt issued by willow_fae_20. The original prompt can be found right hurr.
Beta: burningwhisper
Notes: The commenting has definitely gone up! Thank you to everyone who has continued to read and left me some feedback, it definitely brightens my day! Decided to post tonight in honor of the Season 5 premiere. This is the longest chapter yet, so I might not update again for a week or so.
Summary So Far: Jared's charm is beginning to wear on Jensen's self-retraint, so he hightails it away from the park as quickly as he can, Harley in tow. But he can't exactly avoid Jared forever....
IV. In Which Jared Comes to a Conclusion, Plans are Formulated and (Kind of?) Carried Out, and Jensen Hates Being a Coward
Sunday, April 25th, 2009
1:57 PM
Padalecki Household - Richardson, Texas
Jared stares down at the cell phone in his hand indecisively.
He is lounging comfortably on the couch in his rather large bedroom, legs propped on top of an as-yet-unpacked-even-months-later brown cardboard box that he is seriously considering leaving packed until he goes to college.
He has been holding his phone for so long that the metal has warmed and now matches his body temperature, and the screen - which previously illuminated Tom’s number in his Contact List - has gone dark.
He sighs, flipping shut the cell for probably about the millionth time. After a moment of stillness, he flips it open again - and then closes it once more.
Damn it, all this indecision is making him frustrated. Is it really such a bad idea to ask?
It’s not like Jared hasn’t asked Tom similar questions before - but then again, the questions in, well, question had been about fellow athletes and (every so often) a cheerleader or two.
Angry with himself, he opens the phone and hits #6 on his speed dial.
Tom answers quickly, as always.
“Dude, it’s me,” greets Jared, sitting up and removing his feet from the top of the box.
“Me? Me who, exactly? I’m a popular guy, you understand, and I can’t remember each and every sad sap-”
“Tom, cut with the bullshit already,” Jared practically snaps. The next time he speaks, his voice is much friendlier and less tense. “Listen, I need to ask you a favor.”
“Alright, man, shoot,” Tom answers absentmindedly. Jared almost unconsciously pictures his friend trying to watch TV and listen to him at the same time and his frustration grows, but he smashes it down so that it’s not apparent in his voice.
“I need to know Jensen Ackles’ cell phone number.” He says it quickly so that he won’t second-guess himself again or start stuttering and make Tom suspicious.
Unfortunately, the speed with which Jared says this makes Tom suspicious anyway.
Suddenly all ambient noise in the background on Tom’s end dissipates and Jared knows the dark-haired teen has turned off the television.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?”
Jared clears his throat, biting back a groan. This was a bad idea - he KNEW this was a bad idea.
Whatever. Once the dice have been thrown, there’s no going back.
Or something.
“Jen Ackles. I need his number.”
“Whoa, wait - Jen?” Tom sounds like he is lost somewhere between highly amused and highly confused.
Jared could slap himself. He ‘deftly’ avoids the inquiry. “We, uh, we’ve got a group project.”
Oh, Jesus, like that excuse hadn’t been used in every romantic comedy since the early 90s.
“In which class?” Tom quickly demands, obviously deciding that mercilessness is the best way to go about this situation.
“PE!” Jared almost shouts randomly, but luckily he stops himself in time and answers “Government” instead.
There’s silence on the other end and Jared wonders whether he’s made a mistake, said the wrong thing, and eventually if somehow the signal has been lost because Tom is quiet for a long time.
“Oh, okay,” he says just as Jared is contemplating hanging up. A silent sigh of relief whooshes out from between the tall teen’s lips.
Tom gives Jared Jensen’s number after a moment of fumbling with his phone, (he never HAD learned how to multitask well) and then, instead of just saying goodbye and hanging up, says, “So…anything else you need? Any more numbers you want that I should, ah, know about?”
Jared is immediately stricken with nervousness. “What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?*” he asks, desperately trying to sound offended and not like he wants to throw up all over his Adidas. “I just need to know what time we should meet tomorrow at lunch to discuss our project.”
“Mmm hmm,” Tom replies, voice emotionless. The neutrality of his answer just adds to Jared’s mounting panic and he quickly makes an excuse to get Tom off the line.
Tom cooperates, saying a sly goodbye and sounding, frighteningly enough, like the cat that’s just caught the canary.
Jared thinks about seeing his friend tomorrow in first period and falls back onto the couch, contemplating whether or not one missed French test will kill his grade.
Monday, April 26th, 2009
6:25 AM
Ackles Household - Richardson, Texas
Jensen awakens to the sound of disco playing on his radio, and decides it’s time to change the settings on his alarm clock.
Groggy and exhausted, he somehow manages to force himself into an upright position, and then also somehow manages to convince himself to throw back the red-and-black plaid comforter and get out of bed. Once this is accomplished, he approaches his closet warily, not really sure if he’s got anything clean that’s not absolutely painful to the eye.
He settles on a pair of cargo shorts similar to the ones he wore yesterday and a baggy t-shirt, an outfit in which he will be comfortable until his shower tonight. After he is dressed, he slides his right foot into his favorite pair of flip flops and actually spends ten minutes looking for the matching left sandal before he remembers that it’s lost somewhere in the mysterious and evil depths of the dog park.
Damn.
He silently mourns its loss as he reluctantly throws away the now-useless right shoe and returns to his closet to look for a suitable substitute.
It is then that he realizes that the only other pair of shoes he has that fit are the orange-and-pink umbrella pattern Converse his grandmother had insisted on purchasing for him two Christmases ago.
Double damn.
He dons socks and then the Converse, trying not to burst into tears of mourning over the oncoming loss of respect anyone at his school might still have for him.
Because once they see these shoes, he will officially be a pariah.
…if he isn’t already.
Rain splatters against the windshield of his mom’s car as she drives him to school, insisting that it’s really no trouble since she’s on her way to work and Dad’s taking Jensen’s car for the day. Jensen tries not to be mortified as his mother pulls up in front of the school and demands that she kiss him soundly on the forehead and shout exuberant farewells before he enter the building…
…but he is.
School starts all too quickly, and as Jensen sits silently in English class, he feels his phone vibrate against his thigh through the cargo material of his pocket mid-lecture on Charles Dickens’ use of metaphors.
He glances around to check that no one is watching and, after seeing that the coast is clear, brings it out and flips it open.
It’s a text message from a number he doesn’t recognize. Curious, he reads:
From: 555-1383
Hey.
~ Jay.
He blinks several times, trying to digest this.
It couldn’t be…could it? It’s impossible; he hadn’t given him his number.
Five seconds later, it strikes him with the momentum of a two-ton anvil, and he is filled with cold, vengeful annoyance:
Tom.
To: 555-1383
Is this Jared?
Jensen
Jensen quietly waits for a response and his expectations are met when a few minutes later his phone vibrates again.
From: 555-1383
Yeah. I got your number from Tom. I have a question for you.
~ Jay.
The green-eyed teenager desperately tries to refrain from slamming his head into the desk and succeeds - but just barely.
To: 555-1383
I figured. Um, okay. Shoot.
Jensen
‘I’m going to regret this.’
From: 555-1383
Well, it’s less a question and more a statement: I’m going out to lunch today and I was wondering if you’d like to come. It’s mystery meat in the caf, and I’m craving ice cream.
~ Jay.
Jensen stares at the response, wide-eyed and utterly thrown for a loop.
Is there any possible way he can reply without sounding rude? He bites back a groan that half-escapes his mouth and looks around him to see if anyone heard. Chad Murray, who sits across from him, is giving him a strange look but he eventually turns back around and puts his head on his desk.
He considers his options, staring at his desk top blankly while the teacher’s voice continues to drone on in his ears.
After a brief assessment, he answers the text message, trying to convince himself that the only reason he is agreeing is because he doesn’t have (read as: never has) lunch plans, anyway, and besides…Harley whined all night last night and this is his opportunity to ask Jared whether Sadie had slipped some kind of love potion to his dog.
Really. That’s the only reason…
…really.
Okay, no. This can’t happen. Jensen immediately pushes away all the convincing feelings formulating in his gut and draws on the pool of self-discipline from within. He can’t go; he just can’t.
But somehow Jensen suspects that the only way he’s going to get Jared to leave him alone about it is to pretend to give him what he wants.
Backspacing until his screen his blank, he starts over. Guilt gnaws indignantly at him, but he ignores it to the best of his ability.
His reply is as articulate as he can make it given the circumstances, and he’s actually proud that he doesn’t somehow manage to screw up the two-letter content of the text. He doesn’t even bother with making it grammatically correct or anything! Oh, such a proud, proud day.
To: 555-1383
ok
Jensen
Short, sweet, and to the point - no way this can backfire in his face, right?
One minute later, his phone is going off again.
From: 555-1383
Okay-you-want-to-come or okay-they’re-serving-mystery-meat? Specify, please.
~ Jay.
Jensen seriously considers taking advantage of the break in Mrs. Rostath’s lecture to throw a temper tantrum, but instead just takes a deep breath and types back:
To: 555-1383
Okay, I’ll come with. Gotta go now, reviewing for English test.
Jensen
With that, he holds down the power button on his phone until the vibration informs him it is effectively shutting down. Once the screen has gone dark, he slips it back into his pocket, leans back uncomfortably against the seat, and crosses his arms across his chest.
More than anything he’d wanted to type I’ll come with, of course! but this isn’t Tom he’s texting, or his cousin, or his father - this is Jared and there are several key reasons he can’t possibly allow himself doesn’t want to go, the most important of which is Jensen’s tendency to lose the ability for logical thought whenever the taller boy is around him.
And without logical thought, Jensen could rush right into all sorts of situations that could successfully compromise the façade of heterosexuality. Really, this façade only has to stay around Richardson as long as he does - the minute he leaves this town is the minute he starts being himself.
Somewhere deep down, a voice whispers, What a load of bullshit.
He manages to ignore it, to push it away - he’s become very good at it lately, the denying.
Okay, so he freely admits that he turned his phone off so that he wouldn’t be faced with the ultimate question, which he supposes would be something along the lines of Alright, so where did you want to meet? because if he can just avoid the situation at all costs, there’s a possibility that he won’t need to be tempted by long legs, brown hair, and eyes that Jensen highly suspects can see through any pathetic façade he could ever formulate.
Jensen leans forward and for a moment allows his forehead to rest on his desk as Mrs. Rostath’s voice continues to blare nonsensically around him.
Today is not going to be a good day.
Monday, April 26th, 2009
11:45 AM
Richardson High School - Richardson, Texas
The bell rings, and he gathers his binders and books together quickly, intending on escaping the hell that is Warschmaster’s basic chemistry class. He doesn’t like science and he really doesn’t like Warschmaster, so the second that bell rings, he’s outta there and into the hall.
He stuffs his things into the locker and swing the door shut, twisting the lock so that it won’t open again unless he puts in the combination, and then, after casting a suspicious glance around him, pull out his cell phone.
He rereads Jensen’s final text message, and sighs. He’d sent a few more texts after Jensen stopped answering in the hopes that he’d get a response on where they should meet up, but his phone had remained silent. He flips the cell open and scrolls down to Jensen’s number in his contact list and selects Send New Text Msg.
Once the blank screen comes up, Jared types:
To: Jensen
Look, if you get this message, I’ll be waiting for you in the back near the band parking lot. I don’t know how long I can wait around if I’m going to get to the ice cream shop and back before the bell rings, esp. w/ all the traffic. But I’ll wait as long as possible. See you then, hopefully.
~ Jay.
With that, he presses ‘send’ and shoves the phone into the back pocket of his jeans.
Determinedly telling himself not to get frustrated just yet, he somehow manages to shove his way through the halls and toward the back entrance of the school.
The sun warms his skin once he’s outside. It’s a hot, humid day; the sky is crowded by dark, angry-looking clouds. Jared is beginning to think these thunderstorms aren’t ever going to go away, but God knows Richardson needs a little moisture after such a long dry spell.
Jared follows the sidewalk to the band parking lot where he’d left his car this morning. It doesn’t really matter that the parking lot is only for members of the school band who have to carry instruments around with them; it’s the largest lot on the school grounds and Jared finds it hugely unfair that it is within regulations to let all those empty spots go unfilled. By parking there, he is silently but effectively sticking it to The Man.
Or at least, that’s what he tells other people when they ask how he gets away with parking where he shouldn’t.
In all actuality, he admits silently to himself as he slides into the front seat of his car and sticks the keys in the ignition, he’s just lazy and way too tired in the mornings to go searching for another spot in the regular student lot.
The car starts with a reluctant rumble, and he flips the switch that activates the air conditioning. As the system warms up, Jared closes his door and rolls down the window, pulling the lever that leans his chair back.
He pushes the button that allows him to move his seat around and throws himself backward onto the hot leather. The air conditioning blows hot air at first, then warm air, then relatively cool air, and finally things really start going and Jared is able to roll the window back up once more.
All around him, people are cramming themselves into their cars and getting away from the school while they can. Cracking open an eye, Jared watches as a group of his friends from the basketball team pile into Tom’s car and take off, probably heading to McDonald’s.
On a normal day he’d be the one with a backseat stuffed with basketball players, but this isn’t a normal day.
This is the day that Jared starts doing things differently. This is the day that Jared allows himself to let in that little part of himself that he’s never really allowed to see the light of day. This is the day that Jared Padalecki refuses to pretend like he’s straight anymore.
Because he’s not - he’s so obviously not. But he’s one hundred percent positive that if he were to tell this to anyone, he’d get chuckling and “Good one, Jay.”
He’s tired of everyone thinking he’s some kind of playboy jock asshole. Well - all things considered, he is a jock and he can be an asshole, but the playboy thing…he doesn’t even know where that shit originates.
The minutes pass slowly. Soon the parking lot is relatively empty and Jared’s car is the only one left within a fifty foot radius. He sighs, linking his hands across his flat stomach. It’s eerily silent around him. Usually there would be the roar of cars down the road past the school, but traffic is strangely nonexistent. The air conditioning begins to be overwhelming, so Jared reaches over and turns the dial to the left a little and the blast of air recedes.
He’s not sure how long he sits there, waiting for Jensen to arrive, but just as he’s beginning to realize that he’s been stood up, so to speak, cars are crowding the parking lot again and reluctant students are making their way into the school.
“I don’t get it,” he mutters, slamming the car door shut and stuffing the keys, along with his hands, into his pockets. His shoulders hunch up around his ears and he moves toward the main building slowly, without motivation or purpose.
Doubting it, but unable to not triple check, Jared grapples for his cell phone, flipping it open and going to his inbox. He wades through the mass of badly spelled, uninteresting, and, in some instances, nonsensical texts from some people who are friends and others who aren’t until he finally reaches the final, terse text from Jensen.
From: Jensen
Okay, I’ll come with. Gotta go now, reviewing for English test.
Jensen
Ugh. Just - ugh. For a split second he’d wondered if maybe he’d misread the text the first couple of million times he’d read it or something, but nope, there it is - clear as day.
And it’s also painfully clear that Jensen has stood his ass up.
Feeling depressed and also a little ridiculous because he was depressed, Jared rubbed his hands across his face, feet automatically continuing to carry him in through the back doors of the school. The shrill sound of the bell rings in his ears and echoes in his head, taunting and annoying.
Reluctant as hell, Jared fights his way to his locker where he stands stock-still for a minute, unobliged hunger pains tumbling about in his stomach. Even though he’s got just a few sparse minutes to make it to his next class, Jared takes his time in gathering his things together. He can’t help but think of Jensen’s face, and the way it had blushed the other day when he’d called him Jen.
And in the last few moments of time before the bell rings, Jared comes to several conclusions.
The first conclusion is a simple affirmation of what Jared had already suspected - he is attracted to Jensen. No point in denying it or trying to phrase it differently. It is what it is, and further denial of the fact is pointless. Not that he’d really denied it before but it’s better to just be completely open with himself about it - especially if he’s going to be open about it with others.
Secondly is that even if he’s not really positive of it, he strongly suspects that whatever Jensen may say or do or pretend, he probably feels the same attraction that barrels into Jared every time the two see each other. The stilted attitude, the quietness, the easily blooming blushes - there’s something further to all of that, and Jared is willing to bet his place on the basketball team that it’s the same pull that is almost constantly tugging at the pit of his own stomach.
Thirdly, and finally, is that if Jared is really going to start being completely honest, he can’t just ignore these feelings. To ignore it would be kind of like lying, and if Jared’s tired of anything, he’s tired of lying.
So that’s it - in order to have events proceed as he’d like them to, Jared needs a plan.
And as the final bell rings, Jared begins to put one together.
JENSEN
Monday, April 26th, 2009
3:35 PM
Richardson High School - Richardson, Texas
I feel terrible. Absolutely, incessantly, insanely terrible.
I try to tell myself about a million times that I’ve done nothing wrong, but that’s bullshit and I don’t need my conscious to tell me so even though it insists on it anyway.
The clock’s ticking is loud in my ears, practically echoing in the determined stillness of the room. Most of the people are staring up at the ticking menace, eyes glued to the minute hand. Five more minutes and we’re free from the hell that is a Monday afternoon in high school. By now, even the teacher is unable to tear her gaze away.
Tick, tick, tick, tick…
I want to get my cell phone out and pour guiltily over my misleading texts, but the second the bell had rung for lunch, I’d cleared my inbox and outbox in order to prevent just this. Now I’m wishing I hadn’t - I’d like to just swim around in my guilt for a while, but it’s impossible. Damnit.
Grah, I want to tear the clock off the wall and smash it against the nearest hard surface.
Tick, tick, tick…
Attempting to cover the sound of it, I stick my fingers in my ears. Ah -better. Much happier in my now silent environment, I slump forward, head in my hands and elbows slipping across my desktop. Papers are crumpled in the movement, but I don’t even care. The year’s almost over, and it’s really difficult to bring myself to care about much of anything related to school anymore.
The teachers don’t seem to care, either. Some of them, like Mrs. Rostrath, continue in their determinedly dull lectures, droning from bell to bell, but most of the faculty has given up on education, at least until the beginning of the next school year. All the students are grateful for the suspended desire to educate, but none so much as the seniors, who won’t have to deal with the teachers next year.
I glance downward at the now-ruined notebook paper beneath my elbows. Most of them are blank and can probably be saved if I make the effort to straighten them out and put them back in my folder (which I won’t), but the one page with writing on it - a sheet of notes from English class - is torn, right down the middle.
Shit.
There’s a strange shuffling noise around me, but I ignore it as I continue to stare forlornly down at my ruined notes. And after all the effort I’d made to ensure they were neat and legible, too…
Without warning, my left hand is yanked from my ear and a girl (Sandy-something, I think) holds my wrist out and above my head for a moment. “The bell just rang, dude.” She releases my wrist and ends up at the back of the crowd of students hustling to get out of the room as quickly as possible.
Not sure if I’m grateful or annoyed, I lower my hands and gather together the crumpled papers from my desk. Before I slide them back into my folder, I consider whether they’re worth preserving. Eh. I don’t even care. Into the trash they go.
I’m the last one out of the room. The teacher casts me a quick look as she logs onto her computer and opens her mouth as if she’s going to say something. But she doesn’t, and I continue on my way.
The halls are already emptying. A few months ago and there would have still been people lingering around the hallways, but with only a few weeks of school left it’s difficult for anyone (myself included) to care enough to stick around and fiddle in his locker.
Despite my extreme lack of desire to be in this place much longer, I leave the hallway and go through the set of double doors that leads to the Commons, which is still trickling with slow-moving kids. The set of doors that opens up into the hallway that houses my locker is shut, which is strange. I shrug it off and pass through, noticing about halfway through the act of opening the doors that my shoe is untied and I’m about to trip.
I don’t notice quickly enough - I slip on the evil shoelace and pitch sideways, face first into the lower set of lockers. “Oooow,” I moan from the floor, cheek throbbing.
“That looked painful,” says a voice from above and I curse my luck.
Looking rather nonchalant considering I’d lied to his face (is it his face if I sent him a misleading text or would it be more appropriate to say I lied to his cell phone?), Jared stands four feet away in front of my locker, Tom peeking out worriedly from behind his shoulder.
“Dude, are you okay?” my friend asks, taking a few steps toward me. Concern crumples his forehead and darkens his eyes.
“I guess,” I grumble, more disconcerted at the sight of Jared than of my epic fall.
“What is it with you, man?” the man himself queries, arching a brow. He steps up beside Tom. “Every time I see you you’re tripping all over yourself. Have you considered what all this falling could do to your brain? Maybe you should get a CAT scan.”
I want to say something petty back, but my guilty conscience won’t let me. I deserved that - I totally did. Besides, as far as I can tell, he’s only teasing.
“Maybe,” I reply quietly instead. He looks down at his feet, arms crossed, as Tom helps me up. I can feel an awkward silence coming on, but Tom saves the day:
“So I hafta go meet some guys to work on a group project,” he says meaningfully, as if this means something.
Jared gets a weird look in his eyes, something between panic and annoyance. He looks to me, wide-eyed, and then back to Tom. “Uh, okay, that’s cool, we understand, don’t w-we, Jensen?” He speaks quickly, placing his hands on Tom’s shoulders and pushing him in the direction of the double doors.
Okay, I’m confused. “Er…yeah, of course we do?”
Tom grins, looking suspiciously sneaky. “So, Jensen. How’s ya’ll’s group -”
“Whoa-ho-ho-kay!” Jared practically shouts, this time pushing more aggressively. “It’s great to see you, Tom, really it is, but Jensen and I have to go now! Talk to you tomorrow, bye!!!”
Next thing I know, Jared’s hand is pulling at mine and Tom is snickering as we exit the double doors at the opposite end of the hall that lead out toward the band parking lot.
“What the hell was that?” I ask incredulously, attempting to pretend like I wasn’t flushing at the heat of Jared’s hand in mine.
“Never mind that,” Jared replied, stopping in his tracks and turning to give me an accusing glare. “Why did you tell me you wanted to get ice cream and then not show up? I missed the entire lunch period, you jerk.”
I smooth my hair out of my eyes even as I glance away. I don’t really want to meet the accusatory eyes that wait, glaring, for an explanation some two or three inches above me. ABOVE ME. Why does he have to be so gosh darned tall, anyway?!
“I’m sorry, I got….distracted,” I explain lamely, wiping my sweaty palms against my cargo shorts.
“Distracted? By what?” He sounds unconvinced.
“Um…chemistry. Advanced chemistry,” I add with relish and then realize that the class level I’m in likely makes no difference to the star of the basketball team.
As if to prove my theory, Jared looks downright confused. “Um, right. You couldn’t text me and let me know that you couldn’t make it?”
Oh God in heaven, why won’t he just leave me alone?
“Jared, look,” I begin, stuffing my hands into my pockets and wiggling my toes in my oh-so-ugly shoes. “I’m…confused…by what it is, exactly, you want.”
“You’re confused by ice cream?”
I deadpan. “No. No, Jared, not by ice cream.”
He rakes his hands through his hair and links his fingers at the nape of his neck, somehow managing not to look like an idiot even with his elbows pointed toward the ceiling. “Well then, dude, you’re going to have to explain it to me, because me? I’m lost, here.”
He waits for a response with questioning eyes.
“Me!” I say a little louder than would be considered a normal volume for basic conversation. “I’m confused about what you want with me. We’re two completely different people, so there’s likely nothing we could, like, bond over or whatever.”
He throws his head back and rolls his eyes. “Jensen. I’m not asking you to run away with me…” There’s an odd little pause here as his head rights itself on his neck and he meets my unwilling gaze. “I just want for us to be friends.”
“Yes, I caught on to that part, but I want to know why it is that you’ve taken it into your head that we need to be friends now.”
Jared’s arms retreat to his sides and he moves nervously, taking a step forward, two steps back, glancing around and rubbing his nose. “And what I want to know, Jen, is why you’re so averse to the idea.”
I don’t say anything for a second, unwilling to dig myself so deep that I’m unable to escape from this hole of a situation. I’m vaguely aware of my body beginning to hunch in on itself, preparing for rejection, or a black eye, or whatever. My mouth actually opens, the words “I’m gay, Jared, that’s why” forming on my tongue before I catch myself and turn my confession into something a little less condemning.
“Look, there are…things you don’t know about me,” I begin, trying to be as vague as possible without insinuating what the real issue here is. “Things that could quite-”
“What, you think you’re the only one with secrets, Jensen?” he interrupts rather rudely, throwing his hands up exasperatedly. He laughs humorlessly and turns away so that I can’t see his face. “It’s not like you’re the only one who has things he’d rather not tell people about - God, Jen, you don’t even know.” His voice is tense and unhappy and it makes me uncomfortable. For the barest of an instant I wonder if maybe…maybe…
But then common sense comes crashing back down and I realize that - Jesus in Heaven, I’m reaching out to touch his shoulder. Thankfully he hasn’t noticed the movement and I snap my hand back and shove it into my pocket.
He notices the movement this time, and turns back around, giving me a strange look for a moment before he sniffs and rubs at his face vigorously. I tell myself his eyes had been perfectly dry just then, that it was a trick of the light.
“Hell, when did this turn into a therapy session, exactly?” he asks dryly, lips curling into a forced grin. He sniffs again and exhales heavily, not really sighing but I’m not sure what else to call it. “I don’t know why this is such a big deal for me, dude, and I’m pretty positive I wouldn’t know how to explain why it’s so important to me that we be friends, but it is. If you…if you’re freaked out or whatever, and I’d understand if you are, then just tell me, yeah? Don’t make up stupid excuses about Advanced Chemistry and don’t pretend that you ever actually intended on coming in the first place.”
I try to protest here, but he shakes his head and stops me with a look. “Seriously, Jensen, don’t. Look, offer still stands. If you wanna hang out tomorrow at lunch, cool - meet me in the band parking lot after the bell. If you don’t, then just say so. I don’t wanna wait around forever if you aren’t gonna show.”
I do consider it - don’t doubt that I want nothing more than to nod, to say “I’ll be there, definitely, anything for you,” to throw my arms around him, my legs around him; I want to say yes more than I’ve wanted anything. It’s a tangible, pressing desire to throw caution to the wind, to go with door number two, option number two, to let everyone else just fucking deal with who I really am. It really, really is.
Jared’s hazel eyes are expectant and almost pleading and I sense that while he may not be entirely truthful about all of this (because it definitely feels like he’s leaving something out,) and it’s like a stab in the gut, I feel honesty in his gaze.
I look away.
“I…I’ve gotta go,” is mumbled under my breath. I hitch my backpack further up my shoulder and stumble away toward the general student parking lot. I don’t even go back to my locker for tonight’s homework. I want to go home and go to bed and possibly just forget about everything else in my life for fucking once- especially earnest hazel eyes.
Fuck my life; I need a blog for this kind of shit.
TO BE CONTINUED.
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