A Little TLC | J2 | G (SPN_Masquerade)
Title: A Little TLC
Rating: G
Pairing: J2
Words:
Summary: Written for SPN_Masquerade Spring 2020, for the prompt: One J gets sick, and the other goes into serious mother-hen mode. Making soup, tucking him in, singing him a song. Originally posted HERE.
Notes: Sadly this does not go the BDSM route the prompter suggested, also it does not get sexy, but is hopefully a sweet moment of subtle caretaking.
Read on AO3
The first thing Jensen hears when he walks through the door is someone hacking up a lung.
It’s shocking, mostly because he lives alone. But also, because it doesn’t take long to recognize the coughing and subsequent pathetic groaning to be Jared, who said last night that he was just fine.
Jensen hangs his messenger bag on the hook behind the door, slips off his dress shoes and straightens them in a perfect line with three other pairs of boots and sneakers, and heads for the bedroom to change out of his business suit and tie. Even this far into the house, in the bedroom walk-in closet and surrounded by clothes on hangers, Jensen can hear Jared start up another coughing fit.
Since this is how he’ll be spending his evening, his next stop is to the linen closet to fill his arms with provisions, like fresh sheets and a pillow, Sudafed, cough drops, and a fresh box of Kleenex. As much as he wants to roll his eyes at the notion that Jared keeps ignoring how sick he really is, or how his skin crawls with the idea of all of Jared’s bad germs festering in his house, something warms Jensen deep inside that Jared came here, of all places, when he needed some relief.
They’ve been dating for about six months now and while Jensen knows Jared isn’t seeing anyone else, and Jensen hasn’t taken a second look at anyone since they first met, they haven’t really crossed that line yet. Neither of them has spoken on what their relationship is or where it could possibly go, even when they’re spending much of their free time in one another’s spaces.
Well, Jensen’s house has been a sort of home base for them for a while now, ever since Jensen spied Jared’s dreaded roommate, Chad, spending a lazy Sunday morning stretched out on their couch with little more than a pair of white briefs. Jensen couldn’t stop the itchy feeling up and down his back as he imagined the various germs (and maybe even bodily fluids) that coated the cushions.
Now it’s cold season and Jared has been sick for days. Eight to be exact, with no thought whatsoever to call the doctor. The only thought he’s had was to mock Jensen whenever asked about how sick he was, offering a whiny okay, Mom. Yet Jared didn’t stop calling or texting to see what all Jensen was up to while Jared was holed up in his apartment this past week, supposedly not getting sicker.
Suddenly, Jensen realizes he’s stopped in the hallway, supplies held carefully in his arms. Jared is really pretty sick and for as stubborn as he is about it, he showed up here, in Jensen’s living room, while Jensen was at work.
That must mean something.
He knows it does, but tries not to let it mean something. Even as his heart races and his chest tightens and something stirs in his belly.
Switching gears, Jensen enters the living room and asks, “So, you broke into my house?”
Jared has enough good manners to look embarrassed. Or guilty. His pale cheeks pinken before he sinks back into the couch, his head pillowed on his own hand. “I jiggled the thing.”
Jensen looks beyond the couch to the patio doors that lead out to the deck. A place he and Jared have spent many nights putting away beers, watching the sun go down and the stars come out, and talking on all sorts of topics, both giddy trivial stuff and somber stories of their lives.
They’ve also joked about how Jensen really needs to fix the lock on the doors, but he’s been too busy and deciding on a trust-worthy locksmith to be in his home has been troublesome. Besides, he figured the tall bushes and locked gate surrounding his backyard would be enough to keep folks out.
Apparently not.
“Hmm,” Jensen replies. He drops the items on the coffee table in front of Jared on the couch - which is an awful sight of bleary eyes, whitish skin a stark contrast to Jared’s natural tan, and a runny nose.
“I can leave if you …” Jared drifts off as he struggles to sit up, weak and sluggish in this state. “If you have other plans,” he tacks on, even when he can’t seem to look Jensen in the eye.
Jensen wonders what that means. If Jared thinks Jensen is running off with all sorts of plans and spending time with other guys or if he’s worried that Jensen isn’t willing to spend time with Jared just because he’s not 100%. And if he’s sad about that … well, this puts a few things into perspective.
Jared mumbles an apology that’s cut off by an exceptionally loud and wet sneeze that echoes off the walls and Jensen flinches back a step. “I know, I’m pathetic,” Jared whines through a nasally voice. “I should go.”
In reply, Jensen nudges the Kleenex box a few inches closer. He backs away before Jared reaches for it and goes to the kitchen for a cold glass of water. On second thought, he also starts up a teapot of water on the stove and picks out a bag of spiced cider tea. Jensen prefers the classics like Earl Grey or Cardamom, but lately, he’s been stocking his cabinets with sweeter bags featuring fruits and honey.
He knows it’s another sign.
With a deep breath, Jensen heads back to the living room, hands Jared the glass of water, and breaks out a few of the Sudafed pills. “Take these and then I’m gonna need you to stand up and give me some room here.”
Jensen unravels the sheets and Jared looks alarmed, yet follows along, even if he’s mostly just leaning against the arm of the couch once he can get to his feet. “I’m sorry if I got anything dirty. I know how you like to - "
As Jensen tucks the fitted sheet around the corners of the seat cushions, he shakes his head and tuts, cutting Jared off. He knows he’s pretty damn anal. The open layout of his house and the bare yet precise decorations are a clear sign. Not to mention his closet being organized by season then color then sleeve length, or the whole organizational set-up of his kitchen where even soup cans are alphabetized.
“You didn’t do anything,” Jensen says. When he stands, he reaches for Jared’s arms, squeezes, then pulls him a little closer. He can feel himself frowning and he tries to temper how bad it is, so he doesn’t make Jared feel any guiltier than he already seems. It’s not that. This is Jensen’s own fault for projecting onto Jared in this way, for not easing up for someone he cares about this much, and for not being even a fraction of a bit more open so Jared knows …
“I just wanted to give you a fresh place to rest,” Jensen insists, though it’s said carefully because Jensen has to force himself to admit it all. He leans in to kiss Jared’s forehead. “Make you feel at home and all that.”
Jared blushes again, less on the guilt this time and more on the endearing, appreciative side of things. “Well, right now home is Chad’s girlfriend finally back from her three-month stint in France, so they’re all voulez-vous coucher avec moi-ing all weekend”
Jensen chuckles as he helps Jared back down to the couch, including a fluff of the new pillow that he sets beneath Jared’s head. “They’re what now?”
“I dunno.” Jared’s voice gets stronger, though it’s still hung up in nasal pressure. He sounds like he’s trying to be funny, which is refreshing. Jensen adores how Jared’s goofy personality can bring him out of his own stuffed-up suit life. “Chad’s been singing Lady Marmalade all week. He’s been dying for her to come back from her project work.”
The tea pot whistles, making them both jump. Then Jared’s eyes go soft and hopeful. “Do you have the -”
Jensen smiles. “Apple cider. Just for you.”
Jared bats his eyelashes and tries to put on a jokey, southern voice. “You love me. You really love me.”
“I, uh …” That word - the L word - triggers something and he can feel himself go flush all over. His palms are suddenly very damp and his heart pounds in his ears, all while staring right at Jared. It takes a few seconds to get back to himself, so he mutters, “I should get your tea” then goes right to the kitchen. He even pours a cup of Cardamom for himself, anything to calm him and prolong his return to the living room, in case Jared had noticed his absurd reaction.
By the time he’s back, Jared has scooted himself down the couch with his knees tucked up under a throw blanket that had been tossed over the back of a nearby chair, and the pillow and his head are a few feet from the spot Jensen had set up for him at just a few minutes ago.
“You okay?” Jensen asks, putting the mugs of tea down on the coffee table.
Jared watches the movement and snorts, and Jensen briefly smiles as he remembers Jared once joking about whether they should call it a tea table when they don’t often have coffee at this table.
Jensen gestures at the now-open space and Jared nods against the pillow, eyes now focused on whatever TV show he’s landed on.
“Just giving you room,” Jared mumbles.
“Okay,” he replies softly. He settles in the spot left for him, bringing his tea with him to sip in the quiet of them watching ESPN Classic’s replay of the 1993 Super Bowl when the Dallas Cowboys obliterated the Buffalo Bills.
They were teenagers when this game happened and Jensen wonders what Jared was like at that age. What high school was like for him - beyond Jared bragging about being an all-star forward on the basketball team and a state forensics champ - and if they’d have gotten together if they’d met back then, or if Jared was even out and fully aware of the beautiful and intelligent man he was going to become in adulthood.
The pressure in Jensen’s chest is so intense, he thinks he’s having a heart attack. And the way his vision swims, making the football players on his big TV look like fish trailing around an aquarium, he’s concerned he’s going to pass out. At least he’s already sitting.
Jared pushes the pillow against Jensen’s thigh and rests on it again, adding warm weight to Jensen’s already rising temperature at the realization taking over his body.
“I do, you know,” Jensen suddenly murmurs. Jared doesn’t take his eyes off the screen, but he does hum, which causes Jensen’s heart to ratchet up even faster as he brings his hand to Jared’s head. He spreads his fingers out over the hair, threading through strands when Jared moves into the feeling.
The room smells like Jared’s apple tea and cherry cough drops, the setting sun shines in through the glass patio doors, and there’s a nice warm weight on his leg and soft hair falling through his fingers.
Even if Jared is sick as a dog and Jensen refuses to do anything reckless like kiss him on the mouth or let them sleep in the same bed (Jensen’s not up for switching spots and being the one coughing up a lung), this is a pretty great moment to remember as when he really, finally let himself acknowledge how he feels.
And to tell Jared.
“I do,” Jensen repeats. “I love you.”
A few silent seconds tick by before Jared turns to his back and looks up at him. He just stares, drawing out the quiet for torturous seconds more, until he finally asks, “Even though I broke into your house?”
Jensen snorts. “Yeah, even though you broke into my house.”
“And I take up precious space in your cupboards with my tea and macaroni and cheese.”
He takes a moment to think and offers Jared an awkward shrug. “I’m kinda growing to like Velveeta.”
“And even when I’m all snotted up like this?”
That stops Jensen, his stomach twisting up with the thought of those bodily fluids getting close to him. Instead, he pivots and offers, “I’m very touched that you came here when you were sick.”
Jared tightly smiles, like he’s trying not to full-out grin, and turns a hand over to cup the front of Jensen’s shin. It’s about the only place he can reach in this position, but the touch is comforting enough that Jensen feels soft and mushy, so he leans down to kiss Jared’s forehead.
Jared returns it with an air kiss as Jensen sits up straight, then turns back to the TV.
It takes half a minute for Jensen to realize that Jared didn’t say it back and he’s not so sure how he feels about that.
Nervous, panicky, guilty … maybe he shouldn’t have said it when he wasn’t sure how Jared felt. And maybe this is a really awful time to spring it on Jared, when he’s sick and miserable and just needs a place to crash while he recovers, rather than be stuck in a den of iniquity with Chad and his girlfriend recommunicating.
Jensen can feel himself stiffening up with anxiety, berating himself for saying it, and he’s about to get up from the couch and let Jared recover in peace when the commercial break blares louder than the game and Jared shifts onto his back again to look at Jensen.
“Even when you’re nervous that I’m gonna spill pasta on your rug,” Jared says with a hint of a smile, “Or you turn your nose up at my mac and cheese or you get all uptight and worry too much in that cute little head of yours …” He takes a deep breath, complete with a short bout of coughing. Then he says rather sweetly, “I love you.”
There are no words, just moisture building in Jensen’s eyes, because while this isn’t the first I love you in Jensen’s life, it just may be the best, and hopefully the last one he hears.
“Because you still eat whatever food I cook,” Jared goes on, “And always let me have the last beer in the fridge and you bring me sheets and pillows and cough drops when I’m sick.”
Even as he feels his insides go all soft, Jensen grits his teeth and mutters, “You’re so sappy.”
Jared grins and reaches up to pinch Jensen’s cheek. He’s still sicker than a human should be without medical attention, but he seems a little brighter. Like he’s been waiting a while to unload those feelings.
Jensen’s shoulders are lighter now and maybe he’d needed to get it off his chest, too.
“Game’s back on,” Jared says rather gravely. He brings a finger up to his lips with a tiny shush before moving back to his side to watch TV.
There’s a quick roll of his eyes, but Jensen doesn’t mind. In fact, he settles a little deeper into the cushions and goes back to stroking Jared’s hair, smiling when Aikman makes a touchdown pass to Irvin and Jared lets out a subdued Yayyyy even when they both know who wins the game.
And when Jared groans for bad plays or angsts over Buffalo’s attempts to come from behind, Jensen can’t stop the smile from growing wider. He’ll just chalk it up to Jared being irresistibly adorable, walking pneumonia or not.
Rating: G
Pairing: J2
Words:
Summary: Written for SPN_Masquerade Spring 2020, for the prompt: One J gets sick, and the other goes into serious mother-hen mode. Making soup, tucking him in, singing him a song. Originally posted HERE.
Notes: Sadly this does not go the BDSM route the prompter suggested, also it does not get sexy, but is hopefully a sweet moment of subtle caretaking.
Read on AO3
The first thing Jensen hears when he walks through the door is someone hacking up a lung.
It’s shocking, mostly because he lives alone. But also, because it doesn’t take long to recognize the coughing and subsequent pathetic groaning to be Jared, who said last night that he was just fine.
Jensen hangs his messenger bag on the hook behind the door, slips off his dress shoes and straightens them in a perfect line with three other pairs of boots and sneakers, and heads for the bedroom to change out of his business suit and tie. Even this far into the house, in the bedroom walk-in closet and surrounded by clothes on hangers, Jensen can hear Jared start up another coughing fit.
Since this is how he’ll be spending his evening, his next stop is to the linen closet to fill his arms with provisions, like fresh sheets and a pillow, Sudafed, cough drops, and a fresh box of Kleenex. As much as he wants to roll his eyes at the notion that Jared keeps ignoring how sick he really is, or how his skin crawls with the idea of all of Jared’s bad germs festering in his house, something warms Jensen deep inside that Jared came here, of all places, when he needed some relief.
They’ve been dating for about six months now and while Jensen knows Jared isn’t seeing anyone else, and Jensen hasn’t taken a second look at anyone since they first met, they haven’t really crossed that line yet. Neither of them has spoken on what their relationship is or where it could possibly go, even when they’re spending much of their free time in one another’s spaces.
Well, Jensen’s house has been a sort of home base for them for a while now, ever since Jensen spied Jared’s dreaded roommate, Chad, spending a lazy Sunday morning stretched out on their couch with little more than a pair of white briefs. Jensen couldn’t stop the itchy feeling up and down his back as he imagined the various germs (and maybe even bodily fluids) that coated the cushions.
Now it’s cold season and Jared has been sick for days. Eight to be exact, with no thought whatsoever to call the doctor. The only thought he’s had was to mock Jensen whenever asked about how sick he was, offering a whiny okay, Mom. Yet Jared didn’t stop calling or texting to see what all Jensen was up to while Jared was holed up in his apartment this past week, supposedly not getting sicker.
Suddenly, Jensen realizes he’s stopped in the hallway, supplies held carefully in his arms. Jared is really pretty sick and for as stubborn as he is about it, he showed up here, in Jensen’s living room, while Jensen was at work.
That must mean something.
He knows it does, but tries not to let it mean something. Even as his heart races and his chest tightens and something stirs in his belly.
Switching gears, Jensen enters the living room and asks, “So, you broke into my house?”
Jared has enough good manners to look embarrassed. Or guilty. His pale cheeks pinken before he sinks back into the couch, his head pillowed on his own hand. “I jiggled the thing.”
Jensen looks beyond the couch to the patio doors that lead out to the deck. A place he and Jared have spent many nights putting away beers, watching the sun go down and the stars come out, and talking on all sorts of topics, both giddy trivial stuff and somber stories of their lives.
They’ve also joked about how Jensen really needs to fix the lock on the doors, but he’s been too busy and deciding on a trust-worthy locksmith to be in his home has been troublesome. Besides, he figured the tall bushes and locked gate surrounding his backyard would be enough to keep folks out.
Apparently not.
“Hmm,” Jensen replies. He drops the items on the coffee table in front of Jared on the couch - which is an awful sight of bleary eyes, whitish skin a stark contrast to Jared’s natural tan, and a runny nose.
“I can leave if you …” Jared drifts off as he struggles to sit up, weak and sluggish in this state. “If you have other plans,” he tacks on, even when he can’t seem to look Jensen in the eye.
Jensen wonders what that means. If Jared thinks Jensen is running off with all sorts of plans and spending time with other guys or if he’s worried that Jensen isn’t willing to spend time with Jared just because he’s not 100%. And if he’s sad about that … well, this puts a few things into perspective.
Jared mumbles an apology that’s cut off by an exceptionally loud and wet sneeze that echoes off the walls and Jensen flinches back a step. “I know, I’m pathetic,” Jared whines through a nasally voice. “I should go.”
In reply, Jensen nudges the Kleenex box a few inches closer. He backs away before Jared reaches for it and goes to the kitchen for a cold glass of water. On second thought, he also starts up a teapot of water on the stove and picks out a bag of spiced cider tea. Jensen prefers the classics like Earl Grey or Cardamom, but lately, he’s been stocking his cabinets with sweeter bags featuring fruits and honey.
He knows it’s another sign.
With a deep breath, Jensen heads back to the living room, hands Jared the glass of water, and breaks out a few of the Sudafed pills. “Take these and then I’m gonna need you to stand up and give me some room here.”
Jensen unravels the sheets and Jared looks alarmed, yet follows along, even if he’s mostly just leaning against the arm of the couch once he can get to his feet. “I’m sorry if I got anything dirty. I know how you like to - "
As Jensen tucks the fitted sheet around the corners of the seat cushions, he shakes his head and tuts, cutting Jared off. He knows he’s pretty damn anal. The open layout of his house and the bare yet precise decorations are a clear sign. Not to mention his closet being organized by season then color then sleeve length, or the whole organizational set-up of his kitchen where even soup cans are alphabetized.
“You didn’t do anything,” Jensen says. When he stands, he reaches for Jared’s arms, squeezes, then pulls him a little closer. He can feel himself frowning and he tries to temper how bad it is, so he doesn’t make Jared feel any guiltier than he already seems. It’s not that. This is Jensen’s own fault for projecting onto Jared in this way, for not easing up for someone he cares about this much, and for not being even a fraction of a bit more open so Jared knows …
“I just wanted to give you a fresh place to rest,” Jensen insists, though it’s said carefully because Jensen has to force himself to admit it all. He leans in to kiss Jared’s forehead. “Make you feel at home and all that.”
Jared blushes again, less on the guilt this time and more on the endearing, appreciative side of things. “Well, right now home is Chad’s girlfriend finally back from her three-month stint in France, so they’re all voulez-vous coucher avec moi-ing all weekend”
Jensen chuckles as he helps Jared back down to the couch, including a fluff of the new pillow that he sets beneath Jared’s head. “They’re what now?”
“I dunno.” Jared’s voice gets stronger, though it’s still hung up in nasal pressure. He sounds like he’s trying to be funny, which is refreshing. Jensen adores how Jared’s goofy personality can bring him out of his own stuffed-up suit life. “Chad’s been singing Lady Marmalade all week. He’s been dying for her to come back from her project work.”
The tea pot whistles, making them both jump. Then Jared’s eyes go soft and hopeful. “Do you have the -”
Jensen smiles. “Apple cider. Just for you.”
Jared bats his eyelashes and tries to put on a jokey, southern voice. “You love me. You really love me.”
“I, uh …” That word - the L word - triggers something and he can feel himself go flush all over. His palms are suddenly very damp and his heart pounds in his ears, all while staring right at Jared. It takes a few seconds to get back to himself, so he mutters, “I should get your tea” then goes right to the kitchen. He even pours a cup of Cardamom for himself, anything to calm him and prolong his return to the living room, in case Jared had noticed his absurd reaction.
By the time he’s back, Jared has scooted himself down the couch with his knees tucked up under a throw blanket that had been tossed over the back of a nearby chair, and the pillow and his head are a few feet from the spot Jensen had set up for him at just a few minutes ago.
“You okay?” Jensen asks, putting the mugs of tea down on the coffee table.
Jared watches the movement and snorts, and Jensen briefly smiles as he remembers Jared once joking about whether they should call it a tea table when they don’t often have coffee at this table.
Jensen gestures at the now-open space and Jared nods against the pillow, eyes now focused on whatever TV show he’s landed on.
“Just giving you room,” Jared mumbles.
“Okay,” he replies softly. He settles in the spot left for him, bringing his tea with him to sip in the quiet of them watching ESPN Classic’s replay of the 1993 Super Bowl when the Dallas Cowboys obliterated the Buffalo Bills.
They were teenagers when this game happened and Jensen wonders what Jared was like at that age. What high school was like for him - beyond Jared bragging about being an all-star forward on the basketball team and a state forensics champ - and if they’d have gotten together if they’d met back then, or if Jared was even out and fully aware of the beautiful and intelligent man he was going to become in adulthood.
The pressure in Jensen’s chest is so intense, he thinks he’s having a heart attack. And the way his vision swims, making the football players on his big TV look like fish trailing around an aquarium, he’s concerned he’s going to pass out. At least he’s already sitting.
Jared pushes the pillow against Jensen’s thigh and rests on it again, adding warm weight to Jensen’s already rising temperature at the realization taking over his body.
“I do, you know,” Jensen suddenly murmurs. Jared doesn’t take his eyes off the screen, but he does hum, which causes Jensen’s heart to ratchet up even faster as he brings his hand to Jared’s head. He spreads his fingers out over the hair, threading through strands when Jared moves into the feeling.
The room smells like Jared’s apple tea and cherry cough drops, the setting sun shines in through the glass patio doors, and there’s a nice warm weight on his leg and soft hair falling through his fingers.
Even if Jared is sick as a dog and Jensen refuses to do anything reckless like kiss him on the mouth or let them sleep in the same bed (Jensen’s not up for switching spots and being the one coughing up a lung), this is a pretty great moment to remember as when he really, finally let himself acknowledge how he feels.
And to tell Jared.
“I do,” Jensen repeats. “I love you.”
A few silent seconds tick by before Jared turns to his back and looks up at him. He just stares, drawing out the quiet for torturous seconds more, until he finally asks, “Even though I broke into your house?”
Jensen snorts. “Yeah, even though you broke into my house.”
“And I take up precious space in your cupboards with my tea and macaroni and cheese.”
He takes a moment to think and offers Jared an awkward shrug. “I’m kinda growing to like Velveeta.”
“And even when I’m all snotted up like this?”
That stops Jensen, his stomach twisting up with the thought of those bodily fluids getting close to him. Instead, he pivots and offers, “I’m very touched that you came here when you were sick.”
Jared tightly smiles, like he’s trying not to full-out grin, and turns a hand over to cup the front of Jensen’s shin. It’s about the only place he can reach in this position, but the touch is comforting enough that Jensen feels soft and mushy, so he leans down to kiss Jared’s forehead.
Jared returns it with an air kiss as Jensen sits up straight, then turns back to the TV.
It takes half a minute for Jensen to realize that Jared didn’t say it back and he’s not so sure how he feels about that.
Nervous, panicky, guilty … maybe he shouldn’t have said it when he wasn’t sure how Jared felt. And maybe this is a really awful time to spring it on Jared, when he’s sick and miserable and just needs a place to crash while he recovers, rather than be stuck in a den of iniquity with Chad and his girlfriend recommunicating.
Jensen can feel himself stiffening up with anxiety, berating himself for saying it, and he’s about to get up from the couch and let Jared recover in peace when the commercial break blares louder than the game and Jared shifts onto his back again to look at Jensen.
“Even when you’re nervous that I’m gonna spill pasta on your rug,” Jared says with a hint of a smile, “Or you turn your nose up at my mac and cheese or you get all uptight and worry too much in that cute little head of yours …” He takes a deep breath, complete with a short bout of coughing. Then he says rather sweetly, “I love you.”
There are no words, just moisture building in Jensen’s eyes, because while this isn’t the first I love you in Jensen’s life, it just may be the best, and hopefully the last one he hears.
“Because you still eat whatever food I cook,” Jared goes on, “And always let me have the last beer in the fridge and you bring me sheets and pillows and cough drops when I’m sick.”
Even as he feels his insides go all soft, Jensen grits his teeth and mutters, “You’re so sappy.”
Jared grins and reaches up to pinch Jensen’s cheek. He’s still sicker than a human should be without medical attention, but he seems a little brighter. Like he’s been waiting a while to unload those feelings.
Jensen’s shoulders are lighter now and maybe he’d needed to get it off his chest, too.
“Game’s back on,” Jared says rather gravely. He brings a finger up to his lips with a tiny shush before moving back to his side to watch TV.
There’s a quick roll of his eyes, but Jensen doesn’t mind. In fact, he settles a little deeper into the cushions and goes back to stroking Jared’s hair, smiling when Aikman makes a touchdown pass to Irvin and Jared lets out a subdued Yayyyy even when they both know who wins the game.
And when Jared groans for bad plays or angsts over Buffalo’s attempts to come from behind, Jensen can’t stop the smile from growing wider. He’ll just chalk it up to Jared being irresistibly adorable, walking pneumonia or not.