The Ramblers, Part Four, mijmeraar.
Part Three.
Part Four.
Jensen’s standing on the curb outside KC’s with a packet of Camels Lights jammed into his pocket. He tells Matt, “I’m playing Jenga,” his voice loaded with bitch, his leg bobbing, and jittery. “I’ve got problems stacked so high they’re gonna come down with a goddamn crash.”
“I was just asking what you were - ”
“I’m trying to avoid going in there!” Jensen points with his cigarette wielding hand, arm stretched out in the direction of KC’s. His parents had called to invite him; the kind of invitation that sounds more like ‘if you’re not there we’ll be disappointed’. Jensen knows they want to drill him on his life - or specifically, on Rob Hunter - and yet here he is. The Lion’s Den.
“Oh. Right.” Matt’s smirks tightly, and crosses his arms. “Nervous, are we?”
“Asshole.”
“I’m not the one who convinced my parents a one-night-stand was actually my long term boyfriend. Asshole.”
Hearing it out loud like that, makes Jensen’s stomach turn. It’s one of the biggest dumb-fuck things he’s ever done, but he’d probably do it again in a heartbeat. The way his parents looked at him, that blissful, satisfied, look on their faces; as if this was it, their boy was moving on, making commitments, Being A Man. He couldn’t take it away from them. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Do you even know where he lives?”
“Last night it was up my ass, so no. I guess not.”
Matt throws up his hands. Truce. “Okay, okay. More information than I ever needed to know. Would you grow a set and go inside? I’m hungry.”
“Jesus.” Jensen cowers over, throwing his cigarette down and toeing it belligerently. It hasn’t helped anything. “Let’s not talk about food.”
Matt gives him that infamous, stitched-brow look that says we should talk about this; that says, hey, I know I’ve been having my own problems but you can talk to me. I care about you. Which only makes Jensen feel worse. Matt and Jillian, that there is a real problem. It’s a fucking natural disaster, and what does Jensen do? He fucks a guy he’d never ask to dinner and pretends to be in love. Jensen does not deserve friends, let alone the best kind.
Inside KC’s his father’s at the front counter talking to Steve and his mother’s at a table along the left wall, glasses at the tip of her nose and leafing through papers. Even with everything that’s happening, even if all he has for them is a half baked lie and some old landscape shots he’d been meaning to send for three months; even if he’s possibly the worst son in the world, seeing them here, as a part of his life, his real one, is better than he remembered it being.
“Jensen!”
They haven’t even closed the door behind them and his Mom’s already on her feet with her arms outstretched, beckoning them forward. It’s mild outside but she’s wearing shorts and a tee that says ‘The City That Knows How’. They’re professionals, they run their own business; finance, grow and sell their own produce, and they’re in the running with the big guys.
They’re huge, humble dorks.
“Mom.” With one arm still around her, he slaps Matt on the shoulder and urges him forward. “You remember Matt.”
“Of course I do! Hello Matthew, how are you?”
“I’m good, thanks, Mrs. Ackles,” Matt says, a quick, amused glance at Jensen before he leans in to kiss her on the cheek. He’s the only friend that understands how one should be with one’s friend’s parents. Wayne would pinch her ass and tell her that tee hugs her in all the right places. He has before. “What about you? How’s the trip going?”
“Oh, it’s just terrific. It really is. You know, we were watching that program, that one, with the man, with the hair? Anyway, he was saying-”
“Oh, hey, beautiful.” Kitty the Waitress is suddenly there, caressing - caressing - Jensen’s arm with a brush of her own; one hand around a tray and the other digging into the front of her apron. As Jensen half listens to his mother go on about the decline in domestic travel, he watches Kitty pull an envelope out, presenting it to him. “There was a suit in here earlier, wanted me to give you this.”
It’s plain white, long, and has his name scribbled on the front. He looks at Kitty apprehensively. It’s not money, he has none coming to him, and if it’s not that then it’s not good. Surely. “A suit?”
“Yeah. You know.” Kitty snaps her gum, takes a strand of thick, curly ebony hair and tilts her head to the side. “Official looking guy. Wearing a … a thing, you know.”
“A suit,” Jensen concurs, and flips it open with a thumb to peer inside. There’s a note poking out of the front, and he pulls it free, unfolds it. There’s a date, time, address, and a short, well meaning note at the end.
I don’t THINK I’m taking you to dinner - I know it. J.
*
Moment: He was older, fair; a freckle at the corner of his mouth so transfixing Jensen almost missed his introduction. “Hey, I’m Peter.”
Truth: It was his one chance at it. At white picket fences and shared incomes and a dog, if they could only agree on a name. It was meant to last forever, but it didn’t, and that’s the end of the story. That’s Jensen’s fairytale.
*
Jared’s sitting there, across the booth, his cuffs rolled up and his eyes cast down. He’s grinning with his lips and teeth; even his tongue pokes out at the corner a little. It’s maybe the prettiest thing Jensen’s seen in his whole life, and all he can do is ramble like a little girl who’s found something she didn’t know existed.
“I meant to thank you for the summons,” Jensen says, as the night winds down. “I felt so special.”
Jared’s still grinning, taking his coffee cup with one large paw wrapped around. “Easy cowboy, you know I’m a Very Important Person.”
“Oh, right,” Jensen checks his watch. “It’s been about five minutes since you mentioned your movie. Take it away.”
Jared laughs, big and honest. “I wish you’d stop calling it mine.”
“You don’t have to be humble with me. I have a friend who would tattoo your name on his ass if he knew how to spell it.”
“And despite that you still haven’t gone to see it.”
“No, I,” I’m trying not to open that door. “I haven’t had time.”
“You don’t like me.” Jared shrugs. “I get it.”
“You’re the least appealing person I’ve ever met,” Jensen deadpans, and he’s half expecting, ‘so’s your face’, or ‘your mom’.
Instead he gets, “That’s too bad,” which disappoints him. The highlight of Jensen’s night has been Jared’s ability to bite back, to stay toe to toe with Jensen’s bull shit. When Jared adds, “’cause I’ve been trying really hard to appeal to you,” Jensen’s heart beats so hard it catches in his throat.
“Yeah,” he manages to say, a croak of a voice. “I figured.”
“Good. That’s all I wanted.”
Jensen can’t help himself. “The only thing?”
A pink blush colours high on Jared’s cheeks, across to his ears. He looks young - he always has- and it astounds Jensen, scares him a little, that this boy, guy, young man, has the world spinning around him, eager and wanting, and he doesn’t even care. Or he doesn’t understand. Jensen can’t remember being that young, let alone being so untouchable.
It makes him want to touch.
“You want to get out of here?” Jensen finally asks, because he can’t wait, or he won’t sit here and talk himself out of it. He’s not that big of a man.
“Okay.”
In the taxi, Jared gives the driver Jensen’s address, no hesitation, and they sit with their legs pressed against opposite doors. A thick, crackling heat swings back and forth between them, hitting Jensen square in the chest, so that he’s struggling to breathe.
“You coming up?” he asks, when the taxi slows. He’s already in Jared’s space, grabbing at a denim knee and thigh and moving up.
“I - no - not tonight.”
Jensen’s watching Jared’s mouth, the quiver and the curl of it. He isn’t listening, not with any real interest, so he figures he misunderstood. “What?” he says in a quiet voice, want, want, “What?” He pulls back.
“I don’t want to come up,” Jared says, but the tight lines of his body suggest he does. That he wants to stop talking altogether. “I want to see you again.”
Jensen stomach trips over it. His face goes warm. “That’s - you will.”
“Well, then, I’ll come up next time.”
“Just, come up. We’ll have a good time.”
Jensen sucks at seduction. He’s never had any use for it; even the serious relationships started with a messy, welcoming fuck. It’s what he knows, and what he’s good at, and he won’t let Jared Padalecki have that, too. He’s defied the odds, he’s won Jensen over, now he wants to make Jensen new?
“I’ve already had a good time,” Jared says quietly, head dipped and talking to the shell of Jensen’s ear.
“Fine. That’s, fine.”
Jensen [who also sucks at hiding his frustration] tries to turn away, but Jared reaches one arm across, holds onto the back of the seat and locks Jensen in. His breath smells sweet, and it paints its way across Jensen’s neck and over to his reluctant mouth. Hell, who is Jensen kidding? He can’t even spell reluctant right now, let alone feel it.
He angles his head and lets Jared press his open mouth to Jensen’s. It’s small, and soft, and over before it got started. “I’ll call you when I get back,” Jared promises, and it’s enough to make Jensen lean in for another kiss, a different one.
He kisses his way into Jared’s mouth and it means, okay, you got me, I concede, I want more. I want a lot more.
“Good,” is all he can say. “That’s, good.”
*
He’s asleep, when his phone rings the next morning; caught in the tight space of the pocket of his jeans. After Jared had left he’d tried to walk it out, the anxiety and the excitement, the absolute, man overboard kind of fear he’d almost forgotten he’d known once. He’d crashed, fully clothed and none the wiser.
It’s Matt calling, which is only strange because it’s Sunday, and early.
“Wait, don’t tell me, you’re in God Knows, Alabama, naked and tied to a - ”
“Jensen,” Matt says in a hushed whisper. Jensen can hear the anxious tone a mile away, and jolts upright from his place on the sofa. “I’m at my place.”
In the background, there’s noise. It’s loud and indistinct; a muddle of sounds, of things banging and crashing together. “What the hell?”
“I need you to come over and help me with Jillian. She’s lost it.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. It’s her I’m worried about, just. Would you come over?”
“Yeah, yeah, give me ten minutes.”
Matt and Jillian live on a street that’s eerily similar to something you would see on Desperate Housewives. It used to be ironic, because Jillian had never needed Matt to hold her hand and Matt had never mourned the absence of being needed. He thought being wanted was a far better thing.
Today, Jensen half expects Teri Hatcher to be standing naked behind a hedge somewhere, probably a gun to her head for effect. Matt and Jillian’s house is shaking with the noise and Jensen can see the neighbours poking their heads out, curious. He strolls up to the front door, so as not to alarm them, and edges slowly in.
There’s a path of destruction, starting in the foyer. There are drawers pulled open and emptied, shattered picture frames on the floor, chairs and tables upturned. The sound of things crunching beneath his feet set Jensen on edge. He follows along to the master bedroom, where Jillian and Matt are still screaming.
“You’re such a fucking coward, Matthew!”
“You don’t even know what you’re talking about, Jillian!”
They’re on either side of the bed, spitting words at each other. One corner of the curtains has been ripped and is hanging down. The throw rug is on the floor and the mattress is covered in junk.
“I told you! I showed you! I have all the proof I need! Why won’t you admit it? It’s not like it matters now, anyway! You’ve lost!”
“You’re not even going to listen to me? You’re not even going to give it a chance?”
“Guys,” Jensen calls out from the doorway, and they both snap their heads around, surprised by the new voice, or by the soft edge to it. Jillian scoffs so loud her body shakes.
“Of course you’d call him! God. You’re so fucking predictable.”
“You were wielding a knife, Jillian, what was I supposed to do? Call the cops?”
“Hey, better than Jensen.” She’s not herself, Jensen gets that, she hasn’t been herself for weeks, probably months now. It still turns his stomach, to hear her talk this way. To see her completely cut open.
“Oh, why, still trying to convince me I’m fucking him?”
“That’s right. Just take my pain and turn it into a joke!”
“It is a joke! It is such a fucking joke you don’t even know!”
“Then tell me!” Jillian marches to the bed and picks up a pile of papers, scrunching them in her hand. “Tell me who Kylie is, tell me why there’s thousands of dollars missing from your account, and blocks of time that you weren’t at work and can’t account for. Give me answers, you stupid son of a bitch!”
Jensen can’t take his eyes off Matt. It sounds damning. In fact it sounds so far from the Matt that he knows, that Jensen’s starting to want answers too. Matt, who has his jaw fixed so tight it looks painful, flickers his eyes over to Jensen. As if Jensen can conjure some excuses for him. Lies. Jensen shakes his head, no. Jillian deserves the truth.
“Fine,” Matt barks, and it’s so loud even Jensen jolts. “I’ve been organising a trip. Kylie is a travel agent, who, by the way, looks like your Aunt Helen on a bad day. The money is what I’ve been scrounging up to put towards it because it was a big fucking trip and the time spent away from work was time trying to find the perfect engagement ring.”
The sick feeling in Jensen’s stomach is crawling its way up his throat. He doesn’t look at Jillian. The pale white of Matt’s skin, the red of his eyes, is bad enough. It’s more than he ever needed to see.
“I’ve been planning this for months. I’ve been slaving away. I’ve been trying to make it the perfect fucking surprise and what do you do? Accuse me of cheating on the only person I have ever loved in my whole pathetic fucking life. Well, surprise Jillian, I’m done. It’s over. Go to fucking hell.”
Jensen hears Jillian sob as she tries to reach out for him, but Matt pushes hard past both of them and is out the front door with a wall shuddering bang. Jensen sits down on the bed and holds Jillian while she cries into his neck, saying sorry, sorry, sorry, to the empty space that’s left.
*
Matt disappears. He takes his car, calls his boss and then turns off his phone in the crowded hours Jensen spends with Jillian. He even manages to go back to Jensen’s and throw a few things together. They had called everyone they knew, that Matt knew, hell that Wayne knew. It was no use. Matt very seldom ran but when he did, he was good at it.
The days following were long and dull. Chris took pity on him and let him work double shifts at KC’s, while Wayne called him twice a day with optimistic statistics on adult runaways. The whole group of them, their dynamic, had been turned on its head. They were always in and out of shit, but the one thing that never seemed to change was Matt and Jillian.
That weekend, Jensen’s parents show up at his apartment with food for lunch. He tries to talk them into going to the park, but his mom’s already opening the cabinets and chiding him for his lack of cookware. It’s a strange but welcome feeling. The place is becoming more like a home than it’s ever been, just in these moments.
“How is he going to handle this?” Jensen’s dad asks as they sit around the dining table, their plates cleared. “Is he going to be sensible?”
“Yeah. He’ll hole up with a bottle of bourbon and cry,” Jensen tells them honestly. It was a sight he’d grown accustomed to.
“He won’t act out?”
“How do you mean?”
“I don’t know, son. You boys have a way of …” his dad’s voice trails off so his mom helps out,
“Making things worse.”
“Right.”
In spite of everything, Jensen chuckles. “Matt’s not like that.”
“You said it yourself, Jensen.” His mom reaches out and touches his forearm. “This isn’t a normal thing that’s happening here. Matt might surprise you.”
Jensen curls his fingers into the tabletop, tense. “Yeah, well, it’s not like I have any control over it now, is there?”
“Oh, Jensen, don’t get upset. I was just trying to be realistic.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s fine.”
“Anyway, enough with all the worrying.” Jensen’s mom starts gathering the dishes, her expression brightening. “I think it’s time to talk about something happier. Your new boyfriend, for example.”
Oh, Lord. Jensen clutches at his knees and he takes a deep breath. “Uh, well, I wanted to talk to you about that.”
The hopeful, eager look on his parents’ faces transport Jensen back to Texas, back to his old living room where he’d sat on the sofa, sweating and sick, one foot out of the closet. I want to talk to you, he’d said, and he’d been so convinced that it would be the last time he’d talk to them at all. Instead they were here in his new home, wishing every good fortune for him.
He feels like such an asshole. “The truth is - ”
There are three hard knocks on his door that sound like the rapping of a fist. Jensen, convinced it’s Matt, jumps from his chair so quickly he trips and falls into the door. He opens it, panting, and does a double take. The man on the other side is short, but wide. A layer cake of muscle and no hair, wearing sunglasses and a thick, leather jacket, despite the weather.
“Yeah?” Jensen says dismissively.
“I’m lookin’ for Wayne Heddy,” he says in a heavy, hollow voice. He folds his arms and stands taller, menacing in spite of his height.
“He’s not here.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.” Jensen edges the door closer inward. The biting, impatient tone of the man, and the way he’s looking at Jensen as if he stood in him. This isn’t a courtesy call. “He doesn’t live here.”
“That’s not what I heard.”
“Then you heard wrong. Who are you?”
The man sneers and steps closer. He stinks. Of old food, and sweat. “I’m an impatient man. Are you gonna tell me where your friend is or do I have to make you?”
“I don’t even know who you’re talking about. You better recheck your sources.”
“And you better tell Wayne Heddy that if he doesn’t give me what he owes me, I’m going to start taking it. Piece by piece.”
Jensen forces a smirk, but he’s not amused. He knows Wayne’s talent for pissing off the wrong people. “Yeah. You can leave now.”
The man grins, all yellow teeth, and says, “Have a nice day,” before Jensen slams the door in his face. When his footsteps are gone, Jensen locks and chains it closed as well.
*
When Jensen arrived in California, he was the epitome of sixteen. A virgin in sex, in life, and culture. He’d always been good with a camera [his mom was buying disposables when Jensen was two] but he’d also been good at hiding behind it. An old habit that was still dying hard. If he hadn’t found Matt - if Matt hadn’t found Jensen, hadn’t brought him into his home, slapped him on the back and said, “Hold on tight, dude, it’s gonna get worse,” well. Jensen would have cried wee, wee, wee all the way home.
What’s more, what Jensen almost forgets until he’s knee deep in Wayne’s bull shit and trying to remember why he keeps forgiving and forgetting - Wayne had rescued him too. Jensen had been one smartass remark away from getting battered by a bouncer and Wayne had stepped in, talked a heap of shit, and gotten them both out of there. He hadn’t known Jensen, he didn’t owe him anything, but that was Wayne.
He was a dumb fuck sometimes, but he always found his way out of trouble.
*
After work on Sunday night, Chris and Steve drag Jensen to Pomo’doro for pizza and beer. An old Italian restaurant where Chris used to be a busboy - when his hair was short and he hadn’t succumbed to the artistic endeavours of Jim, the tattooist. It was the only other restaurant Chris let them eat at, other than KC’s, and Chris had eyes everywhere so they didn’t bother to object.
When they get there, Rebecca and Alegra are already waiting. Jensen - who can only half remember that infamous night at Maxi’s - feels like a little boy, standing at his Principal’s office. He has a lot to answer for.
“You remember Alegra,” Chris says, and the warning tone of his voice is not lost on Jensen.
“Yeah, of course, hi,” Jensen stammers, kissing her on the cheek when she stands to greet him. He’s sober and sane, now, and watches with rapt fascination as she turns into Chris’ body. It’s effortless, ease, as if she knows exactly how she fits there.
“We ordered for you,” Alegra tells Chris quietly, while Jensen sits down next to Rebecca, kissing her cheek. “You’ve mentioned what everyone likes.”
“Have you heard from Wayne yet?” Rebecca asks, and Jensen growls under his breath. At least he knows Matt’s alive and angry somewhere. Wayne is a brand new story, every day.
“No, and I don’t really expect to. Stupid shit.”
“And you’ve got no idea what it’s about?”
“All I know is, I heard him talking on the phone and it sounded dodgy. He was asking someone to get him something, and he wasn’t happy about it. I don’t know. That’s it.”
Chris sits down opposite Steve, Alegra pressed up against his side and his bracelets tinkling as he throws an arm around her. “He wouldn’t be dealing, would he?”
“Who can tell, with Wayne? I mean, I’ve never seen him with anything, but I don’t really see him period. He could be working for the fucking, FBI, and I wouldn’t know it.” Jensen takes a breath, scratching furiously at his head with both hands. “Sorry.”
“He really is a good guy,” Rebecca tells Alegra, nothing but sincerity as she wraps an arm around Jensen’s shoulders. “He’s just …”
“Out of his mind,” Jensen says, and allows a small smile for Alegra’s sake. “I’m sorry about last time. I was dealing with some stuff and I took it out on you.”
“That’s okay,” she says, and there’s something about her that says she means it. That she might forgive the worst of things, if it means keeping her relationship safe. “Chris explained.”
Jensen shoots the offending redneck a look. “You explained what?”
“I told her you were having boy troubles” Chris shrugs.
“How would you know about my boy troubles?”
“Steve told me that some young Adonis-” Steve snorts water out of his nose, covering it up with a hand “-came into KC’s and gave you his phone number. I’m not the brightest crayon in the box but I can figure that out.”
Steve’s hiding behind his menu but Jensen can hear the definite sound of his snicker. “You guys are a fuckin’ treat, you know that?”
“Oh, Al,” Rebecca cuts in, leaning across the table with light, excited eyes. “Have you seen The Ramblers? It’s amazing!”
Steve pops his head out to nod emphatically. “Best movie I’ve seen in a long time.”
“Oh, God, here we go.”
“It’s true.” Steve leans over to talk to Alegra directly. “There’s this kid, right, this stranger, who strolls into town, happy as a fucking clam, everyone loves him It’s all very Leave it to Beaver. Then weird shit starts to happen …”
“That sounds like quality viewing,” Jensen mumbles, but Alegra gasps, talking over him.
“Wait, that’s the Adonis? Your boyfriend is the guy from The Ramblers?”
“Who said boyfriend? I didn’t hear boyfriend.”
“You know that movie has won about eight out of nine awards or something insane like that?”
“I think one of them should be, The First Movie to Find The Hottest Nobody and Make Him A Somebody in Record Time,” Rebecca says absently.
“I know, right? I mean, it’s still showing in cinemas!”
“We should go and see it together. I mean, I tried to talk to Steve about the bedroom scene, how the hanger was - ”
“Oh, I know, by the kitchen door! Only, how could it have gotten there if she hadn’t - ”
“Exactly! And Steve’s trying to say that it was the other guy, Michael, can you believe that? After Jodie had already - ”
“Are you done?” Jensen says, so loud that Rebecca tips her glass of coke over, slopping onto the floor.
“It’s okay ladies. Jenny just wants you to stay out of his boyfriend’s bedroom.”
Steve snickers again and Jensen’s out of his seat so fast his joints pop. “I’m getting a beer.”
*
When Jungle Gym’s photo shoot rolls around, Jensen’s surprised to feel gratitude, relief. KC’s had been keeping him busy, but he was starting to wonder whether the obvious and worried glances were worth it. Even the customers had heard the whispers, patting Jensen on the back and saying things like, ‘there, there’ and ‘be strong, brother’, when he handed them their bill.
Kenny says, “Oh. I thought Wayne had always been a crack dealer?” and doesn’t mention it again. For the first time, Jensen’s really happy to know them, and to know that it’ll take a lot more than a couple of Missing Persons before they pull their heads out of their asses.
To their credit, they have the basement looking good. Nick’s uncle, who works in upholstery, had leant the boys a dark red, suede sofa and a couple of matching armchairs which looked good amidst the dark greens of their artificial forest. Then Kenny bought a dozen different types of snacks and sodas and gave Jensen a five minute lecture on the Shades of Grey: it’s a jungle out there, too, Jensen, you know what I mean?
Jensen let him run with it. They sat around on their sofa, drinking soda and throwing Cheetos and it was better than anything Jensen could have come up with.
“We can’t call it Orange Peel,” Troy is saying, as they resituate themselves at their instruments for the next round of photos. They’d spent the last half an hour arguing about song titles, while Jensen tried to figure out how all the musicians in his life have little to no skill with words.
“It’s thematic,” Kenny argues, a twirl in his voice. “It’s about … ”
“Fruit?” Brad supplies.
“You’re the expert on fruit, Hilary.”
Troy and Nick groan, fractious, but Brad just looks bored, munching on a potato chip. “Man, find a new topic.”
“Your boyfriend’s a transvestite. There will never be newer than that.”
Jensen coughs out his surprise, and Kenny’s tripping over his power cords in his attempt to get closer. “You didn’t know he was gay?” he asks, a sort of hushed whisper, like David Attenborough on the verge of a new discovery. Jensen shrugs.
“It’s not a secret society.”
Kenny’s elated. “If you didn’t know he was gay then you didn’t know you can catch his boyfriend every Tuesday and Thursday night at Club - ”
“Why don’t we call the song Spittle?” Nick cuts in, fed up or disinterested with that angle of conversation. Jensen had always known they were different to most boys their age, but he was still impressed with their acceptance and indifference to their friend’s personal life. Apparently music could soothe savages. Kenny, on the other hand, was a different breed altogether.
“Spittle?” Kenny looks disgusted, but thankfully distracted from Brad’s choice in men. “While we’re at it why don’t we call it Incontinence?”
“You spit when you sing!”
“Oh, creative. I guess I should expect that from a guy who listens to Fall Out Boy.” Nick rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue. “What do you want to call it, Pete? Look What Happens When My Mouth Moves, parenthesis, We Suck, parenthesis.”
“Alright, alright.” Jensen’s head’s starting to hurt. He feels like he’s in an episode of Jeopardy. “Kenny, can you go to my place and get my other bag? I left it by the front door.”
Kenny rolls his eyes. “I see what you’re doing.”
“That’s good. Go. And when you get back you can talk about something other than dicks and boys and stupid song titles.”
“What about boobs? Can I talk about boobs?”
“Go!”
“He’s not all bad,” Troy says to Jensen once Kenny’s left the room and his loud, angry footsteps have disappeared up the stairs. “I mean, he’s actually a big fan of Hayden’s.”
“Who?”
“My boyfriend,” Brad tells him, a proud edge to his voice that Jensen’s never heard before. “They’re mates, but the other day Hayden made the mistake of inviting Kenny to one of his shows. Now Kenny’s obsessed with it.”
“We’re thinking Kenny has a thing for men in drag,” Nick provides.
“Or men in general.”
“But he won’t admit it. He’s not a homophobe, he just has a reputation that involves having sex with lots and lots of women.”
Jensen lifts an eyebrow. “He can’t add men to the tally?”
“Nah.” Troy shrugs. “He said something about how Mozart didn’t pick up a flute one day and say, fuck the piano, this is my future.” Jensen opens his mouth to argue the point, but Kenny walks in with the crash of the door.
“Yo, Jensen,” he says, empty handed. “There’s a guy upstairs, says he’s waiting for you.”
The bottom falls out of Jensen’s stomach. He’d felt like a paranoid asshole, these last few days; one eye over his shoulder at all times. Only now he was sorry he didn’t buy that personal Taser. “What guy?”
“How would I know, I’m not the fucking concierge.”
“Well,” Jensen splutters. “Did he look dangerous?”
“Are you kidding? He looked crisp. Like he just stepped out of a Laundromat.”
Jensen tells them to be ready for when he gets back, and starts the climb back to his apartment. He tries to convince himself that it is probably a missionary, or an old tenant that has lost some mail, or Jared, probably Jared, but before he gets up onto the landing he knows it’s bad, he can feel it in his gut.
He was right.
“What are you doing here?” he asks the visitor, who’s back is against Jensen’s door, his arms folded casually. Kenny was right, he is crisp. A suit, a tie, and shiny shoes. He even has the audacity to smile.
“I have a proposition for you,” he explains, stepping closer. Jensen scoffs, and moves backward, an involuntary movement. It’s just something he knows now, like tying his shoes, and counting to ten. Step back; don’t give into that face, or those eyes.
“Work? You want to talk about work?”
“Well I’m not here for a conciliatory fuck, Jensen. I thought we could be civil about this.”
Jungle Gym and its basement are more civil than Jensen right now. “I thought I made myself clear last time, Peter. Go away. Stay away.”
Part Five.
Part Four.
Jensen’s standing on the curb outside KC’s with a packet of Camels Lights jammed into his pocket. He tells Matt, “I’m playing Jenga,” his voice loaded with bitch, his leg bobbing, and jittery. “I’ve got problems stacked so high they’re gonna come down with a goddamn crash.”
“I was just asking what you were - ”
“I’m trying to avoid going in there!” Jensen points with his cigarette wielding hand, arm stretched out in the direction of KC’s. His parents had called to invite him; the kind of invitation that sounds more like ‘if you’re not there we’ll be disappointed’. Jensen knows they want to drill him on his life - or specifically, on Rob Hunter - and yet here he is. The Lion’s Den.
“Oh. Right.” Matt’s smirks tightly, and crosses his arms. “Nervous, are we?”
“Asshole.”
“I’m not the one who convinced my parents a one-night-stand was actually my long term boyfriend. Asshole.”
Hearing it out loud like that, makes Jensen’s stomach turn. It’s one of the biggest dumb-fuck things he’s ever done, but he’d probably do it again in a heartbeat. The way his parents looked at him, that blissful, satisfied, look on their faces; as if this was it, their boy was moving on, making commitments, Being A Man. He couldn’t take it away from them. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Do you even know where he lives?”
“Last night it was up my ass, so no. I guess not.”
Matt throws up his hands. Truce. “Okay, okay. More information than I ever needed to know. Would you grow a set and go inside? I’m hungry.”
“Jesus.” Jensen cowers over, throwing his cigarette down and toeing it belligerently. It hasn’t helped anything. “Let’s not talk about food.”
Matt gives him that infamous, stitched-brow look that says we should talk about this; that says, hey, I know I’ve been having my own problems but you can talk to me. I care about you. Which only makes Jensen feel worse. Matt and Jillian, that there is a real problem. It’s a fucking natural disaster, and what does Jensen do? He fucks a guy he’d never ask to dinner and pretends to be in love. Jensen does not deserve friends, let alone the best kind.
Inside KC’s his father’s at the front counter talking to Steve and his mother’s at a table along the left wall, glasses at the tip of her nose and leafing through papers. Even with everything that’s happening, even if all he has for them is a half baked lie and some old landscape shots he’d been meaning to send for three months; even if he’s possibly the worst son in the world, seeing them here, as a part of his life, his real one, is better than he remembered it being.
“Jensen!”
They haven’t even closed the door behind them and his Mom’s already on her feet with her arms outstretched, beckoning them forward. It’s mild outside but she’s wearing shorts and a tee that says ‘The City That Knows How’. They’re professionals, they run their own business; finance, grow and sell their own produce, and they’re in the running with the big guys.
They’re huge, humble dorks.
“Mom.” With one arm still around her, he slaps Matt on the shoulder and urges him forward. “You remember Matt.”
“Of course I do! Hello Matthew, how are you?”
“I’m good, thanks, Mrs. Ackles,” Matt says, a quick, amused glance at Jensen before he leans in to kiss her on the cheek. He’s the only friend that understands how one should be with one’s friend’s parents. Wayne would pinch her ass and tell her that tee hugs her in all the right places. He has before. “What about you? How’s the trip going?”
“Oh, it’s just terrific. It really is. You know, we were watching that program, that one, with the man, with the hair? Anyway, he was saying-”
“Oh, hey, beautiful.” Kitty the Waitress is suddenly there, caressing - caressing - Jensen’s arm with a brush of her own; one hand around a tray and the other digging into the front of her apron. As Jensen half listens to his mother go on about the decline in domestic travel, he watches Kitty pull an envelope out, presenting it to him. “There was a suit in here earlier, wanted me to give you this.”
It’s plain white, long, and has his name scribbled on the front. He looks at Kitty apprehensively. It’s not money, he has none coming to him, and if it’s not that then it’s not good. Surely. “A suit?”
“Yeah. You know.” Kitty snaps her gum, takes a strand of thick, curly ebony hair and tilts her head to the side. “Official looking guy. Wearing a … a thing, you know.”
“A suit,” Jensen concurs, and flips it open with a thumb to peer inside. There’s a note poking out of the front, and he pulls it free, unfolds it. There’s a date, time, address, and a short, well meaning note at the end.
I don’t THINK I’m taking you to dinner - I know it. J.
*
Moment: He was older, fair; a freckle at the corner of his mouth so transfixing Jensen almost missed his introduction. “Hey, I’m Peter.”
Truth: It was his one chance at it. At white picket fences and shared incomes and a dog, if they could only agree on a name. It was meant to last forever, but it didn’t, and that’s the end of the story. That’s Jensen’s fairytale.
*
Jared’s sitting there, across the booth, his cuffs rolled up and his eyes cast down. He’s grinning with his lips and teeth; even his tongue pokes out at the corner a little. It’s maybe the prettiest thing Jensen’s seen in his whole life, and all he can do is ramble like a little girl who’s found something she didn’t know existed.
“I meant to thank you for the summons,” Jensen says, as the night winds down. “I felt so special.”
Jared’s still grinning, taking his coffee cup with one large paw wrapped around. “Easy cowboy, you know I’m a Very Important Person.”
“Oh, right,” Jensen checks his watch. “It’s been about five minutes since you mentioned your movie. Take it away.”
Jared laughs, big and honest. “I wish you’d stop calling it mine.”
“You don’t have to be humble with me. I have a friend who would tattoo your name on his ass if he knew how to spell it.”
“And despite that you still haven’t gone to see it.”
“No, I,” I’m trying not to open that door. “I haven’t had time.”
“You don’t like me.” Jared shrugs. “I get it.”
“You’re the least appealing person I’ve ever met,” Jensen deadpans, and he’s half expecting, ‘so’s your face’, or ‘your mom’.
Instead he gets, “That’s too bad,” which disappoints him. The highlight of Jensen’s night has been Jared’s ability to bite back, to stay toe to toe with Jensen’s bull shit. When Jared adds, “’cause I’ve been trying really hard to appeal to you,” Jensen’s heart beats so hard it catches in his throat.
“Yeah,” he manages to say, a croak of a voice. “I figured.”
“Good. That’s all I wanted.”
Jensen can’t help himself. “The only thing?”
A pink blush colours high on Jared’s cheeks, across to his ears. He looks young - he always has- and it astounds Jensen, scares him a little, that this boy, guy, young man, has the world spinning around him, eager and wanting, and he doesn’t even care. Or he doesn’t understand. Jensen can’t remember being that young, let alone being so untouchable.
It makes him want to touch.
“You want to get out of here?” Jensen finally asks, because he can’t wait, or he won’t sit here and talk himself out of it. He’s not that big of a man.
“Okay.”
In the taxi, Jared gives the driver Jensen’s address, no hesitation, and they sit with their legs pressed against opposite doors. A thick, crackling heat swings back and forth between them, hitting Jensen square in the chest, so that he’s struggling to breathe.
“You coming up?” he asks, when the taxi slows. He’s already in Jared’s space, grabbing at a denim knee and thigh and moving up.
“I - no - not tonight.”
Jensen’s watching Jared’s mouth, the quiver and the curl of it. He isn’t listening, not with any real interest, so he figures he misunderstood. “What?” he says in a quiet voice, want, want, “What?” He pulls back.
“I don’t want to come up,” Jared says, but the tight lines of his body suggest he does. That he wants to stop talking altogether. “I want to see you again.”
Jensen stomach trips over it. His face goes warm. “That’s - you will.”
“Well, then, I’ll come up next time.”
“Just, come up. We’ll have a good time.”
Jensen sucks at seduction. He’s never had any use for it; even the serious relationships started with a messy, welcoming fuck. It’s what he knows, and what he’s good at, and he won’t let Jared Padalecki have that, too. He’s defied the odds, he’s won Jensen over, now he wants to make Jensen new?
“I’ve already had a good time,” Jared says quietly, head dipped and talking to the shell of Jensen’s ear.
“Fine. That’s, fine.”
Jensen [who also sucks at hiding his frustration] tries to turn away, but Jared reaches one arm across, holds onto the back of the seat and locks Jensen in. His breath smells sweet, and it paints its way across Jensen’s neck and over to his reluctant mouth. Hell, who is Jensen kidding? He can’t even spell reluctant right now, let alone feel it.
He angles his head and lets Jared press his open mouth to Jensen’s. It’s small, and soft, and over before it got started. “I’ll call you when I get back,” Jared promises, and it’s enough to make Jensen lean in for another kiss, a different one.
He kisses his way into Jared’s mouth and it means, okay, you got me, I concede, I want more. I want a lot more.
“Good,” is all he can say. “That’s, good.”
*
He’s asleep, when his phone rings the next morning; caught in the tight space of the pocket of his jeans. After Jared had left he’d tried to walk it out, the anxiety and the excitement, the absolute, man overboard kind of fear he’d almost forgotten he’d known once. He’d crashed, fully clothed and none the wiser.
It’s Matt calling, which is only strange because it’s Sunday, and early.
“Wait, don’t tell me, you’re in God Knows, Alabama, naked and tied to a - ”
“Jensen,” Matt says in a hushed whisper. Jensen can hear the anxious tone a mile away, and jolts upright from his place on the sofa. “I’m at my place.”
In the background, there’s noise. It’s loud and indistinct; a muddle of sounds, of things banging and crashing together. “What the hell?”
“I need you to come over and help me with Jillian. She’s lost it.”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. It’s her I’m worried about, just. Would you come over?”
“Yeah, yeah, give me ten minutes.”
Matt and Jillian live on a street that’s eerily similar to something you would see on Desperate Housewives. It used to be ironic, because Jillian had never needed Matt to hold her hand and Matt had never mourned the absence of being needed. He thought being wanted was a far better thing.
Today, Jensen half expects Teri Hatcher to be standing naked behind a hedge somewhere, probably a gun to her head for effect. Matt and Jillian’s house is shaking with the noise and Jensen can see the neighbours poking their heads out, curious. He strolls up to the front door, so as not to alarm them, and edges slowly in.
There’s a path of destruction, starting in the foyer. There are drawers pulled open and emptied, shattered picture frames on the floor, chairs and tables upturned. The sound of things crunching beneath his feet set Jensen on edge. He follows along to the master bedroom, where Jillian and Matt are still screaming.
“You’re such a fucking coward, Matthew!”
“You don’t even know what you’re talking about, Jillian!”
They’re on either side of the bed, spitting words at each other. One corner of the curtains has been ripped and is hanging down. The throw rug is on the floor and the mattress is covered in junk.
“I told you! I showed you! I have all the proof I need! Why won’t you admit it? It’s not like it matters now, anyway! You’ve lost!”
“You’re not even going to listen to me? You’re not even going to give it a chance?”
“Guys,” Jensen calls out from the doorway, and they both snap their heads around, surprised by the new voice, or by the soft edge to it. Jillian scoffs so loud her body shakes.
“Of course you’d call him! God. You’re so fucking predictable.”
“You were wielding a knife, Jillian, what was I supposed to do? Call the cops?”
“Hey, better than Jensen.” She’s not herself, Jensen gets that, she hasn’t been herself for weeks, probably months now. It still turns his stomach, to hear her talk this way. To see her completely cut open.
“Oh, why, still trying to convince me I’m fucking him?”
“That’s right. Just take my pain and turn it into a joke!”
“It is a joke! It is such a fucking joke you don’t even know!”
“Then tell me!” Jillian marches to the bed and picks up a pile of papers, scrunching them in her hand. “Tell me who Kylie is, tell me why there’s thousands of dollars missing from your account, and blocks of time that you weren’t at work and can’t account for. Give me answers, you stupid son of a bitch!”
Jensen can’t take his eyes off Matt. It sounds damning. In fact it sounds so far from the Matt that he knows, that Jensen’s starting to want answers too. Matt, who has his jaw fixed so tight it looks painful, flickers his eyes over to Jensen. As if Jensen can conjure some excuses for him. Lies. Jensen shakes his head, no. Jillian deserves the truth.
“Fine,” Matt barks, and it’s so loud even Jensen jolts. “I’ve been organising a trip. Kylie is a travel agent, who, by the way, looks like your Aunt Helen on a bad day. The money is what I’ve been scrounging up to put towards it because it was a big fucking trip and the time spent away from work was time trying to find the perfect engagement ring.”
The sick feeling in Jensen’s stomach is crawling its way up his throat. He doesn’t look at Jillian. The pale white of Matt’s skin, the red of his eyes, is bad enough. It’s more than he ever needed to see.
“I’ve been planning this for months. I’ve been slaving away. I’ve been trying to make it the perfect fucking surprise and what do you do? Accuse me of cheating on the only person I have ever loved in my whole pathetic fucking life. Well, surprise Jillian, I’m done. It’s over. Go to fucking hell.”
Jensen hears Jillian sob as she tries to reach out for him, but Matt pushes hard past both of them and is out the front door with a wall shuddering bang. Jensen sits down on the bed and holds Jillian while she cries into his neck, saying sorry, sorry, sorry, to the empty space that’s left.
*
Matt disappears. He takes his car, calls his boss and then turns off his phone in the crowded hours Jensen spends with Jillian. He even manages to go back to Jensen’s and throw a few things together. They had called everyone they knew, that Matt knew, hell that Wayne knew. It was no use. Matt very seldom ran but when he did, he was good at it.
The days following were long and dull. Chris took pity on him and let him work double shifts at KC’s, while Wayne called him twice a day with optimistic statistics on adult runaways. The whole group of them, their dynamic, had been turned on its head. They were always in and out of shit, but the one thing that never seemed to change was Matt and Jillian.
That weekend, Jensen’s parents show up at his apartment with food for lunch. He tries to talk them into going to the park, but his mom’s already opening the cabinets and chiding him for his lack of cookware. It’s a strange but welcome feeling. The place is becoming more like a home than it’s ever been, just in these moments.
“How is he going to handle this?” Jensen’s dad asks as they sit around the dining table, their plates cleared. “Is he going to be sensible?”
“Yeah. He’ll hole up with a bottle of bourbon and cry,” Jensen tells them honestly. It was a sight he’d grown accustomed to.
“He won’t act out?”
“How do you mean?”
“I don’t know, son. You boys have a way of …” his dad’s voice trails off so his mom helps out,
“Making things worse.”
“Right.”
In spite of everything, Jensen chuckles. “Matt’s not like that.”
“You said it yourself, Jensen.” His mom reaches out and touches his forearm. “This isn’t a normal thing that’s happening here. Matt might surprise you.”
Jensen curls his fingers into the tabletop, tense. “Yeah, well, it’s not like I have any control over it now, is there?”
“Oh, Jensen, don’t get upset. I was just trying to be realistic.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s fine.”
“Anyway, enough with all the worrying.” Jensen’s mom starts gathering the dishes, her expression brightening. “I think it’s time to talk about something happier. Your new boyfriend, for example.”
Oh, Lord. Jensen clutches at his knees and he takes a deep breath. “Uh, well, I wanted to talk to you about that.”
The hopeful, eager look on his parents’ faces transport Jensen back to Texas, back to his old living room where he’d sat on the sofa, sweating and sick, one foot out of the closet. I want to talk to you, he’d said, and he’d been so convinced that it would be the last time he’d talk to them at all. Instead they were here in his new home, wishing every good fortune for him.
He feels like such an asshole. “The truth is - ”
There are three hard knocks on his door that sound like the rapping of a fist. Jensen, convinced it’s Matt, jumps from his chair so quickly he trips and falls into the door. He opens it, panting, and does a double take. The man on the other side is short, but wide. A layer cake of muscle and no hair, wearing sunglasses and a thick, leather jacket, despite the weather.
“Yeah?” Jensen says dismissively.
“I’m lookin’ for Wayne Heddy,” he says in a heavy, hollow voice. He folds his arms and stands taller, menacing in spite of his height.
“He’s not here.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know.” Jensen edges the door closer inward. The biting, impatient tone of the man, and the way he’s looking at Jensen as if he stood in him. This isn’t a courtesy call. “He doesn’t live here.”
“That’s not what I heard.”
“Then you heard wrong. Who are you?”
The man sneers and steps closer. He stinks. Of old food, and sweat. “I’m an impatient man. Are you gonna tell me where your friend is or do I have to make you?”
“I don’t even know who you’re talking about. You better recheck your sources.”
“And you better tell Wayne Heddy that if he doesn’t give me what he owes me, I’m going to start taking it. Piece by piece.”
Jensen forces a smirk, but he’s not amused. He knows Wayne’s talent for pissing off the wrong people. “Yeah. You can leave now.”
The man grins, all yellow teeth, and says, “Have a nice day,” before Jensen slams the door in his face. When his footsteps are gone, Jensen locks and chains it closed as well.
*
When Jensen arrived in California, he was the epitome of sixteen. A virgin in sex, in life, and culture. He’d always been good with a camera [his mom was buying disposables when Jensen was two] but he’d also been good at hiding behind it. An old habit that was still dying hard. If he hadn’t found Matt - if Matt hadn’t found Jensen, hadn’t brought him into his home, slapped him on the back and said, “Hold on tight, dude, it’s gonna get worse,” well. Jensen would have cried wee, wee, wee all the way home.
What’s more, what Jensen almost forgets until he’s knee deep in Wayne’s bull shit and trying to remember why he keeps forgiving and forgetting - Wayne had rescued him too. Jensen had been one smartass remark away from getting battered by a bouncer and Wayne had stepped in, talked a heap of shit, and gotten them both out of there. He hadn’t known Jensen, he didn’t owe him anything, but that was Wayne.
He was a dumb fuck sometimes, but he always found his way out of trouble.
*
After work on Sunday night, Chris and Steve drag Jensen to Pomo’doro for pizza and beer. An old Italian restaurant where Chris used to be a busboy - when his hair was short and he hadn’t succumbed to the artistic endeavours of Jim, the tattooist. It was the only other restaurant Chris let them eat at, other than KC’s, and Chris had eyes everywhere so they didn’t bother to object.
When they get there, Rebecca and Alegra are already waiting. Jensen - who can only half remember that infamous night at Maxi’s - feels like a little boy, standing at his Principal’s office. He has a lot to answer for.
“You remember Alegra,” Chris says, and the warning tone of his voice is not lost on Jensen.
“Yeah, of course, hi,” Jensen stammers, kissing her on the cheek when she stands to greet him. He’s sober and sane, now, and watches with rapt fascination as she turns into Chris’ body. It’s effortless, ease, as if she knows exactly how she fits there.
“We ordered for you,” Alegra tells Chris quietly, while Jensen sits down next to Rebecca, kissing her cheek. “You’ve mentioned what everyone likes.”
“Have you heard from Wayne yet?” Rebecca asks, and Jensen growls under his breath. At least he knows Matt’s alive and angry somewhere. Wayne is a brand new story, every day.
“No, and I don’t really expect to. Stupid shit.”
“And you’ve got no idea what it’s about?”
“All I know is, I heard him talking on the phone and it sounded dodgy. He was asking someone to get him something, and he wasn’t happy about it. I don’t know. That’s it.”
Chris sits down opposite Steve, Alegra pressed up against his side and his bracelets tinkling as he throws an arm around her. “He wouldn’t be dealing, would he?”
“Who can tell, with Wayne? I mean, I’ve never seen him with anything, but I don’t really see him period. He could be working for the fucking, FBI, and I wouldn’t know it.” Jensen takes a breath, scratching furiously at his head with both hands. “Sorry.”
“He really is a good guy,” Rebecca tells Alegra, nothing but sincerity as she wraps an arm around Jensen’s shoulders. “He’s just …”
“Out of his mind,” Jensen says, and allows a small smile for Alegra’s sake. “I’m sorry about last time. I was dealing with some stuff and I took it out on you.”
“That’s okay,” she says, and there’s something about her that says she means it. That she might forgive the worst of things, if it means keeping her relationship safe. “Chris explained.”
Jensen shoots the offending redneck a look. “You explained what?”
“I told her you were having boy troubles” Chris shrugs.
“How would you know about my boy troubles?”
“Steve told me that some young Adonis-” Steve snorts water out of his nose, covering it up with a hand “-came into KC’s and gave you his phone number. I’m not the brightest crayon in the box but I can figure that out.”
Steve’s hiding behind his menu but Jensen can hear the definite sound of his snicker. “You guys are a fuckin’ treat, you know that?”
“Oh, Al,” Rebecca cuts in, leaning across the table with light, excited eyes. “Have you seen The Ramblers? It’s amazing!”
Steve pops his head out to nod emphatically. “Best movie I’ve seen in a long time.”
“Oh, God, here we go.”
“It’s true.” Steve leans over to talk to Alegra directly. “There’s this kid, right, this stranger, who strolls into town, happy as a fucking clam, everyone loves him It’s all very Leave it to Beaver. Then weird shit starts to happen …”
“That sounds like quality viewing,” Jensen mumbles, but Alegra gasps, talking over him.
“Wait, that’s the Adonis? Your boyfriend is the guy from The Ramblers?”
“Who said boyfriend? I didn’t hear boyfriend.”
“You know that movie has won about eight out of nine awards or something insane like that?”
“I think one of them should be, The First Movie to Find The Hottest Nobody and Make Him A Somebody in Record Time,” Rebecca says absently.
“I know, right? I mean, it’s still showing in cinemas!”
“We should go and see it together. I mean, I tried to talk to Steve about the bedroom scene, how the hanger was - ”
“Oh, I know, by the kitchen door! Only, how could it have gotten there if she hadn’t - ”
“Exactly! And Steve’s trying to say that it was the other guy, Michael, can you believe that? After Jodie had already - ”
“Are you done?” Jensen says, so loud that Rebecca tips her glass of coke over, slopping onto the floor.
“It’s okay ladies. Jenny just wants you to stay out of his boyfriend’s bedroom.”
Steve snickers again and Jensen’s out of his seat so fast his joints pop. “I’m getting a beer.”
*
When Jungle Gym’s photo shoot rolls around, Jensen’s surprised to feel gratitude, relief. KC’s had been keeping him busy, but he was starting to wonder whether the obvious and worried glances were worth it. Even the customers had heard the whispers, patting Jensen on the back and saying things like, ‘there, there’ and ‘be strong, brother’, when he handed them their bill.
Kenny says, “Oh. I thought Wayne had always been a crack dealer?” and doesn’t mention it again. For the first time, Jensen’s really happy to know them, and to know that it’ll take a lot more than a couple of Missing Persons before they pull their heads out of their asses.
To their credit, they have the basement looking good. Nick’s uncle, who works in upholstery, had leant the boys a dark red, suede sofa and a couple of matching armchairs which looked good amidst the dark greens of their artificial forest. Then Kenny bought a dozen different types of snacks and sodas and gave Jensen a five minute lecture on the Shades of Grey: it’s a jungle out there, too, Jensen, you know what I mean?
Jensen let him run with it. They sat around on their sofa, drinking soda and throwing Cheetos and it was better than anything Jensen could have come up with.
“We can’t call it Orange Peel,” Troy is saying, as they resituate themselves at their instruments for the next round of photos. They’d spent the last half an hour arguing about song titles, while Jensen tried to figure out how all the musicians in his life have little to no skill with words.
“It’s thematic,” Kenny argues, a twirl in his voice. “It’s about … ”
“Fruit?” Brad supplies.
“You’re the expert on fruit, Hilary.”
Troy and Nick groan, fractious, but Brad just looks bored, munching on a potato chip. “Man, find a new topic.”
“Your boyfriend’s a transvestite. There will never be newer than that.”
Jensen coughs out his surprise, and Kenny’s tripping over his power cords in his attempt to get closer. “You didn’t know he was gay?” he asks, a sort of hushed whisper, like David Attenborough on the verge of a new discovery. Jensen shrugs.
“It’s not a secret society.”
Kenny’s elated. “If you didn’t know he was gay then you didn’t know you can catch his boyfriend every Tuesday and Thursday night at Club - ”
“Why don’t we call the song Spittle?” Nick cuts in, fed up or disinterested with that angle of conversation. Jensen had always known they were different to most boys their age, but he was still impressed with their acceptance and indifference to their friend’s personal life. Apparently music could soothe savages. Kenny, on the other hand, was a different breed altogether.
“Spittle?” Kenny looks disgusted, but thankfully distracted from Brad’s choice in men. “While we’re at it why don’t we call it Incontinence?”
“You spit when you sing!”
“Oh, creative. I guess I should expect that from a guy who listens to Fall Out Boy.” Nick rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue. “What do you want to call it, Pete? Look What Happens When My Mouth Moves, parenthesis, We Suck, parenthesis.”
“Alright, alright.” Jensen’s head’s starting to hurt. He feels like he’s in an episode of Jeopardy. “Kenny, can you go to my place and get my other bag? I left it by the front door.”
Kenny rolls his eyes. “I see what you’re doing.”
“That’s good. Go. And when you get back you can talk about something other than dicks and boys and stupid song titles.”
“What about boobs? Can I talk about boobs?”
“Go!”
“He’s not all bad,” Troy says to Jensen once Kenny’s left the room and his loud, angry footsteps have disappeared up the stairs. “I mean, he’s actually a big fan of Hayden’s.”
“Who?”
“My boyfriend,” Brad tells him, a proud edge to his voice that Jensen’s never heard before. “They’re mates, but the other day Hayden made the mistake of inviting Kenny to one of his shows. Now Kenny’s obsessed with it.”
“We’re thinking Kenny has a thing for men in drag,” Nick provides.
“Or men in general.”
“But he won’t admit it. He’s not a homophobe, he just has a reputation that involves having sex with lots and lots of women.”
Jensen lifts an eyebrow. “He can’t add men to the tally?”
“Nah.” Troy shrugs. “He said something about how Mozart didn’t pick up a flute one day and say, fuck the piano, this is my future.” Jensen opens his mouth to argue the point, but Kenny walks in with the crash of the door.
“Yo, Jensen,” he says, empty handed. “There’s a guy upstairs, says he’s waiting for you.”
The bottom falls out of Jensen’s stomach. He’d felt like a paranoid asshole, these last few days; one eye over his shoulder at all times. Only now he was sorry he didn’t buy that personal Taser. “What guy?”
“How would I know, I’m not the fucking concierge.”
“Well,” Jensen splutters. “Did he look dangerous?”
“Are you kidding? He looked crisp. Like he just stepped out of a Laundromat.”
Jensen tells them to be ready for when he gets back, and starts the climb back to his apartment. He tries to convince himself that it is probably a missionary, or an old tenant that has lost some mail, or Jared, probably Jared, but before he gets up onto the landing he knows it’s bad, he can feel it in his gut.
He was right.
“What are you doing here?” he asks the visitor, who’s back is against Jensen’s door, his arms folded casually. Kenny was right, he is crisp. A suit, a tie, and shiny shoes. He even has the audacity to smile.
“I have a proposition for you,” he explains, stepping closer. Jensen scoffs, and moves backward, an involuntary movement. It’s just something he knows now, like tying his shoes, and counting to ten. Step back; don’t give into that face, or those eyes.
“Work? You want to talk about work?”
“Well I’m not here for a conciliatory fuck, Jensen. I thought we could be civil about this.”
Jungle Gym and its basement are more civil than Jensen right now. “I thought I made myself clear last time, Peter. Go away. Stay away.”
Part Five.