CW RPS: We're Here Where the Daylight Begins (Jensen/Jared, 1/1)

[zephyrocity]

Author: Chiara (stonemarionette, zephyrian)
Pairing(s)/Main Character(s): Jensen/Jared, referenced JDM/MLP, guest appearances by others
Rating: R
Word Count: ~11,000 words
Disclaimer: Jared, Jensen, and the rest belong to no one but themselves. I am making no money off of this, and it's not true.
Summary: Jensen's miserable years of working in a cubicle really pay off when his boss offers him two weeks of bliss on a tiny island off the coast of Thailand. He aims to spend each day swimming and sunbathing, but the sudden appearance of a mysterious swimmer named Jared really throws a wrench into his plans.

Jensen turns thirty on the first of March, and his friends at the office throw him a party. His boss brings fruit punch and Sophia and Sandy present him with staplers and paperclips wrapped up in glossy pink paper. There has never been an instant where Jensen hated his life more.

-

"How's it feel, hitting the big three-oh?" asks Adrianne the following day. She's twenty-six and bright-eyed, three years married to some nice-guy-next-door named Joe. She perches on the edge of his desk, with a smile fit to split her face and her blonde curls tumbling over her shoulders. She's got a kid on the way and stops by his cubicle every morning to drop off his coffee (two creams, no sugar), and she's beautiful and perky and just as boring as the rest of the people in the office.

Jensen belatedly realises that her question requires an answer. He shuffles the papers in front of him. "Okay," he says lamely. She looks sort of disappointed, so he adds, "Not much in the way of change. How's the kid?"

He doesn't think she even notices the clumsy subject change; her face brightens at the opportunity to talk about herself. She rubs her swollen belly and gushes, "I came up with a list of names. What do you think of 'Destiny'? Joey likes 'Sunny' and 'Raine', but I think it's just because he's a weatherman…"

For the love of God, don't name your kid Destiny, Jensen doesn't say. "Sounds nice," he tries instead. "What if it's a boy?"

"I was thinking Oliver, after Joey's dad," she says thoughtfully.

Please have a son, Jensen thinks.

Adrianne hops off of his desk as abruptly as she arrived, stretching her long arms. She smiles down at Jensen, friendly as ever. "I've got to get back to work," she says, full of exaggerated misery. "Mr. Morgan wants me to have the Rosenbaum file ready for inspection by Friday. Friday, can you believe it?"

Jensen can believe it. He doesn't have a chance to say anything, though, because just then his boss appears behind Adrianne and plants a huge hand on her shoulder. She jumps a foot in the air and then turns and plasters on a big smile. It doesn't even look fake. "Mr. Morgan," she starts, placating. "I'll just get back to work-"

"You do that," he says, patting her shoulder briskly. "And call me Jeff."

She scurries off, and Jeff tilts his body against Jensen's cubicle. Jeff came in wearing a suit that morning, but by lunchtime he abandoned the jacket and now he's down to his button-down, tie loose around his neck. When he crosses his arms over his chest, the muscles in his arms strain so big that the sleeves look like they're about to burst. Jensen tries not to stare. He doesn't think Jeff would particularly mind if he did stare, because Jeff's an open-minded man, but Jeff's also got Mary-Louise back at home. Jensen reminds himself of that every time his brain begins to wander.

"Jensen, my boy," says Jeff. "Anything exciting going on in your life?"

Jensen takes a moment to think about his dark house, just another in a long line of identical homes, painted white and bleached whiter by the hot California sun; about how bare it is, how he finds every reason not to go home when he has the time. He thinks about how his routine is the same, day in, day out, and says, "No."

Jeff frowns at him. "No romance that I, as your boss, should hear about? No new boyfriend?"

Jensen's starting to regret this whole out-and-proud-at-work thing. The girls have each tried their hand at being his own personal fag hag, and each have fallen flat. Oh honey, you're not flamboyant enough, Sandy told him. He was relieved and has since stopped wearing any colour resembling pink to work.

"No new boyfriend," Jensen echoes. He feels, quite suddenly, weirdly old, and just wants to get back to work. "Um, Jeff. I really have to get to work on this…" He gestures meaninglessly to the papers strewn around his desk. "This."

Jeff nods knowingly, touching the tip of one finger to his nose like it means something. "Mary, you know, she's got this cousin-"

"Jeff." Jensen flats his hands against the desk with perhaps a little too much force; the resounding noise has both Sandy and Sophia peeking over their partitions for a glimpse. "I really. I, uh, I don't want that right now."

Jeff looks a little startled and Jensen feels bad. Of all the people at the office, Jeff's the one he likes the most. Jeff's the only one he would consider willingly inviting around to his house for dinner, if his house wasn't such a mess. It's not Jeff's fault, after all, that Jensen's miraculously hit both a rough patch and a dry spell at the same time. It's not Jeff's fault that Jensen can't enjoy life working from nine to five in an office at thirty, when Jeff's happily head of said office at forty-two.

"Sorry," Jensen says, and he really is.

Jeff's expression softens. He reaches forwards to ruffle Jensen's short hair. "Maybe you should take a few days off," he suggests. "When's the last time you took a sick day? Four years now and I've never seen you even late. I'm sure you've built a month's worth of vacation time."

It's sort of an awesome idea. But then Jensen thinks about his near-empty house with its unpainted walls and the mounting debt on his doorstep, and shakes the thought from his head before it can take hold. "Shouldn't," Jensen says.

Jeff's still talking. "You could take off, you know. You ever been to Thailand? Go spend a few weeks at the beach."

Couldn't afford that in a million years. Instead of saying that, Jensen just shakes his head. "If only," he says wryly, because he trusts Jeff. Likes Jeff. There's no reason to lie.

Jeff blows out a big breath and nods slowly. Then he ducks his head and scratches at the back of his neck, peers around as if to check if the resident office gossips are listening. They aren't, or at least don't appear to be, so Jeff leans in and says, "Look, Jensen, there's something I've been meaning to ask you."

But he doesn't say anything else, so Jensen just watches him shift from foot to foot, unsettled by his obvious nervousness. "Jeff," he says finally, when seconds continue to go by in silence. "Spit it out."

Jeff chuckles and holds up his hands in submission. "All right, all right, hold your horses. See, I suggested Thailand because Mary got these three tickets to a resort on this little island, you know, two weeks of nothing but sun, sun, sun. It was for me, her, and the cousin I mentioned-turns out I got a conference in Santa Cruz and can't make it. We can't refund the tickets and she told me to find someone else, so." He clears his throat. "How about it?"

Jensen blinks. He stacks and restacks the papers, looping endlessly just like his life. "What?" he says dumbly. Thailand? That's half a world away,

Jeff points at him, still speaking in hushed tones-probably because if Sandy overheard the offer, she would be on it like white on rice, regardless of whether it was extended to her. "You," he says. "The beach. Two weeks of relaxing and tanning and working off this-damn-stress!" Jeff punctuates every word with a prod to Jensen's stiff shoulders.

Jensen shrugs off Jeff's hands, shakes his head. He can't take that kind of charity. "I'm sure there's someone more appropriate," he says, floundering, because he doesn't want to be rude and just say no. Even though he'd love to go, love to, more than anything else. A break from this crushing normalcy would be heaven-sent, but he can't take this.

"Mary's sister was going to go, but she came down with the flu, so Mary said it was up to me." Jeff winks. "C'mon, just take it. If it makes you feel better, you're my last resort."

Jensen sort of wants to ask if that's true, but manages to bite it back at the last minute. Instead he just shakes his head, mutely. "I wouldn't want to owe you-"

Jeff raises a hand and shuts him up quick. "You wouldn't owe us a dime," he says. "It's my treat, Jensen. You've been working here for years and haven't asked for nothing from no one, and to top it off you're probably the best here. Think of this as… a birthday present."

Jensen thinks of the other birthday presents that he got-the office supplies from Sandy and Sophia, a coffee maker that he'll never use from his parents, and the first season box set of House from his sister ("Watch this!" she told him. "Jesse Spencer is positively dreamy!"). Jensen glances down at the messy papers on his desk and then up at Jeff, at that open, genuine smile, and makes his decision. "Okay," he says finally. "Yeah. Sure. That'd be great. Thanks, Jeff."

Jeff's whole face lights up. "Great!" he says. "Mary'll be thrilled. She's very fond of you, you know, for only having met you twice. I'll e-mail you the information-get packing, because the flight leaves bright and early Saturday morning."

Jensen just nods as Jeff pirouettes away and returns to his office. It's only a matter of moments before Sophia, Sandy, and Adrianne swarm him, so Jensen seizes the moment and sits back in his chair, sucking in a deep breath. Excitement is coiling in his stomach, for the first time in what feels like forever. His grey world has been splashed with colour, his routine shattering-at least for a few weeks. Jensen knows that this is exactly what he needs.

That night, he goes home to his whitewashed house and throws every item of clothing he has into a suitcase. As an afterthought, he adds three books, a hat, and a bottle of spray-on sunscreen.

Thailand, he thinks, and says aloud to his empty room, "Holy shit!"

-

Saturday morning finds him at LAX, bogged down with Mary-Louise's carry-on bags. When she first saw him, she spent five minutes tittering over how good he looked, but now she's abandoned him for her phone. She's barking into it at a volume that Jensen personally thinks is much louder than necessary, completely oblivious to the annoyed glares of those around her.

"Chad!" she snaps. "We're boarding in fifteen minutes. Where the hell are you?"

Jensen can't hear the response, but it's obviously not a good one, because Mary-Louise goes slightly purple. She's a pretty lady, dark-haired and well-to-do, and anger doesn't suit her. "Chad," she hisses again. "No, that's not legal. Come to the gate right now! No, 17A, you moron. Okay. Okay. Hurry up!"

She hangs up with an aggravated sigh, but when she turns back to Jensen, all trace of annoyance is gone from her gaze. She looks positively serene.

"So, Jensen," she says, floating over to him. "I'm so glad you could make it. I was starting to think that it would just be me and Chad, alone for two weeks! Can you imagine it?" She laughs, high and sort of grating, and Jensen resists the urge to tell her no, I can't imagine it, because I don't know the damn guy. "By the way," she says, leaning in, full-on conspiratorial, "Chad's very excited to meet you. He could barely contain himself this morning, jumping around like a little kid."

From what he heard on the phone, Chad doesn't sound like the kind of person Jensen particularly wants to associate with, but Jensen smiles back anyway. He could be wrong, after all, and Chad could be the answer to his prayers. It's a bit of a weird thought, finding happiness now, just as everything's looking up-a free trip to Thailand and a shot at romance. It would be almost too perfect.

There's no way he's that lucky. Right?

It turns out that Jensen's definitely not that lucky. Chad runs into the gate as they're beginning to board, making his presence known by wildly waving his arms and shouting at Mary-Louise. Jensen tries to give him a once-over without being too obvious. Chad's probably about six foot, blonde hair, squinty eyes-not a bad-looking guy. His white shirt is hanging off him, stained and half-unbuttoned. A cigarette is drooping from his lips.

He sees Jensen and does a double take. "Whoa, cousin!" he says to Mary-Louise, making no attempt to hide the way he's checking Jensen out. "You didn't tell me he was smokin' hot."

Jensen arches an eyebrow. "Jensen Ackles," he says, extending a hand.

"Chad," Chad says simply, and wiggles his eyebrows. He sucks on his cigarette with a vengeance, hollowing his cheeks out almost comically, and eyes Jensen up and down yet again. Finally, his gaze settles somewhere around Jensen's mouth. "I know, it's nice to meet me."

Jensen hates him already. Maybe that's a bad angle to take, but he can't help it. He gives Chad what he hopes is a convincing smile and practically shoves his ticket at the woman behind the counter. Busy repeating Thailand, Thailand to himself like a mantra, he only realises he's still carting Mary-Louise's luggage around when he reaches their seats.

Of course, Mary-Louise insists on the aisle and Chad takes the window seat, so Jensen ends up sandwiched between them. Chad stinks of cigarette smoke and starts the journey off by belching loudly and advertising his need to piss.

Thailand, Jensen thinks again. Fun in the sun. Beaches. No paperwork for miles.

"Who do I have to suck off to get a damn martini around here?" bellows Chad from beside him.

Thailand, Thailand, Thailand.

-

Jensen has never been a big fan of planes; the first time he was ever on one was when he left Dallas in the spring of his freshman year of college. The second time was back home to visit parents, and he hasn’t been on one since. The twelve hour flight into Bangkok is something Jensen couldn’t have ever prepared himself for; of course, when they touch down, Mary-Louise announces that they’ve got a connecting plane to catch. The flight to the island of Phuket isn’t a long one, but it’s bumpy enough to have Jensen fighting off nausea even before Chad tells him gleefully of the ferry ride they’re taking to yet another island.

Jensen stares out the porthole at the blue, blue water and swallows against the bile rising in his throat, knowing it’s worth every trip to the cramped plane bathroom.

Somehow it’s still morning when they board the ferry to Ko Lanta, even though it’s been over twelve hours since they left Los Angeles. Jensen didn’t bother looking up the time difference between California and Thailand before the trip, but now he’s regretting it. His mental clock is fucked to hell and he’s exhausted to the point of barely being able to stand.

“Didn’t you get any sleep on the plane?” Chad asks as he bends over the boat’s railing, watching it pull away from the shore. He waves eagerly at the people at the retreating docks before going back to staring wide-eyed at the amazing landscape all around them. It’s blue as far as the eye can see, ocean and sky straight to the horizon, the islands tiny flecks of green.

Jensen’s not quite tired enough to not appreciate the view, but he’s far too gone to bother answering Chad’s question (especially when the answer is none, no thanks to you). He just stares out at the jagged crag of a great green-speckled rock rising out of the water. Beyond the rail, onto which his hands are clenched white-knuckled, fish speed by, flashes of neon too fast to focus on. It’s like something out of another world.

“This is the Ban Saladan pier,” Mary-Louise tells Jensen, her mouth moving awkwardly over the unfamiliar words, as the ferry finally pulls up to a dock that looks like it might shatter should one step on it too hard. On the shore, tourists are sheltered from the heat under thatched roofs and brightly coloured awnings. Just beyond it, a row of tall palm trees half-blocks the view of a dirt road.

“This looks great, Mrs. Morgan,” Jensen says, really meaning it. He wipes his brow and gathers up his luggage, pushing through the throng of vacationing families, their small children hoisted up onto their father's shoulders and each one wearing an oversized sun hat, and towards the dock.

“Please!” says Mary-Louise, slapping him on the shoulder. “Call me Mary. Oh, Chad, will you hurry up!”

Jensen makes his way off the ferry and the relief at being on solid land again is overwhelming. He can’t help but ask how far it is to a comfy bed. “I’m about to drop,” he admits. Chad makes a face that Jensen classifies as a sympathetic yet sleazy smirk and says, “Not long. We just gotta flag down a tuk-tuk.”

“A what?”

“Rickshaw,” says Chad, as if Jensen’s a total moron. To really send his point home, he adds, “Duh.”

Jensen forces himself to nod. A rickshaw. Awesome. He hefts his bag up a little higher on his shoulder and reaches up to once again mop at his forehead. Sweat is beading at his hairline and he seriously thinks he overdressed. It’s way hotter than he expected, but he doesn't want to strip down to his t-shirt in front of Chad, whose leering is seriously starting to make him uncomfortable. So he grits his teeth and bears it, thinking of the beaches that he will soon be spending his days on, even though his jeans are sticking to his thighs and his button-down feels like its welded to his skin.

Thankfully, just as he starts to think he’s about to collapse from heat stroke and exhaustion both, Mary-Louise locates an eager, bright-eyed rickshaw driver who only speaks about three words of English. Regardless, they all pile into a construction that Jensen personally thinks wouldn’t hold one person without imposing a serious risk to their lives, no less four, and take off. The driver goes at a speed that makes Jensen seriously uncomfortable, zooming down winding roads with no competition besides other ‘tuk-tuks’ and the occasional car. When they take a curve so sharply that the cart rattles a bit and Jensen makes a sound that is definitely not a squeal, he starts to think that his comfortable, painfully boring, awful office life has without a doubt fucked him up. For Christ's sake, he’s running the inner monologue of a cranky old man.

He tries to push that to the back of his mind, directing his attention to the world around him and forgetting his miserable little cubicle back in Los Angeles. After all, he came here to relax; he's not even going to touch on what he has to work on when he goes back home, what's not waiting for him in his empty house. He's going to be a completely different person here. No paperwork in sight, no work at all. Just sun, sun, sun.

He chances a look beside him. Chad is sucking on another cigarette, topless, shirt abandoned in the crook of his arm. His head is angled dangerously far out of the rickshaw's window, blonde hair whipping around him. He looks like an oversized, squinty-eyed, chain-smoking dog. Jensen shakes his head and turns back around.

"There it is," Mary-Louise breathes at that moment.

Jensen follows her line of sight to a grand yellow house. A group of people are gathered outside, mostly exhausted-looking tourists dragging bags behind them. They trail sleepily around the terrace, inside which a small restaurant is set up, and disappear. Beyond the house, Jensen can see mile after mile of sandy, perfect, beautiful beach. Small white bungalows stand along the shore, set a little ways back from the water.

Jensen pours out of the rickshaw in an overheated heap, eyes on the children wading in the sea, shrieking and splashing, as their parents sunbathe close by. He is so ready for that.

Mary-Louise pays the driver, tells Jensen and Chad to stay where they are, and bustles over to the leftovers of the crowd still waiting outside the yellow house. She comes back with a big brass key. "We're number three," she says, peering at the row of bungalows. "C'mon, boys, let's get settled." She hands Chad and Jensen her bags. "I want to hit the beach."

Jensen sways a little under the weight in his arms, forcing his attention away from a chubby orange cat slinking around the corner of the patio. He hears it meowing plaintively at one of the waiters as he makes his way towards bungalow three.

The first thing he checks once he's inside is that it has three bedrooms. It doesn't.

"Look at that, Jenny," says Chad, grinning from the doorway of the tiny second bedroom. He decreed Jensen's name 'too weird' five minutes into the trip, and hasn't let up on the nickname since. "Guess you'll be rooming with me."

Jensen aims a scowl at his toes. "I'll take the couch," he says finally, pushing past Chad and ignoring the disappointed grumble. The couch in question is a little small, but looks comfortable. Jensen could totally sleep there and be completely happy. He collapses down on it gratefully, foregoing blankets and pillows both, and is about to doze off when Mary-Louise re-emerges from the master bedroom-she quickly claimed it as hers-and says, "Are you boys changed yet?"

Jensen lifts his head, which is a struggle in and of itself, to see her outfitted in a tiny purple bikini. He shuts his eyes again. "I think I might take a nap," he mumbles into the cream upholstery.

Mary-Louise swats his shoulder. "Oh, don't be like that! We haven't got forever here, you know."

Despite her words, she takes pity on him and drags just Chad out of the bungalow a few moments later, leaving Jensen in blissful silence. He's asleep within moments.

-

Jensen gets up bright and early the next day, having slept most of the previous one away. He creeps out, making sure not to wake Mary-Louise and Chad, who are both snoring loudly in their respective rooms. There’s almost no one on the beach; the sun has only just risen, colouring the sky with shades of red and pink. The turquoise water laps gently at Jensen’s feet where he stands at the edge, breath stolen from his lungs. He gazes out at the horizon and sweeps his hand distractedly through the foam cooling his toes.

Jensen sucks in a deep breath and, without another second of hesitation, dives in. It’s startlingly cold from the night and Jensen flounders for an instant, sucking in salt water and flapping his limbs like a wayward octopus, before he gets his head back in the air.

He treads water, coughing and shaking the sting from his eyes. He scrapes his hair back from his forehead and lets out a laugh that’s half relief and half desperation. Then he opens his eyes.

There’s a guy standing on the beach, watching. Jensen’s too far away to make out his features, the bright sunlight bleaching the stranger to a shimmering gold. He squints anyway, raising one hand to shield his eyes, but the man takes off before Jensen can get a good look at him. Jensen watches his retreating back until he’s a bronze speck against the sand.

Jensen crawls out of the water soon after that, feeling perhaps not as unsettled as he should be. He drops down on his towel and stretches out, losing track of time as the sun warms his body.

He’s jerked back into awareness when somebody drops a smooth, cool bottle on his stomach. The figure bending over him is nothing but a silhouette, features reduced to a black smudge by the sunlight behind them. Jensen finds himself hoping, for some reason, that it’s the mysterious stranger.

“Thought you might want some sun screen before you get burned to a crisp,” says the guy in Chad’s voice. Jensen’s shoulders slump. “I won’t like you if you’re a hot lobster. Well, not as much, anyway.”

Jensen grunts out a thank you and smears the lotion over his skin. Chad whips out a rainbow towel and hits the sand with a shout. “Okay, Jenny-boy,” he says. “I don’t know what powers you’ve got to have resisted my charms so far, but you’ll be powerless to this.” He gestures to his crotch and Jensen realises he’s wearing a Speedo- only a Speedo. And a leopard print one, at that.

Jensen clambers up. “Think I’m going to get back in the water,” he mumbles, and takes off before Chad can protest.

-

When Chad locates the bar the evening on the third night, Jensen can't help but hope he'll just stay there. It's nice: open to the air, cool under the heavy thatched roof, a small stage set up at the back. Jensen would gladly spend some time there it if didn't mean enduring an increasingly drunken and handsy Chad. Mary-Louise is sipping delicately at her martini beside them, ignoring the way Chad keeps pushing himself against Jensen.

"Jenny," Chad slurs. "C'mon, Jen. Let's go back to my room. C'mon. Back to the…" He's momentarily distracted as a leggy Thai guy with long dreads comes up to sing. "Oh, we could ask him to come too. How's that sound, huh? Huh?" He trails off after that, dozing off on Jensen's shoulder. The drooling is particularly unattractive, and Jensen doesn't wait long before extracting himself and telling Mary-Louise that he'll catch up with them later. She lets him go with a wave of her hand, her eyes on the band.

He makes straight for the beach. The sun went down hours ago and the suffocating heat of daytime has become a warm, dry night. Jensen shucks his flip-flops, dangling them between distracted fingers, and walks barefoot at the water's edge until the bar is long out of sight. The moon is high and full above him, casting over everything with a calming blue-white light that makes the sea look beautiful and absolutely impenetrable. The sand squelches between his toes and sucks him towards the tide with every step.

He's in up to his knees, his t-shirt stripped off, before he realises that he's not alone. He turns, and the moonlight illuminates a man walking out of a nearby bungalow. For an instant, Jensen hopes that it's the mysterious stranger from the morning before. The thought immediately has him flushing with embarrassment. Try as he might, Jensen hasn't been able to keep the one-off, weird, random encounter-that's not even the word, considering Mystery Man booked it before Jensen could see what he looked like, no less talk to him-out of his mind. It's stupid and he knows it.

And besides, he allows himself to think, what are the odds that it's this guy? Slim to none.

Jensen's in the middle of convincing himself that he's satisfied with that when he realises that he's still staring blankly at his company. The guy hasn't even noticed Jensen, though, and he walks straight into the sea with no hesitation and gets within about a foot of Jensen before his eyes widen and he flushes and says, "Oh-I'm sorry."

Jensen just nods, because words have picked this of all moments to fail him. The guy is gorgeous, tall and tan, broad-shouldered, jacked to hell: the works. The muscles in his arms shift when he gives Jensen an apologetic shrug, and Jensen swallows hard and forces his attention back on the guy's face-which he realises is a mistake, because the guy is smiling and he has these really deep, adorable dimples and these ridiculously white teeth that sort of look like they're glowing in the moonlight. He's close enough that Jensen can pick out a little mole beside his nose in the darkness, the glint of his eyes.

"It's okay," Jensen says finally. His voice croaks out like he hasn't talked in a year, rough and gravelly. He coughs and rubs his chest self-consciously, suddenly wishing he was wearing a shirt. "I'm the one standing out here in the middle of the night."

The guy laughs, a high, ridiculous, totally contagious sound. "Yeah, that's not so normal, I guess. Anything I should be worried about? Not planning on going for a dangerous midnight swim?"

"Just running from a date," Jensen says, stupidly. Like this guy cares about his problems.

The guy cringes in sympathy, though, smiling in a way that has Jensen's stomach doing somersaults. "I know the feeling," he says.

Jensen rubs the back of his neck, wanting to change topics already. He looks up and lifts an eyebrow. "Were you planning on a dangerous midnight swim?"

"Yep," the guy says. "Well, not so much the dangerous part. And I don't think it's midnight yet, but the swimming part you got right, yeah."

Jensen opens his mouth and almost says something stupid like Can I swim with you? but manages to bite it back at the last second. Instead, he says, "Oh. Well," which is almost as bad. English is failing him again and it's only when the guy cocks a questioning eyebrow at him that Jensen shuffles awkwardly to the side and says, "Have a good swim, then."

Jensen's sure he imagined the slightly disappointed look on the guy's face, because it's gone when he blinks, replaced by a sunny smile. "Thank you," the guy says. They stand opposite each other for what seems like forever, the silent scene lit by moonlight and punctuated by the singing and shouting that's carrying from the bar. Then the guy makes an abortive movement towards Jensen and the moment is gone.

"I… better get swimming," he says, flicking at the drawstring of his shorts.

"Yeah," Jensen mumbles and trips out of the water. The guy dives in without hesitation and Jensen watches his back ripple as he disappears into the murky gloom. He takes off before the guy can resurface and get the impression that Jensen's a total creep.

That night, he lies on the couch and thinks about a wide smile and floppy brown hair and a nameless, beautiful face; a blurry, shimmering golden figure against the sun: mysterious strangers both.

-

The first week is almost over before he sees the guy again. Jensen is sitting alone in the bar, waving goodbye to Mary-Louise as she drags Chad back to the bungalow. The singer from the other night is back onstage, this time accompanied by a blonde girl. As a result of coming here night after night, Jensen now knows the singer's name is On and the blonde is his girlfriend. Her name is Zoë, she's Irish, and she spends her nights bartending.

"And my little sis is going to be visiting soon," she says to Jensen later, as she wipes down the bar with a strange intensity. Most of the patrons have left; it's just her, Jensen, and a few stragglers. "She's only sixteen and I'm really pleased she's coming, yeah? But we're going to go to Chiang Mai and it's going to be hard with On here, d'you know what I mean?"

Jensen nods and gratefully accepts the beer she slides his way. It's quarter to one in the morning and probably time to be heading back to the bungalow, but he has no sooner begun to contemplate leaving when his mysterious midnight swimmer walks in. Jensen nearly drops his beer when the guy comes right over and plops down next to him, flashing a brilliant smile his way before turning to Zoë.

"Budweiser, please, Zo-zo," he says to her.

She swats him on the nose with her cloth and tells him only her sister is allowed to call her that. "I was about to close up," she says with a put-upon sigh. "It's only because you're such a good customer that I'm doing this, Jared."

Jared. Jensen rolls the name around in his head, on his tongue, tries to fit it to the guy's face. It works. He's just storing that away for later use when Jared turns to him and smiles, holding out a hand. After a moment of stumped, idiotic staring, Jensen realises that he's supposed to take it.

"Fancy seeing you here," Jared says when he does, pumping his hand up and down with an eagerness that Jensen really should have seen coming. When Jensen doesn't say anything, Jared deflates a bit. "Uh, we met the other night-dangerous midnight swimming-"

"I remember," Jensen says hastily. He pastes on a smile to cover up his nervousness.

"Oh. Good." A grin stretches across Jared's mouth, revealing those pearly whites again. "Well, I never got your name. I'm Jared Padalecki."

"Jensen," Jensen says.

Not in the least offended by-or perhaps unaware of-the deliberate lack of last name, Jared squeezes his hand, making Jensen realise that up until that point he had just been holding on like some sort of moron. He lets go in a hurry and tries not to watch Jared's Adam's apple bob when he takes a long pull of the beer Zoë passes him, head tilted back, throat exposed.

"So," Jared says, slamming his bottle back on the counter and wiping his mouth. "You still ditching that date?"

Jensen grimaces. "You better believe it."

Jared's sweet and easy to talk to, and Jensen finds himself explaining the woes of Chad's affection. He doesn't say much, just that he was set up by his boss and his date is obnoxious and annoying and a happy, horny drunk; he leaves out parts like Chad's name and gender, because there's no reason to leave them in.

When Zoë kicks them out fifteen minutes later, he's strayed from the topic of his love life onto smoother ground: his childhood in Texas, something that he and Jared share. He toyed with bringing up the lure of the mystery man from that second morning, just for something interesting to say, but admitting to his weird fixation on the encounter turns out to be not as appealing once he thinks it through a little more. He doesn't want Jared writing him off as a total freak just yet.

"Outside Dallas, huh?" Jared says as they walk back to the bungalows. "Bet you're a Mavs fan."

"Damn straight," Jensen snorts. "Don't tell me-not the Spurs!"

"The Spurs," Jared agrees, grinning. He stops suddenly a few seconds later, and Jensen realises they're standing outside his bungalow, just opposite where they first met. Jared's looking down at him with an unreadable expression on his face; it makes him equal parts uncomfortable and expectant, hopeful.

"Well," Jared says abruptly, so sudden in the silence that Jensen nearly jumps. He shifts from foot to foot, the strange look fading. "Here we are."

"Goodnight," Jensen says for him, taking a step back. He knows a dismissal when he hears one.

Jared's eyes follow him, though, and then he sucks in a breath and says, "So, I'll see you around. We could meet up for drinks again."

Jensen blinks. The words sink in and his lips curl up around a smile. "I'd like that," he says. Warmth suffuses his chest when Jared's face brightens. "It was nice talking to you, Jared."

"Ditto," Jared calls after him, as Jensen turns and takes off for his own bungalow, sandaled feet slapping against the loose sand. Thankfully, he's out of Jared's sight when he slips on the grains and stumbles to his knees. Panting, uncaring, thrilled, Jensen dusts off his knees and grins up at the sky.

-

Jensen doesn't see Jared the next day, but he does see him the day after. Jared catches him mid-run, springing out of a lounge chair in front of his bungalow. "Jensen!" he says, shoving his sunglasses up his forehead and jogging over to where Jensen is doubled over at the shoreline. "Hey, man."

"Sorry I wasn't around yesterday," Jensen says, before Jared can embarrass himself by asking. He looks up, just a fraction out of breath, and drags the hem of his t-shirt up to mop at his face. "My friends dragged me on a snorkelling expedition."

Jared grins. "Fun?"

"Amazing," Jensen says truthfully. He had to endure more fish-related innuendo from Chad than he ever wanted to hear, but it was astounding all the same, to be immersed in that crystal-clear water aside the very multicoloured fish he admired on the ferry to the island. "I was thinking of going again tomorrow. You should come. They're taking us to some sort of secret oasis in a rock. Or something. I wasn't really listening. But I'm sure it's awesome."

Jared seems amused rather than exasperated by Jensen's fumbling explanation, because he's smiling and nodding. "Cool," he says, gazing out at the setting sun. He pauses a moment, then adds, "I was heading down to the bar." He hesitates again. "You want to come?"

Of course Jensen does, and the way Jared beams at him when he nods has the butterflies in his stomach going wild.

Tonight, the bar is fairly full. On isn't on stage, but his friend is, belting out something that sounds vaguely like Bon Jovi in mangled English. Zoë is working the bar, but she's so swamped that she only gives them a harried wave in greeting before directing a young Thai girl to lead them to a rather secluded table in the back. She gives them their menus with a shy smile before scurrying away.

"Man, I love this place," Jared sighs as he sinks into his chair. He scans the menu with a faint smile on his face. "This your first time here?"

"I don't travel much," Jensen says. "So yeah." He stirs the tiny paper umbrella in his iced water and tries to think of a topic that wouldn't lead back to questions about his work and home life. Just as he settles on the potentially dangerous subject of siblings (because Jared mentioned having some the last time they talked, and it's easy to bond over the shared pain of having an annoying but lovable family), Jensen glances up and sees that Jared's attention is totally not on the drinks that their tiny waitress dropped off for them. Instead, his dark eyes are fixed on Jensen. Jensen feels a shiver run through him and tries to hide it by shifting in his chair, taking the opportunity to subtly adjust his pants.

"So," he starts, but his voice comes out squeaky and embarrassing. He's pretty sure he flushes right down to his toes, but Jared only laughs. It's a strange laugh, different: low and dark and, okay, really hot. Hot enough that Jensen would like to hear it again. Preferably multiple times.

Jared smiles, but now his dimples somehow look sexy instead of just cute, and he checks his watch and says, "It's a bit early to get drunk, so how about we finish up our drinks and go for a walk? Bet there's lots of places you haven't been yet, without someone to show you around."

Jared doesn't make it sound particularly suggestive, but Jensen still can't do anything but nod and gulp his drink down, not trusting his voice in the slightest. Jared watches him the entire time, the weight of his gaze so nerve-wracking that Jensen slops half the water down his front. It's fucking freezing and Jensen leaps up with a yelp, his shirt and the crotch of his pants soaked. "Oh shit," he groans, looking down at himself. Fucking typical. Blowing out an exasperated, embarrassed breath, Jensen chances a look up at Jared. His legs nearly give out, because Jared, still staring, fucking licks his lips.

"No worries, you'll dry off in no time," Jared says quietly, flashing a smile at Jensen that looks only slightly strained. He throws some money on the table and patiently waits for Jensen to wring the worst of the damage from his clothes, hands in his pockets, rocking on the balls of his feet. The only thing that's changed is the undeniable heat in his eyes.

Jensen half-expects Jared to grab his arm and haul him out of the bar, but Jared is perfectly composed, letting Jensen lead the way. There's only the light touch of Jared's hand on his shoulder, pressing him towards the exit, but if Jensen wasn't watching for it, he probably wouldn't have noticed. That's probably why he's so shocked when they get outside and Jared immediately pulls them just out of sight, pushing Jensen up against the brick wall that separates the employees' housing from the customers'. Jensen's nearly lifted off his feet, pressed against the wall by Jared's larger body.

"Tell me I'm not wrong about this," Jared says, leaning in so close that Jensen can feel the words against his skin. This close up, Jared's eyes look huge in his tan face, hazel almost completely swallowed up by black. "Oh, Jesus fuck, please tell me I didn't read you wrong."

"Hell no," Jensen breathes, and then Jared's kissing him, licking deep into his mouth and biting at his lips. When he sucks Jensen's lower lip into his mouth, Jensen groans deep in his throat and scrambles to get closer, winding his hands in Jared's long hair.

"Been wanting to do this since I first saw you," Jared says against his mouth. "In the water. You looked so-so fuckable, Jensen, Jesus."

Jensen makes a sound humiliatingly close to a whimper as Jared slides a thigh in between his. The slow slide of friction against his crotch makes his eyes cross, and he only remembers they're in public when he's halfway to humping Jared's leg. "Maybe we should- should take this, uh, somewhere more private?" he suggests, breathless, because Jared is sucking on his neck and he really doesn't know what he's going to do if they don't get to a bed soon.

Jared laughs, bright and happy, against his throat and Jensen realises he said that last part aloud. "Sounds good to me," Jared says, pulling back with one last kiss. He and Jensen practically race back to Jared's bungalow, and by the time they fall through the door, back to kissing before the screen has even shut, Jensen feels like a giddy, carefree teenager, stupidly happy. He tells Jared as much and doesn't begrudge the lack of reply, because he doesn't fault Jared for being too distracted by Jensen's hand on his fly to say anything coherent.

-

"My date, his name's Chad," Jensen says after, apropos of nothing. He's splayed out on his back in Jared's bed, naked; when he rolls onto his side to check if Jared's even awake, Jensen finds Jared blinking at him in the semi-darkness, confusion clear in his expression. He clarifies, "The one I was ditching. I thought I'd tell you so you, um. Could be sure that you didn't read me wrong, before."

Jared laughs and idly traces a pattern into Jensen's bare chest. "I was pretty sure already," he says dryly. "But thanks."

Jensen feels the flush crawling up his neck and buries his face in the pillow. "Yeah, shut up," he mumbles, leaning into the touch and going willingly when Jared angles his face just right for a kiss. "Shoulda warned you that sex makes me sort of stupid."

"You're so cute," Jared says against his lips.

Jensen sort of feels like he should be offended, or at least defend his manliness, but he ends up muttering some sort of affirmative as Jared slides a hand under the sheets and between their bodies.

-

Jensen wakes as the sun rises, the cracked shutters throwing thin pillars of light across the bed. Jared's sleeping face is striped with gold, one arm still draped loosely over Jensen's waist. Jensen takes a moment to just look at him, admiring his sharp jaw and the slant of his eyes. He looks so at peace that Jensen really doesn't want to wake him, but creeping off without a word-maybe leaving a note on the kitchen counter; Thanks, I had a great time-is a real asshole thing to do. It isn't Jensen's style, anyway.

The choice is taken away from him, though, because Jared's brow crinkles like he can feel the weight of Jensen's gaze and his eyes flicker open. "You're up early," he says, voice thick with sleep.

Jensen gives him an apologetic smile. "I, um, I should probably go back to my bungalow."

That wakes Jared up. He props himself up on his elbows and closes a gentle hand around Jensen's wrist. "C'mon, you can stay a little while, can't you?" His smile looks strained, nervous. "I mean. Uh. Unless you don't want to-"

Jensen shakes his head, tangling his fingers in Jared's. "Nah, that's not it," he says openly, honestly, because he really doesn't want Jared to get the wrong idea. In fact, he wants to do this again, preferably as soon as possible. But. "I just don't want Mary-Louise-uh, she's a… friend of mine; I came here with her and her cousin, you know, Chad-I don't want her to freak out."

Jared relaxes, his mouth round in a silent oh of comprehension but his eyes on their entwined hands. Then he snorts and looks up, rolling his eyes. "You're a big boy," he says, flapping his free hand in the air. "I'm sure she's not too worried."

"I don't want her to think I got carted off by slave traders," Jensen says, because Mary-Louise does seem like the type of person to harbour that sort of fear. "I'm going to go."

Obviously, something in Jensen's voice leaves no room for argument, because Jared lets go of him and sits back. He looks disappointed and Jensen feels a stab of guilt for the inflection he didn't even know was there. "I'd like to do this again," he says hastily, before the damage is done. "Soon." He doesn't say why; he'd rather not think about how, in a week's time, he'll be back in miserable Los Angeles, back in that routine. Back to his paperwork.

Jensen cuts his attention back to Jared, who's beaming like it's Christmas morning. "Awesome," Jared says, all but bouncing where he sits. A second later, he flushes red and visibly curbs himself, coughing out a much smoother okay, cool. His excitement returns as soon as Jensen climbs naked off the bed and begins to fish around for his clothes; he calls out, "See you later!" as Jensen pulls up his pants and walks out onto the porch.

Once the door has swung closed behind him, Jensen blows out a ragged breath and takes the steps two at a time. He slips on wet sand and scrapes his knee against the rocks, but he doesn't feel it. He thinks Jared's still watching him, and when he turns to inspect the window, he catches a glimpse of tanned skin and dark hair, bright eyes and ridiculously white teeth, skirting out of view behind the shades.

Jensen wants to turn right around and go back inside. It's the first time he's felt this way in a long time.

He sees Jared again that night, and the one after that. Chad seems to catch on by the third time Jensen slips away in the bar; the next time Jensen sees him, he's wrapped around a twink in a cowboy hat who Jensen sincerely doubts is legal. Mary-Louise appears to know that something is up as well, but is surprisingly tactful and doesn't say anything-not to him, anyway. When Jensen comes back from Jared's bungalow early one morning to find her deep in conversation about him, cell phone glued to her ear, he is only somewhat unsurprised.

"There has to be someone. He's got absolutely zero interest in Chad, and while I hardly blame him-yes, he's my cousin, but I-no, it's not weird. I'm just saying-" she says, animated, all waving hands and intense eyebrow waggling. "No, come on now. I'm hardly-it's just that Chad seems to think-"

Jensen watches and wonders if he's become the object of her daily gossip, if her circle of friends considers hearing about his antics the most interesting part of their day. He clears his throat.

Mary-Louise jumps a mile and whirls around, reddening when she sees him. "Hold on a minute, Jeff," she hisses, and it's not to her friends back home at all. Her suspicions are going straight to Jensen's boss. Wonderful.

"Oh, honey," she says, a little breathless, virtually shameless, pressing the mouth of the phone against her shoulder. "Jeff was just reminding me-can you believe there's only a few days left?"

Jensen blanches. "A few days," he echoes, and the fact that she's gossiping about him seems meaningless at the prospect of leaving. In a few days' time, he'll be going back to work and his empty house and Sophia and Sandy's noses constantly poking into his business. Three, he reasons as he turns and walks back out the door. Three days. He's halfway to the shoreline when he realises that he has to find a way to say goodbye to Jared.

I had a great time, he tries in his head as his feet sink into the wet. Guess I won't be seeing you around here anymore. This was only ever temporary, you know. Have a nice life. Summer lovin', had me a blast, and that one's not even close to being right, because it's fucking March.

Jensen hates goodbyes. His stomach is pitching and rolling, heaving with every gulp of salt water he accidentally takes in. It must be because of just how outrageously hot it is under the sun, and definitely not because he really, really doesn't want to have to say goodbye at all.

He doesn't see Jared until late that night, when he shows up with no warning at the door and Jared yanks him inside like he's been waiting for this all day. As he presses Jensen up against the wall and kisses him slow and deep, Jensen thinks that maybe he has. Jensen doesn't realise that he's got a nearly painful grip on Jared's arms until Jared pulls back, all confused wide eyes and knitted brows.

"Hey, baby, what's wrong?" Jared asks, and Jensen doesn't tell him that he hates pet names.

"Jen, seriously, what's up?" Jared says when there's no response, and Jensen doesn't tell him that he fucking hates being called that.

This would never work, he thinks to himself. He's not making excuses- they just don't know each other, they don't. It doesn't matter, anyway, because in several short days, they're going to be thousands of miles apart and Jensen won't have to worry about this heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach, the too-fast flutter of his heart. He'll just have to worry about his damn paperwork.

"Nothing," he says finally, thinking that Jared probably still wants an answer. "Long day, you know. Chad won't quit bugging me."

He's lying and he thinks maybe Jared knows it, but Jared only gives him a long, scrutinising look before pulling him towards the bedroom with a sly grin and saying, "Well, I'm sure I can wipe him clean off your mind, huh?"

Jensen holds tight to Jared's hand and says, "I'm sure you can."

-

Jensen's mental clock tells him it's somewhere around three in the morning. Two days left, says his brain, quietly counting down. He tucks himself a little closer into Jared's side and doesn't think about why he does it.

But then Jared's arms tighten around him and Jensen knows, suddenly, hopelessly, that Jared's wide awake. He presses his face to Jared's neck and hopes Jared will just let him go back to sleep. His eyes hurt and he just wants to breathe in Jared's scent for the next forty-eight hours.

"Jensen, hey," Jared says, sleep-heavy. He nuzzles the top of Jensen's head. "I just. I realised, uh. I never even thought to ask, you know… what do you do? Where do you live? It never even-" He laughs, sounds carefree, unaware. "Never even crossed my mind, but I know shit about you, man. You aren't going to tell me that you're a serial killer or something, are you?"

"No," Jensen says, muffled into Jared's skin.

Jared laughs again, a rumble deep inside him that rattles Jensen in more ways than one. "Well, that's a relief. I can cross that one off the list. Want me to guess again?" He waits a beat and goes on without encouragement, talking quickly, loudly, no room for Jensen to interrupt even if he wanted to. "How about… car salesman? Con artist? Wait, are you on FBI's Most Wanted List? No? Well, you've gotta be some sort of famous, right? Let me guess, you're an artist. Seem the type. Pretty enough to be an actor, though, that's for sure."

"No," Jensen says again, more forcefully. He picks his head up and shakes his head against the pillow, hoping Jared can see him in the dim light. His heart hurts. "Can we-let's not talk about that. I'm-" leaving in a few days, never going to see you again, terrible at saying goodbyes, worth nothing outside of your bed. "Here, I just want to be me, okay? Just Jensen."

Jared shifts beside him, and Jensen can hear faint discomfort in his voice. "Okay," he says finally. "Okay." He's silent for a long time, and Jensen's almost asleep again by the time he breaks the silence. "You know," Jared says, light, contemplative, trying to get rid of the tension settled thick over them, "I never told you, but I, uh. I saw you swimming. Must have been two weeks ago, really early in the morning. You probably don't remember-" He chuckles in embarrassment. "I thought you were fake, maybe, too beautiful to be real, you know? Then you looked over and I ran away."

Jensen blinks and sits up, stares down at Jared in the darkness. He thinks about that mysterious stranger, the one he was too shy to tell Jared about, the one who Jared replaced in his mind. "That was you?" he says in disbelief. "Jesus Christ! I was, like… I spent so much time wondering who the hell you were. For fuck's sake, I dubbed you my 'Mystery Man'!"

Jared's grinning right out, his eyes glittering with pleasure. He grabs Jensen around the waist and rolls them over, pinning Jensen to the bed. "Hope I didn't disappoint," Jared says, leaning down to mouth at Jensen's jaw.

Jensen wraps his arms tighter around Jared's shoulders and thinks, No, you didn't, and I'm leaving you and I like you too much. Out loud, he says, "Well, you're a bit shorter than I'd imagined."

Jared laughs against his throat, a deep, rich sound. Jensen shuts up the noise with a kiss.

-

"Jensen, hey," Jared says, poking his head through the open door of bungalow three. Mary-Louise and Chad are, blessedly, relaxing on the beach somewhere, leaving Jensen alone with his unpacked bags. The plane leaves at the crack of dawn the next morning, and Jensen glances up at Jared and realises he never bothered to say anything.

The guilt rocks him back onto his heels when he sees Jared's face change, catch, transforming into something ugly and scared. He tries to busy himself in shoving his meagre possessions into the suitcase, but there's not enough stuff. When Jared drops down beside him and grabs his wrist, Jensen just looks at him and doesn't say anything. He knows his face says it all.

"What's going on?" Jared says, even though he must know.

"I'm leaving," Jensen says, simply. It's not the goodbye he wanted. He didn't want any sort of goodbye.

"When?"

"Tomorrow morning." The words have to be forced out and they sound choked, wrecked. Jensen jams his sunscreen between a ratty pair of briefs and his favourite shirt and wants, wants, wants to look up. Half of him is sort of afraid of a punch to the face, though-one that he would definitely deserve-so he keeps his head down.

Then, finally, Jared just says, "Oh."

Jensen peeks up. Jared is still crouched beside him, his huge hand a loose ring around Jensen's arm. His face is closed off, shut down, and Jensen can't tell if he's angry or sad or maybe just doesn't give a damn.

"Coulda warned a guy," Jared says. He must care, because his voice is shaking. "Might've been nice."

Jensen focuses on straightening out the spine of his favourite book.

"Don't know what I was thinking, though," Jared says, his tone so light that it cuts right to the quick. Jensen wishes Jared would punch him instead. "Nobody lives at Ko Lanta, you know? Me, I'll be leaving sometime. We all leave sometime. You weren't ever- it's just, uh. I had this dumb thought. No, I mean. Don't think I-"

His sentences turn into choppy half-formed thoughts, spat out like he can't keep them down. Then, suddenly, his words cut off and he stands up, releasing Jensen's wrist like it burned him. For a long moment, he stares down at the shrinking edges of empty space in Jensen's case. "Tomorrow, huh," he says. "You stupid son of a bitch."

Jensen's hands shake so badly that he drops the book. He's staring down at it when he hears the front door swing shut.

He knows he won't see Jared again.

-

Jeff's there to greet them at LAX, not annoyed in the slightest that the plane was delayed two hours. Jensen spent that time huddled in an uncomfortable plastic chair feeling sorry for himself, and wasted the flight staring out the window, even when there was nothing to see. He goes back to work tomorrow.

"Oh, Jensen," Jeff says when he drops Jensen off. He looks good, unshaven like he hasn't touched a razor for days, the salt and pepper in his stubble showing up more than ever; and Jensen remembers that it's only been two weeks. "Didn't it work out?"

He can't know that much, but Jensen glowers at him anyway. "See you tomorrow, Jeff," he grinds out. Slamming the car door behind him gives him a sick sense of preteen satisfaction. It tastes sour in his mouth when he closes his front door behind him and the mountains of sealed cardboard boxes spread across the foyer look like monsters in the dark.

-

The first morning, Sandy gives Jensen a heartfelt hug and asks him if he wants to get coffee with her and Sophia at lunch. He wonders if Jeff spread the news of his mysterious failed relationship around the office, but says yes anyway. She brightens, straightens his purple tie, and says, "Maybe I can be your fag hag after all, honey. We can coordinate our outfits. I think pink on Mondays…"

Somehow, her presence isn't as annoying as it was fourteen days before and Jensen ends up agreeing to her clothes routine. She buys him coffee and a donut for it and then, for the first time in years, leaves him to do his work in peace.

After a few days, Jensen starts to wish she was bugging him. Both she and Sophia have been giving him a wide berth, like he's something fragile and breakable; Adrianne gives him comforting pats on the shoulder every time she passes but says little. By the fourth week back, the one-month marker, dragging himself to work every morning is becoming the same chore it always was, this time without the constant intrusion of the office gossips. Lunch breaks with Sandy and Sophia somehow turn into the highlight of his day; they talk so much it gives him no spare room to think, no time to dwell on what he left behind in Thailand.

He thinks he misses Jared more with every passing day, but he can't be sure.

Sandy pokes and prods until he tells her a very abbreviated version of the story, and she nods sagely throughout the entire thing. "Oh, darling," she says wisely that Friday, as she helps him put some stray files away. "Things are looking up. Maybe when you come back on Monday, everything will be different."

Jensen rolls his eyes, tells her he doesn't know what she's talking about, and leaves as the clock ticks ten past five.

He would never have guessed that she would be right, so he arrives at work on Monday wearing his most embarrassing pink shirt. All his other ones are dirty, and this one is a little too tight and almost painfully bright, polka-dotted with large, garish pale pink roses. Just leaving the house in it was mortifying enough.

Then he spots the figure leaning against Sandy's cubicle: tall, lean, tan, unmistakable even from the back. Jensen's heart stutters in his chest and he drops his briefcase. It makes a comically loud crash when it collides with the tiles, sending his papers and pens skittering everywhere, and it makes Jared turn around.

"Jesus," Jensen whispers, staring outright and not giving a damn, because Jared, somehow, is here, in the office, looking as gorgeous as always. Jensen takes in stupid things, like how faded his jeans are, ripped at both knees, and the tear in the hem of his green shirt, when really all Jensen wants to do is rush forward and press himself against Jared's firm body, closer than humanly possible. Except there's that sinking feeling in his gut that reminds him how their last meeting went, how Jared might not appreciate being jumped. So he just settles for saying, "Jesus," again.

"Uh, no, it's Jared, actually. Did you forget me already?" Jared says, all weak, nervous smiles, and Jensen sort of wants to start throwing punches, except he really doesn't. So he just stares until Jared scratches the back of his neck and says, "Yeah, um, so I broke the rules. I, uh, I know you're surprised to see me, and I'm sort of surprised to see me too. And, okay, that doesn't make sense, but I was pretty pissed off, Jen, I dunno."

He shifts, fidgets, fiddles with his long fringe and says suddenly, "But I had to, because I." He cuts himself off, clears his throat, says instead, "When you said the guy, your date, he was called Chad, and then you mentioned a Mary-Louise, so I went looking and I found Mrs. Morgan and she. Well, she asked me a bunch of weird questions, but she, um. My apartment's across the city and she told me where to go, and I called and Sandy was nice enough to, uh. Help me out."

Jensen thinks about Sandy, who has been all helpful platitudes, saying things will be different on Monday when she knew what was coming all along. He doesn't know whether to hug her or throttle her.

Jared looks more nervous now than ever. "Oh, Jesus," he moans to himself, raking a hand through his hair. "Saying it back to you now makes me feel like a total stalker."

"I'm okay with that," Jensen says, a little breathless, because Jared doesn't hate him. Jared followed him here, and okay, yeah, a little creepy, but Jared is here, all six foot and a half of him, the exact figure that Jensen has been trying to avoid thinking about.

And then Jared opens his mouth and says, "Do you want to go to dinner with me, Mr… um, Ackles?" and he's saying Jensen's name all wrong-long 'a', emphasis all wrong, and Jensen didn't even know you could ever fuck up Ackles, but Jared's doing it-and all Jensen can say is yes, yes, yes.

Instead, what comes out is, "If you ever call me Jen again, I'll kick your ass right back to Thailand."

Jared wilts a little, but the smile on his face doesn't fade. "Is that a yes?"

Jensen sucks in a deep breath, steadies himself, and says, "Yes."

And that's it. Jared closes the space between them in two long strides and tilts Jensen's face up with a gentle hand on his jaw, and then they're kissing right there in the middle of the office. Behind them, Sophia and Sandy are as shamelessly obnoxious as ever, cheering and wolf whistling like it's the best thing they've ever seen, and Jensen can't even fault them for it. So he just winds his arms around Jared's neck and presses himself, stupid pink shirt and all, into Jared's embrace, sure that he'll never want to be anywhere else.

Judging by the way Jared just holds him tighter, he doesn't have a problem with that.



Soundtrack up for download here!