To Teach the Human Heart the Knowledge of Itself, 4/5
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They meet Jeff at the mall, where he's got a table set up in the corner between Starbucks and the inside entrance to the Super Target.
He's got an insane amount of paperwork stacked and labeled, two different instruction sheets, staffing schedules, flyers, plus the raffle tickets and tickets to the Friday and Saturday performances at discounted advance purchase rates, along with the accompanying spreadsheets for documentation, of course.
Jared stares at the table for a minute, and Jensen chuckles. He learned ages ago never to question Jeff’s madness.
Jeff’s got a few posters rigged up to the sides of the table, too. Usually for an all day setup like this, they'd actually have some of the set design with them, and some people in costume, but for this show, everything is so minimalist that it wouldn't be worth explaining, and Jensen's glad they’re just skipping it entirely.
Jeff heads back for the morning meeting after about fifteen minutes, and the first thing Jared does is book it to the Starbucks.
“Good man,” Jensen says when he comes back with something huge and sugary for himself and something small and potent for Jensen.
There's a split second for Jensen to wonder whether things are going to be weird, whether their unfinished conversation back at the dorm is going to hang awkwardly between them, but then they're practically smothered by the morning senior crowd, and they're lucky if they get a chance to say two words to each other in between handing out flyers and selling raffle tickets.
The first lull they get is around ten, and Jared makes another caffeination run.
Jensen watches Jared walk over to Starbucks, watches the broad line of his shoulders, subtle curve of his back into slim hips, legs that go on for miles, long steps that connect the dots between their booth and the Starbucks counter, and that's when he gets it. They're right in the way. While the coast is momentarily clear, it's obvious that everyone who wants to go to Starbucks and everyone who wants to go to Super Target has to practically bump into their table to do it.
Jensen chuckles to himself. He's gotta hand it to Jeff, the man knows what he's doing. When they first got here and the mall was empty, it looked like their little table was kind of tucked away in the corner. They haven't moved at all, but now that there are people flowing through the space, a steady stream of traffic, they're right in the middle of things-so in the middle that he really won't be surprised if they get asked to move in closer to the wall by the end of the day.
While he's waiting for Jared to get back, he checks the schedule. Mike and Tom are coming in at eleven, and when Jared and Jensen leave at twelve, Chad and Sophia are going to take their place, along with Alona and Drew. It makes sense, everyone who's absolutely necessary for the afternoon runthrough is scheduled at the mall sometime in the morning.
When the crowd starts to pick up again, Jensen looks for Jared, sees him holding court at the Starbucks counter. There’s a huge smile on his face and his arms are spread wide, and Jensen fights down an unpleasant swell in his stomach-too much undiluted caffeine, maybe-even while his mouth cracks into a smile.
And then Jared throws his head back and laughs. Jensen can practically see the crowd melting, and he doesn’t blame them. The guy's kind of irresistible, and Jesus-Jensen maybe wants to keep him all to himself.
He sees Jared cock his head in Jensen's direction, and then he starts his return trip, five or six people following close, more straggling behind.
When Jared gets back to the table, he puts another coffee and a bottle of water down in front of Jensen, bends over a little and says, “Just for the record, I’m not sorry I stayed.”
Then he straightens up and says, “So this is the guy I was telling you about. Everyone, this is Jensen. Jensen, this is everyone!”
When Mike and Tom get in at eleven, Jensen takes a break, mostly just to stretch his legs. The relative quiet of being on his own is nice, though. It’s not like talking about ACT! and exchanging money for tickets is hard work, but Jesus, he feels like he hasn't had a minute to himself for weeks, even though it’s only been two hours.
And the rush just keeps getting worse as the day goes on. He can’t even imagine what all these people are doing in the mall on a Wednesday morning.
Truthfully, he’s glad to have them, though. It’s been a few years now, but there was a time when Jeff wasn’t sure whether ACT! would survive, and that’s just. Incomprehensible. There’s just no other arts program that does what they do, involves themselves so fully in the community, lets the kids get their hands on the props and their feet on the stage.
Jensen’s not willing to let it die without a fight, even if the battlefield is a shopping mall.
On his way back to the table, he stops for a minute to watch Jared clowning around with Mike and Tom. They're kind of a devastating trio, Jared all wide smiles and personality, Mike insane, willing to do anything to make a sale, and Tom, soft-spoken and polite in the background.
Jared stands up and throws his arm around Mike, and Mike pulls Tom up against his side, and they pose for a picture, looks like maybe a high school newspaper or something. Any press is good press.
After a minute, Jared spots Jensen and ducks out, starts walking in his direction. Jensen kind of just wants to grab him, drag him away to a quiet corner where they can hear themselves think, where someone’s not interrupting every look, every sentence.
“Hey,” Jared says when he gets close. He smiles like Jensen’s been gone more than two minutes, further than the water fountain down around the corner.
“Hey,” Jensen echoes. “We could-you wanna take a break?”
At the table, the line's stacked about four deep, and Jared sighs in Mike and Tom’s direction, says, “Yes.”
When they walk, it’s back over toward the table, though. “Once more unto the breach,” Jensen mutters, brushes his arm against Jared’s as they weave their way through the crowd.
Chad and Sophia arrive together just before noon, and Jared hugs them both, hard.
“In case you don't make it,” he says, “it's been nice knowing you.”
Chad rolls his eyes and pushes Jared away while Sophia turns to Jensen and says, “If you really love me, you'll go get me lunch.”
She pouts a little, and Jensen's pretty much helpless.
He sighs. “Okay,” he says, “lunch run. Sophie's making the list.”
Sophia's got a mini pad and a pen out of her purse before Jensen's even done making the offer, and she puts the list together in order by food type. By the time she's done, Jensen’s got four different stops to make, so he and Jared head to the food court and split up the list.
Jensen's in line at Wendy's for long enough that Jared finishes both of his stops-pizza and Subway-and then checks in with Jensen and starts over toward McDonald's. Turns out waiting in the longest line in the universe is actually the better job, though, because the shake machine at McDonald’s is broken, which means that Jared has to go back to where Jensen's waiting to get Sophia's cell phone number, then all the way back upstairs when she doesn't answer, and then it turns out that the shake was actually for Chad, and if he can't have it, he wants a Frappuccino instead, so Jared ends up having to go to McDonald's and Starbucks, and he finishes up at about the same time as Jensen.
Which is at about twelve forty-five, just enough time for them to get back to the auditorium for their afternoon rehearsal.
“Fucking Christ,” Jared mutters on their way out to the car. “So much for lunch.”
When they get back to the auditorium, Jeff's waiting out front with Alona and Drew.
“Change of plans,” he says with his phone pressed up against his ear. “Can you bring these guys back to the mall? I'm on hold with the printer. Jared, you up for some heavy lifting?”
“Sure,” Jensen says, and Jared joins him in unison.
The trip back to the mall, back up to their spot by the Super Target is quick enough, but when they get there, Tom's talking with someone from mall security. Like Jensen expected, they're being asked to move the booth, and even Tom's looking harassed, so Jensen steps in.
“Hey,” he says, extending his hand to the mall cop, “I'm Jeff Morgan, what can I do for you?”
Sophia muffles a snort in the background, but Jensen's well within his rights. This is ACT!; he’s acting. It’s like a demonstration. Fifteen minutes later, he's confirmed “his” signature on the mall permit, pointed out that the exact location of the table isn't specified, and agreed that if things start to look dangerous, they'll move back toward the corner a few feet.
It's really easy, mostly because the guy's a total tool who's got nothing better to do, probably just wants something to brag about to his boss.
Sophia hugs him after the mall cop goes back to scraping bubblegum or whatever, and when he checks his watch, it's already almost two. He calls Jeff on his way out, and catches him, with Jared, on the way to the printer.
He promises that they'll be back for the runthrough at three and asks Jensen to take the next wave of ticket sellers over to the mall while he's gone.
Clearly, the universe doesn’t want Jensen to have any time alone with Jared today. It’s not like he’s asking for much, all he needs is a minute, just. A minute and some quiet to think or talk or-whatever.
Since that’s not gonna happen, though, he just drives back toward the college, pulls into the first drive-through he sees for some lunch.
Miraculously, the runthrough at three goes on as planned. They're missing a few of the minor parts, which Sophia reads, and Tommy has to help out on sound and lighting, and Jeff's dealing with a misprint in the programs, so he's not there to record, but they get through it, and the change they worked out in the staging last night is good.
Jensen's more than a little tempted to rush it, because if they finish early, he might be able to get a minute alone with Jared, but he doesn't because this is the last rehearsal before tomorrow afternoon's full dress.
Jared looks ready to drop by the time they're done, and he sinks into a front row seat and closes his eyes. There's no one around for the critique, really. Tommy flashes a thumbs up from the booth, and Jensen takes the seat next to Jared.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hmmmm.”
“You okay?” he asks, when Jared doesn't even open his eyes.
“I haven't even eaten yet today,” he says, nearly a whisper. “I think I'm gonna die. If I do, make sure Chad doesn't get my dogs, okay?”
Jensen chuckles at that, but Jared really doesn't look great. He's a little pale and his eyes are squeezed shut, and his voice is so quiet now, compared to the way he was just projecting on stage.
Jensen claps him gently on the knee, uses it to push off and goes in search of Sophia and her magic pocketbook of awesomeness. He comes back victorious a few minutes later with two options, healthy and not.
Jared chooses both, and Jensen's not surprised, the guy pretty much eats like a horse. It's kind of unbelievable that he did so well on the runthrough, if he was feeling this shitty.
Between the Snickers and the granola bar, Jared says, “Thanks, man. It’s not a big deal, or anything. I just get these wicked headaches when I don't eat.”
Jensen says, “I figured. Got this too,” and he holds up a bottle of water and a mini-bottle of ibuprofen.
Jared opens his eyes, groans and says, “Sophia? I swear to god, if Chad doesn't marry that girl and move her in with us, I will.”
Jensen laughs and brushes Jared's hair back out of his eyes. He doesn't even mean to do it, but his hand's there now, warm and buzzing against Jared's skin, and he's not sure whether to finish the motion or pull back.
“It's okay, you know,” Jared says, and he closes his eyes again, sighs and presses his temple into Jensen’s palm.
Jensen slumps back in his own chair and closes his eyes, listens to Jared's breathing. It's so comfortable, sharing this space with Jared, and he thinks maybe he never wants to move again.
Unfortunately, that's not really an option, though, because Jeff comes in, confirming something with someone on his phone and gesturing to Jensen. Jensen gets up, and Jeff flips his phone shut and says, “I've gotta get the programs done, rush job, new printer. Took me two hours to get a refund from those assholes. First they screwed up, then they said they couldn't reprint by Friday. Christ. I gotta get this stuff over there now, though, so can you run the raffle?”
“Sure,” Jensen says, and he can't help a huff of laughter at how ridiculous this day has been.
Jeff joins in. “I know, man,” he says. “What the fuck?” He shakes his head and then asks, “What's with him?”
“Not feeling well,” Jensen says. “I'm gonna bring him back to the dorm, and then I'll head back over to the mall.”
“Okay,” Jeff says. “Call if you need anything.”
Jensen goes back over to Jared, stops in front of him and toes lightly at his boot. “Hey kiddo,” he says. “I gotta go run the raffle. You gotta go back to your room and chill, okay?”
Jared protests a little, halfhearted and quiet and not nearly convincing enough to make Jensen to believe he's actually feeling better.
When they get back to the dorm, Jensen ignores Jared’s door, puts Jared in his own room.
“Don't know if Chad's coming to the mall, or what's going on later,” he says, even though Jared doesn’t ask. “This'll be quieter.”
Jared lies on the bed, curls in toward the wall, and Jensen takes the opportunity to change. If he's gonna be running this thing, he needs to represent the program well. Nothing dressy, but he figures a turtleneck sweater is more respectable that Jared's hoodie and warm-ups.
He throws the sweatshirt in his suitcase instead of setting it aside for Jared, touches Jared on the ankle before he goes. He can't tell if Jared's asleep, but he says, “You’ve got the pretzels and bananas here, plus the water and the ibuprofen. I'll bring dinner when I come back,” just in case.
He calls Sophia on his way out of the building to say that he's going over to the mall now, and everyone who wants to go with him needs to be out in front of the auditorium in ninety seconds.
Jensen’s not really thinking about the raffle. While he’s handing out flyers, while he’s answering questions about the program, while he’s doing a last call for ticket purchases. At five on the dot, he throws out some numbers, statistics that put real, measurable value on every dollar given; he says thank you and means it, and then he shakes the raffle box and introduces his lovely assistant Sophia to pick the lucky ticket.
Then it’s just a matter of calling the winner, sealing the winning ticket in an envelope, packing up.
“You could get going, you know,” Sophia says when they’re stacking papers side by side.
He wants to, Jesus, wants to just-be there, back in his room with Jared, but he shrugs instead. “I think the dorm’ll survive without me.”
“I’m pretty sure the mall will too,” she says, leans her head on Jensen’s shoulder for a second, and he almost goes.
There's not too much more to do, though, secure the performance tickets inside the cash box, lock it up, let Sophia figure out the best way to organize their piles of supplies, the flyers and instructions, and then contact mall staff to give them their table and chairs back.
They're done before six, and Jensen confirms that everyone has a ride back to campus before he takes off in the direction of the Super Target.
There’s nothing really wrong with Jared, he knows that. It’s nothing some ibuprofen, a snack, and a nap won't fix, but he's still feeling compelled to stock up anyway, so he buys Tylenol and gummy worms, Gatorade, tea and lemon and honey, ginger ale, saltines, and microwave chicken noodle soup.
On the way back to the dorm, he stops and picks up a real dinner, a couple of huge, medium rare burgers from a place that looks noting like a Texas steakhouse but calls itself one just the same, and they come out pretty quick and smell pretty good, so Jensen figures they'll do.
When he gets back to his room, Jared's awake, flipping through the Anatomy II textbook Jensen had laid out on the table but never quite got around to opening.
“I read it for the articles,” Jensen says, peeking over Jared's shoulder at a picture of a male figure stripped down to the musculature.
Jared chuckles and flips the book closed. “Physical therapy, huh?” he says.
“Physical therapy,” Jensen agrees, and he suddenly feels really stupid standing there with the bags in his hands. Not so much the food, because there’s nothing wrong with bringing home a couple of burgers, but the Target bag, which is basically the greatest hits version of everything his mother ever bought for him as a kid when he was sick. “Um. I brought dinner,” he says lamely.
“Awesome,” Jared says. “Gimme.”
Jensen hands over the paper bag, and Jared takes out the identical Styrofoam boxes.
“Oh my god,” Jared says, “meat. Forget Sophia, I'm totally clubbing you over the head and dragging you home by your hair.”
Jensen laughs. “Thanks for the warning,” he says as he tries to hide the other bag on the desk chair and push it in under the desk.
“What's that?” Jared asks.
“Nothing,” Jensen answers. He leans up against the mattress. “I just, y’know-bought some, uh. Stuff.”
Jared quirks an eyebrow. “Stuff?” he says, dirty half grin sliding away into an easy chuckle.
Jensen rolls his eyes, knows it won’t cover the flush he feels creeping across his face, and he sighs, says “Yes, Jared, I’m financing your spring break sexcapades.”
Jared snorts. “Excellent, I approve,” he says, and he shoves his burger in his mouth and scoots forward on the bed to grab the bag out of Jensen’s hand. His eyebrows shoot up when he looks inside; he bites into the burger and sets it back in the container so he can use both hands to rummage through while he chews.
“Dude,” he says after he swallows, and then he grabs Jensen into a one-armed hug.
Jensen's pretty sure his face is flaming by now, so he buries it against Jared's shoulder just a little, and Jared laughs. “This is fucking awesome,” he says, quiet and close to Jensen's ear, the tone so much more intimate than the words. He doesn’t let go, and Jensen breathes in close, hot air that’s rich with the scent of fabric softener and skin, lets it out in a huffed rush of half formed words, a misshapen you’re welcome, syllables blending and blurring against the cotton of Jared’s shirt.
Jared’s arm squeezes once; his hand draws back, long fingers brush the back of Jensen’s neck, and Jensen feels the breath that shudders through Jared’s lungs before he goes back to his burger, moves over on the bed so Jensen can sit next to him.
Jensen’s throwing out their Styrofoam boxes when Jeff calls to say that there are pizzas on the way, already charged to his card, but he needs Jensen to sign for them and come up with a tip for the driver.
“Forgery,” Jensen says. “Awesome.”
Jared gives a thumbs up from the bed, where he’s ripping into his bag of candy with his teeth.
Jeff laughs. “You can draw little hearts and flowers if you want, it doesn't matter one bit.”
“If you say so,” Jensen says.
They head to the front door, Jensen like a normal person and Jared with gummy worms hanging out of both corners of his mouth. The pizzas arrive about ten minutes later, while Jared’s detailing the finer points of gummy worm anatomy, and Jensen signs Jeff’s name without decoration, tips the driver. While Jared goes to round everybody up and send them downstairs, Jensen heads down to the basement with the pizzas and sets up one of the folding tables and some chairs.
Mike’s the first one downstairs, and he comes bearing plastic cups and Chad. Chad comes bearing a hard-walled rolling carry-on, and as much as Jensen’s tempted to just turn his back and walk away, he doesn’t.
He should probably be surprised when Chad hoists the luggage up onto the table Jensen set up for the pizza and opens it to reveal-a thick black trash bag tied up tight.
“Dumping the bodies?” Jensen says, and okay, maybe he’s a little intrigued.
The feeling fades when Chad unties the bag, though, folds the edges down over the sides of the luggage and starts arranging the contents, bottles of beer and liquor and mixers that he digs down into a thick bed of ice cubes with a cheerful smile.
Jared comes down then, cocks his head and says, “Is that a bar in Chad’s suitcase?”
Jensen turns to Mike. “You’re a bad influence,” he says.
People start filtering in after a minute, and Jared helps Jensen set up a second table for the pizza. Once everyone’s assembled, Jensen relays the message that Jeff’s at the printer-still-and that he needs everyone in the auditorium a half hour early tomorrow to make up for what an absolute fucking shithole today has been.
Not Jeff’s exact words, obviously, but close enough, and Mike raises his bottle in salute and says, “Cheers!”
Jared shoves his bag of gummy worms in his pocket and grabs a slice of pizza in each hand-because it’s not like they just ate dinner a half hour ago or anything-and he’s headed for the couch when Chad calls out to him from across the room.
“Yo Jay, truth or fuckin’ dare?” he says, and Jared u-turns so sharply that Jensen almost walks right into him
“This way,” Jared whispers harshly, heading for the stairs. “Walk quickly, and whatever you do, don’t make eye contact.” When they make it safely to the first floor, Jared jams half a slice of pepperoni into his mouth, chews for a second and says, “Chad’s fucking dangerous with that shit, man. I’m not even kidding.”
Jensen laughs. “Come on, it can’t be that bad,” he says.
Jared snorts, shoves his pizza into Jensen’s hands and hikes up his shirt, tugs the front of his pants down a few inches until there’s a line of dark hair peeking out, along with a jagged, two-inch scar.
“Razor,” Jared says. “I was drunk off my ass and Chad dared me to shave.”
Jensen’s gaze is caught on the sharp cut of Jared’s hip, inguinal ridges under almost-golden skin, tight line that disappears beneath the waistband of his jeans, and it takes a minute to catch up-but when he does, even the slow, tingling flush that’s spreading through his entire body can’t quell the bark of laughter that escapes his lips.
“And you did it? Jesus, Jared!”
“Oh yeah, laugh,” he says, snatching his pizza back, but he’s grinning. “I’m telling you, he’s fucking cutthroat. If you wuss out on the dare, he tells your last truth.”
“To who?”
Jared shrugs. “Whoever’s most embarrassing.”
“Huh,” Jensen says. “Is that in the rules?”
Jared rolls his eyes. “What do you think? Seriously, though, physically scarred for life?” He hops up on the table against the wall in the entryway. “Still so much better than the emotional trauma of him telling my mama about-well, let’s just say things worked out for the best.”
“Guess I’ll have to take your word for it,” Jensen says, looks back toward the door to the basement. “So you think we’re gonna need to break it up?”
“With Sophia around?” Jared shakes his head. “Nah, he’ll be good.”
Jensen nods as Jared finishes his pizza and goes back to his bag of gummy worms. He eats like no one Jensen’s ever seen-like two people, maybe three. He kind of does everything that way, though. The way he smiles, the way he laughs-it’s all fucking huge and heartfelt and genuine, and Jensen just.
Wants to be there next to him. That’s it, he just wants to be there, for-whatever. Anything, everything.
Whatever the hell that means.
“Big field hockey fan?” Jared says quietly. He’s ripping the end of a gummy worm off with his teeth, and he reaches out and taps the faded field hockey poster taped to the wall in front of Jensen’s face with his free hand.
“Oh yeah,” Jensen says, as heat floods his cheeks, “the biggest.”
Jared nods seriously. “I could tell that about you,” he says.
Jensen snorts, half turns and leans up against the poster, facing Jared. “Yeah, what else could you tell?”
“Well,” Jared says, leaning back fully against the wall, staring across at the other side of the entryway, and Jensen expects a haphazard list of silly habits and random hobbies, but that’s not what he gets.
Jared turns, looks Jensen straight in the eye and says, “You love this. More than you know, I think, and you don’t-you don’t even hear yourself when you talk about it. About acting, about bringing the arts into the community. You don’t hear how passionate you are, how much it means to you to be a part of this.” He shrugs, and the earnest set of his mouth relaxes into a grin. “I mean, if I’m wrong, you can tell me to fuck off, but I don’t think I am.” He ducks his head down, focuses on the gummy worm he’s been stretching around his finger. “I like that about you.”
Jared brings his hand up to his mouth and nips at his candy in mouse-sized bites while Jensen struggles to come up with a coherent response. He feels like a slate wiped clean, just-for a minute, like maybe he can be what Jared sees, a version of himself drawn in strong, sure lines, passionate and focused, doing something he loves.
“You, uh,” he half-whispers, clears his throat to free his voice. “You figured that out in three days?”
“I figured that out in three years.” Jared shrugs. “I told you I watched the DVDs.”
“Right,” Jensen says, and then, “Hey,” and Jesus, he’s half convinced that Jared is honestly, literally magnetic because he can’t seem to keep random words, random pieces of himself from flying through the air and attaching themselves to Jared like iron.
They’re smack in the middle of the unencumbered stretch of time he’s been wishing for all day, finally, and he lets Jared’s magnetic pull drag him around to the front of the table until he’s standing at Jared’s knees, miles of denim and canted hips still keeping them feet apart.
Jared echoes Jensen’s hey, and when he sits up, slides to the front of the table, Jensen’s bracketed between his knees, clenching fists that are dying to uncurl and connect with the hard curve of Jared’s thigh, the soft fall of his hair.
Instead, he just stands there, absorbs Jared’s warmth like sunshine and searches for some sign that he’s not alone, that Jared’s feeling the same hot, heavy pull.
“What're you thinking?” Jared says.
Jensen opens his eyes, doesn’t remember closing them, and Jared is sitting so close.
His breath scrapes over his dry throat, Jared’s air mixed with his own because the distance between them is closing, fractions of fractions of inches passing so damn slowly.
“Hey,” Jared says, and the word ghosts through the hairs at Jensen's temple.
Jensen's looking up in slow motion, moving fiber by fiber up Jared's chest when the double doors to the basement bang open and Sophia storms past the entryway.
Jensen turns his head to watch her pass, and Jared huffs out a little chuckle, lets his temple rest against the corner of Jensen’s jaw. Jensen sighs, caught between the sudden brightness of adrenalin, of being snapped back to reality, and the warmth of Jared, solid and sure against him.
“I know,” Jared says, low and rough. “Go on. I'm gonna go find Chad, ’cause this just-feels like a Chad thing.”
“But later,” Jensen says.
“Later,” Jared answers.
Jensen finds Sophia in her room, packing.
“That bad?” he asks.
“I gave up my sister's wedding for him,” she spits, throwing shirts in the direction of her suitcase. “Fine, sure, it's her third wedding, and I've never even met the guy, but she's still my sister! Half-sister,” she amends, “but still!”
“Hey,” Jensen says, and when Sophia looks up, he opens his arms. She's tiny against him, feels fragile even though he knows she's not, and he rests his chin on top of her head and sighs.
“Chad?” he asks, like he knows what the hell he's talking about, like he wasn’t clueless until Jared spelled it out for him.
She nods against his shoulder, then pulls away, sighs. “Thank you, beautiful,” she says, kisses him on the cheek. “I know you've got better things to do right now, though.”
“What, better than this?” Jensen asks. “Never.”
Sophia chuckles and says, “Want to tell me dirty secrets I can share with my girlfriends?”
Jensen shrugs. “Nothing to tell.”
“Yet.”
“Yet,” Jensen agrees. “Want to tell me what's up with you and Chad?”
“I wasn't even gonna come anymore, I swear,” she says. “Three years, I've been waiting for him, and he just never-even when I think he likes me, nothing ever happens, and then tonight at dinner, he was making out with Julie!”
Jensen's phone buzzes in his pocket, and when he pulls it out, a silly self-portrait of Jared that he’s never seen before is on the display.
He laughs and flips it open. “Hey,” he says.
“Wanna compare notes?” Jared asks.
“Go for it.”
“I kid you not,” Jared says, “spin the bottle.”
This is one of those instances in which Jensen would really like to slap his hand over his face and groan, but he doesn't. Instead he says, “Seriously? I mean, not that I don't believe it, but. Seriously?”
“Can't leave ’em alone for more than a few minutes at a time,” Jared says.
“Apparently,” Jensen answers. “My room, ten minutes?”
“Sure.”
Sophia's packing again.
“Where exactly are you gonna go?” Jensen says.
“I'm not,” she answers. “I organize when I'm stressed.”
“So. Spin the bottle?”
Sophia drops the shirt she's holding and says, “He spun it right at her!”
Jensen laughs and says, “Come here, beautiful,” and gathers her up in his arms again. “How about we go to my room and talk about all this like not-crazy people?”
Jared and Chad are waiting outside Jensen's room, and Chad's a little puffier than usual, almost like he's been crying, like the world is newly upside down and backwards, too, just for good measure, and Chad is legitimately distraught over his self-proclaimed epic, undying love for Sophia. Jesus.
It’s almost enough to make Jensen re-evaluate his opinion of, oh, everything, ever, if Chad’s been this blatantly crazy about Soph for years, and Jensen never even saw it.
“Is he always like this?” Jensen asks Jared quietly as he unlocks the door.
When they walk in, Chad drops to one knee and says, “Marry me.”
Jared’s eyes are huge, fixed on Jensen’s. “Like this?” he answers. “No.”
Jensen actually feels his own mouth hanging open, which is a new and unpleasant sensation, and while he works on closing it, Jared clears his throat, turns to Sophia and says, “By which he means, be his girlfriend.”
Chad pulls a little black box out of his pocket, holds it out to Sophia and says, “I mean, be my fucking wife.”
It takes a minute, but Jensen eventually regains enough of his motor skills to reach over and tug Jared out the door, and he closes it softly behind them.
Out in the hallway, Jared says, “Dude, I swear, he was all, I'm gonna ask her-I thought he meant ask her out!”
“He never said-”
“Nothing!” Jared says. “Oh my god.”
They start walking and end up back down in the basement, where everyone except Mike and Tom and a few others have cleared out.
Jared silently pours two shots of tequila at the luggage bar, clinks his plastic cup against Jensen's and drinks.
Jensen follows suit and says, “Well, you called for it, man.”
Jared snorts. “Yeah, but she's totally gonna kick my ass out. If she says yes.” His mouth softens into a warm smile. “God, I hope she does. That'd be so awesome, right?”
“I, uh,” Jensen answers. Chad’s epic love for Sophia hasn’t even finished blowing his mind yet and they’re already moving on to reciprocation with a fifty percent chance of wedded bliss. “Yes? Don’t worry, though, she's gotta stay put at least until she graduates, so you're not gonna be out on the streets just yet.”
Jared pours himself another shot, laughs into his cup. “She’d be like, my roommate-in-law. Oh my god, and Harley and Sadie’s godmother! Step-godmother? How does it work, ’cause Chad wasn’t married when he took his vows.”
Jensen has to think about that for a minute.
“It’s not really-I mean, I don’t think the responsibility’s assumed through marriage, I think it’s more of an individual commitment, you know?” He looks over, finds a wicked smirk blooming on Jared’s face, and he snorts out a laugh. “Fucker,” he mutters, shoving Jared’s lame-ass shoulder with his own. “Jesus, tell me there weren’t actually vows.”
Jared sucks his lower lip into his mouth, ducks his head. “I am not responsible for any ceremonial services Chad may or may not have performed when we were wasted.”
Jensen raises an eyebrow. “Chad performed?”
“Shut up.”
It's only a few minutes later that Sophia and Chad come down the stairs. She's got the ring chained around her neck, and Chad declares the rest of the evening their official engagement party.
Sophia clarifies that it's more of an undefined but long-term monogamous relationship party, which actually sounds pretty well-defined to Jensen, but he's up for a toast, anyway.
Or a mildly inappropriate but strangely catchy witticism-”Sixty percent of marriages fail, and the rest end in death,” Chad says. “Here’s hoping we bite it, babe!”-followed by Jared wrestling a shaken up ginger ale from the soda machine out of Chad’s hands before he can douse the entire room in celebratory fizz.
Sophia just smiles, though, like she finds Chad’s Chadness endearing, and Jensen’s not about to question it.
“Look at you, beautiful,” he says, kisses the top of Sophia’s head. “Happy?”
She nods, leans back against his shoulder. “You?”
Across the room, Jared grabs Chad in a headlock and drops a sloppy kiss on his cheek, and Jensen laughs.
“Getting there,” he says.
Everyone else eventually filters back downstairs; it’s like they're living in some kind of beehive or anthill, where the chemical scent of averted disaster leads them all back to the party.
Jeff arrives, too, literally just as Jensen's fingers brush Jared’s sleeve, just as he leans in toward Jared’s ear to suggest that they duck out early. Instead, he grabs a box from Jeff, who’s loaded down with a truckload of unassembled programs and three staplers, and the evening evolves into an undefined but long-term monogamous relationship and program assembly party.
When Jeff kisses Sophia on the cheek and says, “Finally,” Jensen catches Jared snickering a smug See? I told you so! in his direction and pointedly ignores him in favor of helping Jeff reorganize the room into assembly lines, one on either side of the longer table, and one on the couch.
Jeff apologizes, says it was the only way to get them done in time without breaking the budget, and sends Tom and Mike upstairs to fetch the donuts and coffee that are still in his car.
“Okay, he says with a half grin, “line up in order of sobriety!”
He tries his best to get all three lines running smoothly, a few assemblers, a proofer and a stapler per line, with the error checker theoretically stone cold sober, but it still takes hours to finish.
When they're finally done, Jared is stapling a chocolate munchkin, and Jensen doesn't even want to look at the clock.
They do a good enough job of cleaning up, and at Jensen's room, Jeff stops and cocks an eyebrow. “Six-thirty?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Jensen answers, because he might as well admit defeat now.
Jeff walks on toward his own room, and Jared says, “I've gotta be up in like, five minutes.”
Jensen bumps his shoulder, sways and rests there for a minute, listening to Jared’s breathing, absorbing his warmth. He’s well into the stage where falling asleep standing up is an actual possibility and he’s too tired to care.
“I vote we just stay here,” he says.
Jared lays his forehead against Jensen’s, whispers, “Okay. ’Night.”
Jensen sighs when his eyes drift closed and then tug languidly back open, and he says, “Hey.”
“Hey,” Jared answers, soft rush of air that barely carries the syllable, and then he groans out a pathetic half chuckle, stands up straight.
“Tomorrow?” Jensen asks.
“Yes,” Jared says. “Yeah. Yes.”
Thursday's their traditional hell day, a dangerously full catch-all, a one day buffer between rehearsals and performances, but even before he’s forming coherent thoughts, Jensen’s thinking of yesterday as the day from hell, like-
“The actual day you’d have if you were in hell,” he mutters to no one at all.
He practically sleepwalks through the first half hour he's technically awake, actually does walk straight into Jared in the bathroom on the way to the shower, hands on Jared's chest, Jared's long fingers wrapped around his biceps.
It doesn't even register until he's been under the water for a few minutes, until Jared's long gone, and then he can't shake the tingling in his hands, can't focus on anything that’s not the memory of Jared’s skin under his palms.
“Awake now?” Jared says with an amused grin when they meet up to head over to the auditorium.
“Shut up,” Jensen says, and he smiles when it just makes Jared walk even closer.
There's no rehearsal in the morning; it's dedicated entirely to the last minute rush that always precedes the full dress on Thursday afternoon. They don't invite any schools out on Thursday mornings, either, so the auditorium is much quieter than usual.
Jensen plops into the seat next to Jeff.
Jared’s backstage somewhere. Ever since the ladder incident, he's been donating his reaching and carrying abilities all over the place, mostly to Sophia. Chad calls him whipped, but Jared just tells him to suck it because he’s working his way up to maid of honor so he doesn’t have to stand next to Chad’s ugly ass during the wedding.
Chad’s indignant, “No way you’re prettier than me!” comes from somewhere backstage, and Jared’s huge laugh floats out after it.
Jensen slouches down in his seat and smiles.
“So what've you been up to, kid?” Jeff asks.
“Well, we’ve been putting on this play,” he says, laughs when Jeff rolls his eyes. “No, not much, man, just working. Graduation's in two months. Got a job lined up, it’s what I wanted, just part time for now, but it's the right place, the right kind of work. Sports injuries, mostly. Kids.”
It’s pretty much his dream job, actually, so he has no explanation for the anxiety that’s tagging along with it, the tug in his gut that tells him it’s not where he belongs.
“Don’t sound so happy about it.”
Jensen shrugs. “What about you?” he says.
“Finally got a real job, myself.” Jeff huffs out a chuckle that ends in a sigh. “Hell, I got a kid now. It's fucking scary as hell, man.”
Jensen feels his mouth open, knows he's gaping a little, but he can't help it. “Jesus Jeff, I just saw you last month, you didn't think to mention that?”
“It just happened,” Jeff says, “all of it. There was this girl I used to date, and y'know. You know how that goes.”
“How old?” Jensen asks.
“Four,” Jeff answers. “A little boy.”
“Jesus,” Jensen says. “And she never-I mean, you didn't-are you-?”
Jeff smiles. “It's kind of awesome. Like I said, scary as hell, but I don't know. It's kind of fucked up, but right now I'm not so much pissed that she didn't tell me for four years as grateful that she didn't wait longer, you know?”
Jensen nods. “And a job?”
Jeff comes from money, which is something Jensen knows because Jeff told him, not because he would ever have been able to guess. Technically, the guy's a lawyer. He's got the degree, the license, everything, and he knows all kinds of stuff, but it's not what he does.
This-ACT!-is what he does, and Jensen can’t wrap his mind around the thought of him doing anything else.
Jeff says, “Finally found a good non-profit looking for in-house counsel.”
Jensen nods, even though he had no idea Jeff was looking for work.
“Full time?” he says.
Jeff turns to look at him, and somehow, that's all the confirmation Jensen needs.
“Jesus, uh,” he says, clears his throat. “Congratulations.”
It’s stupid, now that he’s actually thinking about it, but he really just never considered that Jeff would leave ACT! for good at some point.
Jeff bursts out laughing. “You look like someone just killed your puppy,” he says. “Come on, it's not like we're never gonna see each other again.”
Jensen rolls his eyes, flips his middle finger in Jeff’s direction. The last few years, he's seen Jeff more than some of his own relatives; he's really not worried about that.
It’s just-one less constant in the world, or something. It’s depressing.
“Thing is,” Jeff says, “I've gotta find someone to take over.”
“Got anyone in mind?”
“I know a guy,” Jeff says. “Works part time, good with people, knows what he's doing.”
“Cool,” Jensen says. He knows Jeff's not going to hand the program off to just anyone, it means too much to him, but he’s just not ready to think about someone else running it.
“Jensen,” Jeff says.
“What?”
“Jensen.”
Jeff just smiles, then, stares at Jensen until it starts to get a little creepy, and that's when Jensen realizes what he means.
“Wait, you mean-”
“No one better,” Jeff says. “Think about it, seriously. If you want it, it's yours.”
part five
They meet Jeff at the mall, where he's got a table set up in the corner between Starbucks and the inside entrance to the Super Target.
He's got an insane amount of paperwork stacked and labeled, two different instruction sheets, staffing schedules, flyers, plus the raffle tickets and tickets to the Friday and Saturday performances at discounted advance purchase rates, along with the accompanying spreadsheets for documentation, of course.
Jared stares at the table for a minute, and Jensen chuckles. He learned ages ago never to question Jeff’s madness.
Jeff’s got a few posters rigged up to the sides of the table, too. Usually for an all day setup like this, they'd actually have some of the set design with them, and some people in costume, but for this show, everything is so minimalist that it wouldn't be worth explaining, and Jensen's glad they’re just skipping it entirely.
Jeff heads back for the morning meeting after about fifteen minutes, and the first thing Jared does is book it to the Starbucks.
“Good man,” Jensen says when he comes back with something huge and sugary for himself and something small and potent for Jensen.
There's a split second for Jensen to wonder whether things are going to be weird, whether their unfinished conversation back at the dorm is going to hang awkwardly between them, but then they're practically smothered by the morning senior crowd, and they're lucky if they get a chance to say two words to each other in between handing out flyers and selling raffle tickets.
The first lull they get is around ten, and Jared makes another caffeination run.
Jensen watches Jared walk over to Starbucks, watches the broad line of his shoulders, subtle curve of his back into slim hips, legs that go on for miles, long steps that connect the dots between their booth and the Starbucks counter, and that's when he gets it. They're right in the way. While the coast is momentarily clear, it's obvious that everyone who wants to go to Starbucks and everyone who wants to go to Super Target has to practically bump into their table to do it.
Jensen chuckles to himself. He's gotta hand it to Jeff, the man knows what he's doing. When they first got here and the mall was empty, it looked like their little table was kind of tucked away in the corner. They haven't moved at all, but now that there are people flowing through the space, a steady stream of traffic, they're right in the middle of things-so in the middle that he really won't be surprised if they get asked to move in closer to the wall by the end of the day.
While he's waiting for Jared to get back, he checks the schedule. Mike and Tom are coming in at eleven, and when Jared and Jensen leave at twelve, Chad and Sophia are going to take their place, along with Alona and Drew. It makes sense, everyone who's absolutely necessary for the afternoon runthrough is scheduled at the mall sometime in the morning.
When the crowd starts to pick up again, Jensen looks for Jared, sees him holding court at the Starbucks counter. There’s a huge smile on his face and his arms are spread wide, and Jensen fights down an unpleasant swell in his stomach-too much undiluted caffeine, maybe-even while his mouth cracks into a smile.
And then Jared throws his head back and laughs. Jensen can practically see the crowd melting, and he doesn’t blame them. The guy's kind of irresistible, and Jesus-Jensen maybe wants to keep him all to himself.
He sees Jared cock his head in Jensen's direction, and then he starts his return trip, five or six people following close, more straggling behind.
When Jared gets back to the table, he puts another coffee and a bottle of water down in front of Jensen, bends over a little and says, “Just for the record, I’m not sorry I stayed.”
Then he straightens up and says, “So this is the guy I was telling you about. Everyone, this is Jensen. Jensen, this is everyone!”
When Mike and Tom get in at eleven, Jensen takes a break, mostly just to stretch his legs. The relative quiet of being on his own is nice, though. It’s not like talking about ACT! and exchanging money for tickets is hard work, but Jesus, he feels like he hasn't had a minute to himself for weeks, even though it’s only been two hours.
And the rush just keeps getting worse as the day goes on. He can’t even imagine what all these people are doing in the mall on a Wednesday morning.
Truthfully, he’s glad to have them, though. It’s been a few years now, but there was a time when Jeff wasn’t sure whether ACT! would survive, and that’s just. Incomprehensible. There’s just no other arts program that does what they do, involves themselves so fully in the community, lets the kids get their hands on the props and their feet on the stage.
Jensen’s not willing to let it die without a fight, even if the battlefield is a shopping mall.
On his way back to the table, he stops for a minute to watch Jared clowning around with Mike and Tom. They're kind of a devastating trio, Jared all wide smiles and personality, Mike insane, willing to do anything to make a sale, and Tom, soft-spoken and polite in the background.
Jared stands up and throws his arm around Mike, and Mike pulls Tom up against his side, and they pose for a picture, looks like maybe a high school newspaper or something. Any press is good press.
After a minute, Jared spots Jensen and ducks out, starts walking in his direction. Jensen kind of just wants to grab him, drag him away to a quiet corner where they can hear themselves think, where someone’s not interrupting every look, every sentence.
“Hey,” Jared says when he gets close. He smiles like Jensen’s been gone more than two minutes, further than the water fountain down around the corner.
“Hey,” Jensen echoes. “We could-you wanna take a break?”
At the table, the line's stacked about four deep, and Jared sighs in Mike and Tom’s direction, says, “Yes.”
When they walk, it’s back over toward the table, though. “Once more unto the breach,” Jensen mutters, brushes his arm against Jared’s as they weave their way through the crowd.
Chad and Sophia arrive together just before noon, and Jared hugs them both, hard.
“In case you don't make it,” he says, “it's been nice knowing you.”
Chad rolls his eyes and pushes Jared away while Sophia turns to Jensen and says, “If you really love me, you'll go get me lunch.”
She pouts a little, and Jensen's pretty much helpless.
He sighs. “Okay,” he says, “lunch run. Sophie's making the list.”
Sophia's got a mini pad and a pen out of her purse before Jensen's even done making the offer, and she puts the list together in order by food type. By the time she's done, Jensen’s got four different stops to make, so he and Jared head to the food court and split up the list.
Jensen's in line at Wendy's for long enough that Jared finishes both of his stops-pizza and Subway-and then checks in with Jensen and starts over toward McDonald's. Turns out waiting in the longest line in the universe is actually the better job, though, because the shake machine at McDonald’s is broken, which means that Jared has to go back to where Jensen's waiting to get Sophia's cell phone number, then all the way back upstairs when she doesn't answer, and then it turns out that the shake was actually for Chad, and if he can't have it, he wants a Frappuccino instead, so Jared ends up having to go to McDonald's and Starbucks, and he finishes up at about the same time as Jensen.
Which is at about twelve forty-five, just enough time for them to get back to the auditorium for their afternoon rehearsal.
“Fucking Christ,” Jared mutters on their way out to the car. “So much for lunch.”
When they get back to the auditorium, Jeff's waiting out front with Alona and Drew.
“Change of plans,” he says with his phone pressed up against his ear. “Can you bring these guys back to the mall? I'm on hold with the printer. Jared, you up for some heavy lifting?”
“Sure,” Jensen says, and Jared joins him in unison.
The trip back to the mall, back up to their spot by the Super Target is quick enough, but when they get there, Tom's talking with someone from mall security. Like Jensen expected, they're being asked to move the booth, and even Tom's looking harassed, so Jensen steps in.
“Hey,” he says, extending his hand to the mall cop, “I'm Jeff Morgan, what can I do for you?”
Sophia muffles a snort in the background, but Jensen's well within his rights. This is ACT!; he’s acting. It’s like a demonstration. Fifteen minutes later, he's confirmed “his” signature on the mall permit, pointed out that the exact location of the table isn't specified, and agreed that if things start to look dangerous, they'll move back toward the corner a few feet.
It's really easy, mostly because the guy's a total tool who's got nothing better to do, probably just wants something to brag about to his boss.
Sophia hugs him after the mall cop goes back to scraping bubblegum or whatever, and when he checks his watch, it's already almost two. He calls Jeff on his way out, and catches him, with Jared, on the way to the printer.
He promises that they'll be back for the runthrough at three and asks Jensen to take the next wave of ticket sellers over to the mall while he's gone.
Clearly, the universe doesn’t want Jensen to have any time alone with Jared today. It’s not like he’s asking for much, all he needs is a minute, just. A minute and some quiet to think or talk or-whatever.
Since that’s not gonna happen, though, he just drives back toward the college, pulls into the first drive-through he sees for some lunch.
Miraculously, the runthrough at three goes on as planned. They're missing a few of the minor parts, which Sophia reads, and Tommy has to help out on sound and lighting, and Jeff's dealing with a misprint in the programs, so he's not there to record, but they get through it, and the change they worked out in the staging last night is good.
Jensen's more than a little tempted to rush it, because if they finish early, he might be able to get a minute alone with Jared, but he doesn't because this is the last rehearsal before tomorrow afternoon's full dress.
Jared looks ready to drop by the time they're done, and he sinks into a front row seat and closes his eyes. There's no one around for the critique, really. Tommy flashes a thumbs up from the booth, and Jensen takes the seat next to Jared.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hmmmm.”
“You okay?” he asks, when Jared doesn't even open his eyes.
“I haven't even eaten yet today,” he says, nearly a whisper. “I think I'm gonna die. If I do, make sure Chad doesn't get my dogs, okay?”
Jensen chuckles at that, but Jared really doesn't look great. He's a little pale and his eyes are squeezed shut, and his voice is so quiet now, compared to the way he was just projecting on stage.
Jensen claps him gently on the knee, uses it to push off and goes in search of Sophia and her magic pocketbook of awesomeness. He comes back victorious a few minutes later with two options, healthy and not.
Jared chooses both, and Jensen's not surprised, the guy pretty much eats like a horse. It's kind of unbelievable that he did so well on the runthrough, if he was feeling this shitty.
Between the Snickers and the granola bar, Jared says, “Thanks, man. It’s not a big deal, or anything. I just get these wicked headaches when I don't eat.”
Jensen says, “I figured. Got this too,” and he holds up a bottle of water and a mini-bottle of ibuprofen.
Jared opens his eyes, groans and says, “Sophia? I swear to god, if Chad doesn't marry that girl and move her in with us, I will.”
Jensen laughs and brushes Jared's hair back out of his eyes. He doesn't even mean to do it, but his hand's there now, warm and buzzing against Jared's skin, and he's not sure whether to finish the motion or pull back.
“It's okay, you know,” Jared says, and he closes his eyes again, sighs and presses his temple into Jensen’s palm.
Jensen slumps back in his own chair and closes his eyes, listens to Jared's breathing. It's so comfortable, sharing this space with Jared, and he thinks maybe he never wants to move again.
Unfortunately, that's not really an option, though, because Jeff comes in, confirming something with someone on his phone and gesturing to Jensen. Jensen gets up, and Jeff flips his phone shut and says, “I've gotta get the programs done, rush job, new printer. Took me two hours to get a refund from those assholes. First they screwed up, then they said they couldn't reprint by Friday. Christ. I gotta get this stuff over there now, though, so can you run the raffle?”
“Sure,” Jensen says, and he can't help a huff of laughter at how ridiculous this day has been.
Jeff joins in. “I know, man,” he says. “What the fuck?” He shakes his head and then asks, “What's with him?”
“Not feeling well,” Jensen says. “I'm gonna bring him back to the dorm, and then I'll head back over to the mall.”
“Okay,” Jeff says. “Call if you need anything.”
Jensen goes back over to Jared, stops in front of him and toes lightly at his boot. “Hey kiddo,” he says. “I gotta go run the raffle. You gotta go back to your room and chill, okay?”
Jared protests a little, halfhearted and quiet and not nearly convincing enough to make Jensen to believe he's actually feeling better.
When they get back to the dorm, Jensen ignores Jared’s door, puts Jared in his own room.
“Don't know if Chad's coming to the mall, or what's going on later,” he says, even though Jared doesn’t ask. “This'll be quieter.”
Jared lies on the bed, curls in toward the wall, and Jensen takes the opportunity to change. If he's gonna be running this thing, he needs to represent the program well. Nothing dressy, but he figures a turtleneck sweater is more respectable that Jared's hoodie and warm-ups.
He throws the sweatshirt in his suitcase instead of setting it aside for Jared, touches Jared on the ankle before he goes. He can't tell if Jared's asleep, but he says, “You’ve got the pretzels and bananas here, plus the water and the ibuprofen. I'll bring dinner when I come back,” just in case.
He calls Sophia on his way out of the building to say that he's going over to the mall now, and everyone who wants to go with him needs to be out in front of the auditorium in ninety seconds.
Jensen’s not really thinking about the raffle. While he’s handing out flyers, while he’s answering questions about the program, while he’s doing a last call for ticket purchases. At five on the dot, he throws out some numbers, statistics that put real, measurable value on every dollar given; he says thank you and means it, and then he shakes the raffle box and introduces his lovely assistant Sophia to pick the lucky ticket.
Then it’s just a matter of calling the winner, sealing the winning ticket in an envelope, packing up.
“You could get going, you know,” Sophia says when they’re stacking papers side by side.
He wants to, Jesus, wants to just-be there, back in his room with Jared, but he shrugs instead. “I think the dorm’ll survive without me.”
“I’m pretty sure the mall will too,” she says, leans her head on Jensen’s shoulder for a second, and he almost goes.
There's not too much more to do, though, secure the performance tickets inside the cash box, lock it up, let Sophia figure out the best way to organize their piles of supplies, the flyers and instructions, and then contact mall staff to give them their table and chairs back.
They're done before six, and Jensen confirms that everyone has a ride back to campus before he takes off in the direction of the Super Target.
There’s nothing really wrong with Jared, he knows that. It’s nothing some ibuprofen, a snack, and a nap won't fix, but he's still feeling compelled to stock up anyway, so he buys Tylenol and gummy worms, Gatorade, tea and lemon and honey, ginger ale, saltines, and microwave chicken noodle soup.
On the way back to the dorm, he stops and picks up a real dinner, a couple of huge, medium rare burgers from a place that looks noting like a Texas steakhouse but calls itself one just the same, and they come out pretty quick and smell pretty good, so Jensen figures they'll do.
When he gets back to his room, Jared's awake, flipping through the Anatomy II textbook Jensen had laid out on the table but never quite got around to opening.
“I read it for the articles,” Jensen says, peeking over Jared's shoulder at a picture of a male figure stripped down to the musculature.
Jared chuckles and flips the book closed. “Physical therapy, huh?” he says.
“Physical therapy,” Jensen agrees, and he suddenly feels really stupid standing there with the bags in his hands. Not so much the food, because there’s nothing wrong with bringing home a couple of burgers, but the Target bag, which is basically the greatest hits version of everything his mother ever bought for him as a kid when he was sick. “Um. I brought dinner,” he says lamely.
“Awesome,” Jared says. “Gimme.”
Jensen hands over the paper bag, and Jared takes out the identical Styrofoam boxes.
“Oh my god,” Jared says, “meat. Forget Sophia, I'm totally clubbing you over the head and dragging you home by your hair.”
Jensen laughs. “Thanks for the warning,” he says as he tries to hide the other bag on the desk chair and push it in under the desk.
“What's that?” Jared asks.
“Nothing,” Jensen answers. He leans up against the mattress. “I just, y’know-bought some, uh. Stuff.”
Jared quirks an eyebrow. “Stuff?” he says, dirty half grin sliding away into an easy chuckle.
Jensen rolls his eyes, knows it won’t cover the flush he feels creeping across his face, and he sighs, says “Yes, Jared, I’m financing your spring break sexcapades.”
Jared snorts. “Excellent, I approve,” he says, and he shoves his burger in his mouth and scoots forward on the bed to grab the bag out of Jensen’s hand. His eyebrows shoot up when he looks inside; he bites into the burger and sets it back in the container so he can use both hands to rummage through while he chews.
“Dude,” he says after he swallows, and then he grabs Jensen into a one-armed hug.
Jensen's pretty sure his face is flaming by now, so he buries it against Jared's shoulder just a little, and Jared laughs. “This is fucking awesome,” he says, quiet and close to Jensen's ear, the tone so much more intimate than the words. He doesn’t let go, and Jensen breathes in close, hot air that’s rich with the scent of fabric softener and skin, lets it out in a huffed rush of half formed words, a misshapen you’re welcome, syllables blending and blurring against the cotton of Jared’s shirt.
Jared’s arm squeezes once; his hand draws back, long fingers brush the back of Jensen’s neck, and Jensen feels the breath that shudders through Jared’s lungs before he goes back to his burger, moves over on the bed so Jensen can sit next to him.
Jensen’s throwing out their Styrofoam boxes when Jeff calls to say that there are pizzas on the way, already charged to his card, but he needs Jensen to sign for them and come up with a tip for the driver.
“Forgery,” Jensen says. “Awesome.”
Jared gives a thumbs up from the bed, where he’s ripping into his bag of candy with his teeth.
Jeff laughs. “You can draw little hearts and flowers if you want, it doesn't matter one bit.”
“If you say so,” Jensen says.
They head to the front door, Jensen like a normal person and Jared with gummy worms hanging out of both corners of his mouth. The pizzas arrive about ten minutes later, while Jared’s detailing the finer points of gummy worm anatomy, and Jensen signs Jeff’s name without decoration, tips the driver. While Jared goes to round everybody up and send them downstairs, Jensen heads down to the basement with the pizzas and sets up one of the folding tables and some chairs.
Mike’s the first one downstairs, and he comes bearing plastic cups and Chad. Chad comes bearing a hard-walled rolling carry-on, and as much as Jensen’s tempted to just turn his back and walk away, he doesn’t.
He should probably be surprised when Chad hoists the luggage up onto the table Jensen set up for the pizza and opens it to reveal-a thick black trash bag tied up tight.
“Dumping the bodies?” Jensen says, and okay, maybe he’s a little intrigued.
The feeling fades when Chad unties the bag, though, folds the edges down over the sides of the luggage and starts arranging the contents, bottles of beer and liquor and mixers that he digs down into a thick bed of ice cubes with a cheerful smile.
Jared comes down then, cocks his head and says, “Is that a bar in Chad’s suitcase?”
Jensen turns to Mike. “You’re a bad influence,” he says.
People start filtering in after a minute, and Jared helps Jensen set up a second table for the pizza. Once everyone’s assembled, Jensen relays the message that Jeff’s at the printer-still-and that he needs everyone in the auditorium a half hour early tomorrow to make up for what an absolute fucking shithole today has been.
Not Jeff’s exact words, obviously, but close enough, and Mike raises his bottle in salute and says, “Cheers!”
Jared shoves his bag of gummy worms in his pocket and grabs a slice of pizza in each hand-because it’s not like they just ate dinner a half hour ago or anything-and he’s headed for the couch when Chad calls out to him from across the room.
“Yo Jay, truth or fuckin’ dare?” he says, and Jared u-turns so sharply that Jensen almost walks right into him
“This way,” Jared whispers harshly, heading for the stairs. “Walk quickly, and whatever you do, don’t make eye contact.” When they make it safely to the first floor, Jared jams half a slice of pepperoni into his mouth, chews for a second and says, “Chad’s fucking dangerous with that shit, man. I’m not even kidding.”
Jensen laughs. “Come on, it can’t be that bad,” he says.
Jared snorts, shoves his pizza into Jensen’s hands and hikes up his shirt, tugs the front of his pants down a few inches until there’s a line of dark hair peeking out, along with a jagged, two-inch scar.
“Razor,” Jared says. “I was drunk off my ass and Chad dared me to shave.”
Jensen’s gaze is caught on the sharp cut of Jared’s hip, inguinal ridges under almost-golden skin, tight line that disappears beneath the waistband of his jeans, and it takes a minute to catch up-but when he does, even the slow, tingling flush that’s spreading through his entire body can’t quell the bark of laughter that escapes his lips.
“And you did it? Jesus, Jared!”
“Oh yeah, laugh,” he says, snatching his pizza back, but he’s grinning. “I’m telling you, he’s fucking cutthroat. If you wuss out on the dare, he tells your last truth.”
“To who?”
Jared shrugs. “Whoever’s most embarrassing.”
“Huh,” Jensen says. “Is that in the rules?”
Jared rolls his eyes. “What do you think? Seriously, though, physically scarred for life?” He hops up on the table against the wall in the entryway. “Still so much better than the emotional trauma of him telling my mama about-well, let’s just say things worked out for the best.”
“Guess I’ll have to take your word for it,” Jensen says, looks back toward the door to the basement. “So you think we’re gonna need to break it up?”
“With Sophia around?” Jared shakes his head. “Nah, he’ll be good.”
Jensen nods as Jared finishes his pizza and goes back to his bag of gummy worms. He eats like no one Jensen’s ever seen-like two people, maybe three. He kind of does everything that way, though. The way he smiles, the way he laughs-it’s all fucking huge and heartfelt and genuine, and Jensen just.
Wants to be there next to him. That’s it, he just wants to be there, for-whatever. Anything, everything.
Whatever the hell that means.
“Big field hockey fan?” Jared says quietly. He’s ripping the end of a gummy worm off with his teeth, and he reaches out and taps the faded field hockey poster taped to the wall in front of Jensen’s face with his free hand.
“Oh yeah,” Jensen says, as heat floods his cheeks, “the biggest.”
Jared nods seriously. “I could tell that about you,” he says.
Jensen snorts, half turns and leans up against the poster, facing Jared. “Yeah, what else could you tell?”
“Well,” Jared says, leaning back fully against the wall, staring across at the other side of the entryway, and Jensen expects a haphazard list of silly habits and random hobbies, but that’s not what he gets.
Jared turns, looks Jensen straight in the eye and says, “You love this. More than you know, I think, and you don’t-you don’t even hear yourself when you talk about it. About acting, about bringing the arts into the community. You don’t hear how passionate you are, how much it means to you to be a part of this.” He shrugs, and the earnest set of his mouth relaxes into a grin. “I mean, if I’m wrong, you can tell me to fuck off, but I don’t think I am.” He ducks his head down, focuses on the gummy worm he’s been stretching around his finger. “I like that about you.”
Jared brings his hand up to his mouth and nips at his candy in mouse-sized bites while Jensen struggles to come up with a coherent response. He feels like a slate wiped clean, just-for a minute, like maybe he can be what Jared sees, a version of himself drawn in strong, sure lines, passionate and focused, doing something he loves.
“You, uh,” he half-whispers, clears his throat to free his voice. “You figured that out in three days?”
“I figured that out in three years.” Jared shrugs. “I told you I watched the DVDs.”
“Right,” Jensen says, and then, “Hey,” and Jesus, he’s half convinced that Jared is honestly, literally magnetic because he can’t seem to keep random words, random pieces of himself from flying through the air and attaching themselves to Jared like iron.
They’re smack in the middle of the unencumbered stretch of time he’s been wishing for all day, finally, and he lets Jared’s magnetic pull drag him around to the front of the table until he’s standing at Jared’s knees, miles of denim and canted hips still keeping them feet apart.
Jared echoes Jensen’s hey, and when he sits up, slides to the front of the table, Jensen’s bracketed between his knees, clenching fists that are dying to uncurl and connect with the hard curve of Jared’s thigh, the soft fall of his hair.
Instead, he just stands there, absorbs Jared’s warmth like sunshine and searches for some sign that he’s not alone, that Jared’s feeling the same hot, heavy pull.
“What're you thinking?” Jared says.
Jensen opens his eyes, doesn’t remember closing them, and Jared is sitting so close.
His breath scrapes over his dry throat, Jared’s air mixed with his own because the distance between them is closing, fractions of fractions of inches passing so damn slowly.
“Hey,” Jared says, and the word ghosts through the hairs at Jensen's temple.
Jensen's looking up in slow motion, moving fiber by fiber up Jared's chest when the double doors to the basement bang open and Sophia storms past the entryway.
Jensen turns his head to watch her pass, and Jared huffs out a little chuckle, lets his temple rest against the corner of Jensen’s jaw. Jensen sighs, caught between the sudden brightness of adrenalin, of being snapped back to reality, and the warmth of Jared, solid and sure against him.
“I know,” Jared says, low and rough. “Go on. I'm gonna go find Chad, ’cause this just-feels like a Chad thing.”
“But later,” Jensen says.
“Later,” Jared answers.
Jensen finds Sophia in her room, packing.
“That bad?” he asks.
“I gave up my sister's wedding for him,” she spits, throwing shirts in the direction of her suitcase. “Fine, sure, it's her third wedding, and I've never even met the guy, but she's still my sister! Half-sister,” she amends, “but still!”
“Hey,” Jensen says, and when Sophia looks up, he opens his arms. She's tiny against him, feels fragile even though he knows she's not, and he rests his chin on top of her head and sighs.
“Chad?” he asks, like he knows what the hell he's talking about, like he wasn’t clueless until Jared spelled it out for him.
She nods against his shoulder, then pulls away, sighs. “Thank you, beautiful,” she says, kisses him on the cheek. “I know you've got better things to do right now, though.”
“What, better than this?” Jensen asks. “Never.”
Sophia chuckles and says, “Want to tell me dirty secrets I can share with my girlfriends?”
Jensen shrugs. “Nothing to tell.”
“Yet.”
“Yet,” Jensen agrees. “Want to tell me what's up with you and Chad?”
“I wasn't even gonna come anymore, I swear,” she says. “Three years, I've been waiting for him, and he just never-even when I think he likes me, nothing ever happens, and then tonight at dinner, he was making out with Julie!”
Jensen's phone buzzes in his pocket, and when he pulls it out, a silly self-portrait of Jared that he’s never seen before is on the display.
He laughs and flips it open. “Hey,” he says.
“Wanna compare notes?” Jared asks.
“Go for it.”
“I kid you not,” Jared says, “spin the bottle.”
This is one of those instances in which Jensen would really like to slap his hand over his face and groan, but he doesn't. Instead he says, “Seriously? I mean, not that I don't believe it, but. Seriously?”
“Can't leave ’em alone for more than a few minutes at a time,” Jared says.
“Apparently,” Jensen answers. “My room, ten minutes?”
“Sure.”
Sophia's packing again.
“Where exactly are you gonna go?” Jensen says.
“I'm not,” she answers. “I organize when I'm stressed.”
“So. Spin the bottle?”
Sophia drops the shirt she's holding and says, “He spun it right at her!”
Jensen laughs and says, “Come here, beautiful,” and gathers her up in his arms again. “How about we go to my room and talk about all this like not-crazy people?”
Jared and Chad are waiting outside Jensen's room, and Chad's a little puffier than usual, almost like he's been crying, like the world is newly upside down and backwards, too, just for good measure, and Chad is legitimately distraught over his self-proclaimed epic, undying love for Sophia. Jesus.
It’s almost enough to make Jensen re-evaluate his opinion of, oh, everything, ever, if Chad’s been this blatantly crazy about Soph for years, and Jensen never even saw it.
“Is he always like this?” Jensen asks Jared quietly as he unlocks the door.
When they walk in, Chad drops to one knee and says, “Marry me.”
Jared’s eyes are huge, fixed on Jensen’s. “Like this?” he answers. “No.”
Jensen actually feels his own mouth hanging open, which is a new and unpleasant sensation, and while he works on closing it, Jared clears his throat, turns to Sophia and says, “By which he means, be his girlfriend.”
Chad pulls a little black box out of his pocket, holds it out to Sophia and says, “I mean, be my fucking wife.”
It takes a minute, but Jensen eventually regains enough of his motor skills to reach over and tug Jared out the door, and he closes it softly behind them.
Out in the hallway, Jared says, “Dude, I swear, he was all, I'm gonna ask her-I thought he meant ask her out!”
“He never said-”
“Nothing!” Jared says. “Oh my god.”
They start walking and end up back down in the basement, where everyone except Mike and Tom and a few others have cleared out.
Jared silently pours two shots of tequila at the luggage bar, clinks his plastic cup against Jensen's and drinks.
Jensen follows suit and says, “Well, you called for it, man.”
Jared snorts. “Yeah, but she's totally gonna kick my ass out. If she says yes.” His mouth softens into a warm smile. “God, I hope she does. That'd be so awesome, right?”
“I, uh,” Jensen answers. Chad’s epic love for Sophia hasn’t even finished blowing his mind yet and they’re already moving on to reciprocation with a fifty percent chance of wedded bliss. “Yes? Don’t worry, though, she's gotta stay put at least until she graduates, so you're not gonna be out on the streets just yet.”
Jared pours himself another shot, laughs into his cup. “She’d be like, my roommate-in-law. Oh my god, and Harley and Sadie’s godmother! Step-godmother? How does it work, ’cause Chad wasn’t married when he took his vows.”
Jensen has to think about that for a minute.
“It’s not really-I mean, I don’t think the responsibility’s assumed through marriage, I think it’s more of an individual commitment, you know?” He looks over, finds a wicked smirk blooming on Jared’s face, and he snorts out a laugh. “Fucker,” he mutters, shoving Jared’s lame-ass shoulder with his own. “Jesus, tell me there weren’t actually vows.”
Jared sucks his lower lip into his mouth, ducks his head. “I am not responsible for any ceremonial services Chad may or may not have performed when we were wasted.”
Jensen raises an eyebrow. “Chad performed?”
“Shut up.”
It's only a few minutes later that Sophia and Chad come down the stairs. She's got the ring chained around her neck, and Chad declares the rest of the evening their official engagement party.
Sophia clarifies that it's more of an undefined but long-term monogamous relationship party, which actually sounds pretty well-defined to Jensen, but he's up for a toast, anyway.
Or a mildly inappropriate but strangely catchy witticism-”Sixty percent of marriages fail, and the rest end in death,” Chad says. “Here’s hoping we bite it, babe!”-followed by Jared wrestling a shaken up ginger ale from the soda machine out of Chad’s hands before he can douse the entire room in celebratory fizz.
Sophia just smiles, though, like she finds Chad’s Chadness endearing, and Jensen’s not about to question it.
“Look at you, beautiful,” he says, kisses the top of Sophia’s head. “Happy?”
She nods, leans back against his shoulder. “You?”
Across the room, Jared grabs Chad in a headlock and drops a sloppy kiss on his cheek, and Jensen laughs.
“Getting there,” he says.
Everyone else eventually filters back downstairs; it’s like they're living in some kind of beehive or anthill, where the chemical scent of averted disaster leads them all back to the party.
Jeff arrives, too, literally just as Jensen's fingers brush Jared’s sleeve, just as he leans in toward Jared’s ear to suggest that they duck out early. Instead, he grabs a box from Jeff, who’s loaded down with a truckload of unassembled programs and three staplers, and the evening evolves into an undefined but long-term monogamous relationship and program assembly party.
When Jeff kisses Sophia on the cheek and says, “Finally,” Jensen catches Jared snickering a smug See? I told you so! in his direction and pointedly ignores him in favor of helping Jeff reorganize the room into assembly lines, one on either side of the longer table, and one on the couch.
Jeff apologizes, says it was the only way to get them done in time without breaking the budget, and sends Tom and Mike upstairs to fetch the donuts and coffee that are still in his car.
“Okay, he says with a half grin, “line up in order of sobriety!”
He tries his best to get all three lines running smoothly, a few assemblers, a proofer and a stapler per line, with the error checker theoretically stone cold sober, but it still takes hours to finish.
When they're finally done, Jared is stapling a chocolate munchkin, and Jensen doesn't even want to look at the clock.
They do a good enough job of cleaning up, and at Jensen's room, Jeff stops and cocks an eyebrow. “Six-thirty?” he asks.
“Yeah,” Jensen answers, because he might as well admit defeat now.
Jeff walks on toward his own room, and Jared says, “I've gotta be up in like, five minutes.”
Jensen bumps his shoulder, sways and rests there for a minute, listening to Jared’s breathing, absorbing his warmth. He’s well into the stage where falling asleep standing up is an actual possibility and he’s too tired to care.
“I vote we just stay here,” he says.
Jared lays his forehead against Jensen’s, whispers, “Okay. ’Night.”
Jensen sighs when his eyes drift closed and then tug languidly back open, and he says, “Hey.”
“Hey,” Jared answers, soft rush of air that barely carries the syllable, and then he groans out a pathetic half chuckle, stands up straight.
“Tomorrow?” Jensen asks.
“Yes,” Jared says. “Yeah. Yes.”
Thursday's their traditional hell day, a dangerously full catch-all, a one day buffer between rehearsals and performances, but even before he’s forming coherent thoughts, Jensen’s thinking of yesterday as the day from hell, like-
“The actual day you’d have if you were in hell,” he mutters to no one at all.
He practically sleepwalks through the first half hour he's technically awake, actually does walk straight into Jared in the bathroom on the way to the shower, hands on Jared's chest, Jared's long fingers wrapped around his biceps.
It doesn't even register until he's been under the water for a few minutes, until Jared's long gone, and then he can't shake the tingling in his hands, can't focus on anything that’s not the memory of Jared’s skin under his palms.
“Awake now?” Jared says with an amused grin when they meet up to head over to the auditorium.
“Shut up,” Jensen says, and he smiles when it just makes Jared walk even closer.
There's no rehearsal in the morning; it's dedicated entirely to the last minute rush that always precedes the full dress on Thursday afternoon. They don't invite any schools out on Thursday mornings, either, so the auditorium is much quieter than usual.
Jensen plops into the seat next to Jeff.
Jared’s backstage somewhere. Ever since the ladder incident, he's been donating his reaching and carrying abilities all over the place, mostly to Sophia. Chad calls him whipped, but Jared just tells him to suck it because he’s working his way up to maid of honor so he doesn’t have to stand next to Chad’s ugly ass during the wedding.
Chad’s indignant, “No way you’re prettier than me!” comes from somewhere backstage, and Jared’s huge laugh floats out after it.
Jensen slouches down in his seat and smiles.
“So what've you been up to, kid?” Jeff asks.
“Well, we’ve been putting on this play,” he says, laughs when Jeff rolls his eyes. “No, not much, man, just working. Graduation's in two months. Got a job lined up, it’s what I wanted, just part time for now, but it's the right place, the right kind of work. Sports injuries, mostly. Kids.”
It’s pretty much his dream job, actually, so he has no explanation for the anxiety that’s tagging along with it, the tug in his gut that tells him it’s not where he belongs.
“Don’t sound so happy about it.”
Jensen shrugs. “What about you?” he says.
“Finally got a real job, myself.” Jeff huffs out a chuckle that ends in a sigh. “Hell, I got a kid now. It's fucking scary as hell, man.”
Jensen feels his mouth open, knows he's gaping a little, but he can't help it. “Jesus Jeff, I just saw you last month, you didn't think to mention that?”
“It just happened,” Jeff says, “all of it. There was this girl I used to date, and y'know. You know how that goes.”
“How old?” Jensen asks.
“Four,” Jeff answers. “A little boy.”
“Jesus,” Jensen says. “And she never-I mean, you didn't-are you-?”
Jeff smiles. “It's kind of awesome. Like I said, scary as hell, but I don't know. It's kind of fucked up, but right now I'm not so much pissed that she didn't tell me for four years as grateful that she didn't wait longer, you know?”
Jensen nods. “And a job?”
Jeff comes from money, which is something Jensen knows because Jeff told him, not because he would ever have been able to guess. Technically, the guy's a lawyer. He's got the degree, the license, everything, and he knows all kinds of stuff, but it's not what he does.
This-ACT!-is what he does, and Jensen can’t wrap his mind around the thought of him doing anything else.
Jeff says, “Finally found a good non-profit looking for in-house counsel.”
Jensen nods, even though he had no idea Jeff was looking for work.
“Full time?” he says.
Jeff turns to look at him, and somehow, that's all the confirmation Jensen needs.
“Jesus, uh,” he says, clears his throat. “Congratulations.”
It’s stupid, now that he’s actually thinking about it, but he really just never considered that Jeff would leave ACT! for good at some point.
Jeff bursts out laughing. “You look like someone just killed your puppy,” he says. “Come on, it's not like we're never gonna see each other again.”
Jensen rolls his eyes, flips his middle finger in Jeff’s direction. The last few years, he's seen Jeff more than some of his own relatives; he's really not worried about that.
It’s just-one less constant in the world, or something. It’s depressing.
“Thing is,” Jeff says, “I've gotta find someone to take over.”
“Got anyone in mind?”
“I know a guy,” Jeff says. “Works part time, good with people, knows what he's doing.”
“Cool,” Jensen says. He knows Jeff's not going to hand the program off to just anyone, it means too much to him, but he’s just not ready to think about someone else running it.
“Jensen,” Jeff says.
“What?”
“Jensen.”
Jeff just smiles, then, stares at Jensen until it starts to get a little creepy, and that's when Jensen realizes what he means.
“Wait, you mean-”
“No one better,” Jeff says. “Think about it, seriously. If you want it, it's yours.”
part five