Milieu (Jack/James R)
Title: Milieu
Pairing: Jack/James (AU)
Rating: R
Summary: It was what they both should’ve done a long time ago.
A/N: 2,662 words for fanfic100, prompt #33 (“too much”). Set after eponine119's "The Deep End".
He’d never heard his voice on phone until that night.
Jack says hello and all James says back is, “Hey.” His voice is lower than usual, softer.
“Hey.” He hasn’t seen James for nearly three weeks. Not since the fight and his pool and James struggling to shut him out, give him up. Jack had promised him he’d see him again, but his suspension kept him out of school, and his house was always dark when Jack would take the chance to drive by.
He hadn’t even thought to call him. But by then, he’d thought maybe there was the possibility that this was easier for James, and that he’d moved on, gotten over it. It was what they both should’ve done a long time ago.
Whenever Jack thinks about getting over it, his stomach turns cold.
“What do you want?” Jack speaks first and tries to sound bored.
“Goin’ for a run.”
“So?” His heart starts to pound.
“So…you could use the exercise, Prep.”
The line goes dead in his ear. Jack stares at the phone in his hand for a second before practically stumbling out the door.
///
This time, it’s different. Jack’s not the one doing laps around the track, and neither is James; when Jack arrives he’s doing sprints like his life depends on it, running so fiercely he finally collapses on the grass, rolling onto his back and sucking the air into his lungs.
Jack panics for a moment, which in turn irritates and scares the shit out of him. “Jesus Christ, what the hell are you doing?” He falls to his knees beside him, watching the way his chest contracts on each breath.
“Runnin’.” James keeps his eyes closed, the sweat making his hair stick to his forehead.
“No shit. This why you called me? To have me come down here and watch you fucking kill yourself?” His voice is rising, the edge becoming more pronounced, but he keeps yelling, shoving him for good measure. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
James finally blinks at him, enough air inside him to actually give him a tiny, sad smirk. “You worried about me or somethin’, Prep?”
“No.” He wants to leave him there, he really does, but…dammit, it’s been three weeks.
“That’s what I thought.” James grunts a little as he sits up, drawing his knees into his chest and not looking at him. “Didn’t actually think you’d come.”
“Why’s that, ‘cause you’ve made such a huge effort to see me?” Jack hates how hurt he sounds, because it’s not that big of a deal, it’s not…
He shrugs and gets to his feet. He shakes the hair out of his face as he turns his back to Jack. “Like I saw you hangin’ around every day.”
“I drove by--”
“Yeah? Good for you.” James pulls his sweatshirt on and starts to walk off.
He’s fighting him again and Jack knows it’s for the best, that they shouldn’t even be here, that this should’ve ended the day James punched him right where his old man had days before.
But he’d called him. And Jack was here.
“Your eye looks better.”
James pauses. “Yeah, I don’t even notice it anymore.”
“It still hurts a little though, right?”
“Sure.” He finally turns around, looks straight at him even as his arms cross over his chest. “I see you healed.”
“I guess. I don’t have guys jumping me in the halls anymore.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“No.” But Jack sees the way James worries his bottom lip and knows he’s given him the wrong answer.
“How’s the girlfriend?” James smirks, like he’s using the last of his reserves to keep up the show.
“There isn’t one. I told you that.”
“Yeah, but you gotta get laid, Prep. You’re only human and all.”
Jack’s chest tightens, and it’s as if a switch is flipped in his brain. He hears himself saying, “Who says I gotta have a girlfriend to get laid?”
James just stares at him for long moment until his throat bobs. He blinks slowly and then the smirk is back, only sharper. “You don’t.”
“Exactly.” His heart is racing, and it’s a wonder Jack’s not panting. He watches James dip his head and try to roll his shoulders back without giving anything away.
“Yeah. So have fun with that.”
“I will, trust me.”
“I’m sure you will. Gettin’ to fuck Golden Boy? That’s a real prize.”
“You think so?” Jack doesn’t even know what he’s saying anymore.
“’s not what I think, it’s everyone else.”
“Everyone else but you.”
Something flickers and dies in James’ eyes. He smiles and turns away again, saying over his shoulder, “Everyone but me.”
Jack stays on the grass at the edge the track, not bothering to yell at him, to stop him. James fades into the dark, and it occurs to Jack that he’d lied to him that night by his pool.
He would let him go.
///
After two days, Jack’s tired of hurting all the time. The guilt he felt was just a side effect.
It’s late, but his parents have gone to bed, so he slips out of the garage and gets in his car and drives.
He’s not surprised that the windows are dark, but there are cars in the driveway. And he knows which window is his.
The cuffs of his jeans soak up the dew from the shaggy lawn as he walks slowly to the house, staring at the ground, watching his feet move. When he’s there, he closes his eyes and counts to five before tapping on the glass.
Lights don’t come on. Instead, the binds go up and James stands there, wearing only his shorts, his body slightly silver in the moonlight. He glares at Jack as he throws open the window.
“What?”
“Can I come in?”
“Fuck, no. D’you know what time it is?”
“It’s barely ten.”
“Yeah, and my aunt’s asleep.”
“But you’re not.”
“So? You’re not comin’ in.”
His voice sounds off, a little too rough around the edges.
“Look…” Jack sighs. “I wanted to say sorry.”
“For what?”
He blinks. Goddamn it, he’s gonna make him say it. “For…not keeping my promise.”
“Whatever. I wasn’t gonna hold you to it, anyway.” Then James slams the window, dismissing him.
“Dammit, Ford!” Jack pounds his fist against the glass. But the blinds come back down and that’s the end of it.
Jack stands outside for several minutes, waiting, hoping by not giving in James will eventually open up.
The blinds never move.
///
He was drunk when he found out, and sometimes he wishes he’d been too far gone he to remember any of it.
Another party, filled with people he knew and didn’t really care about. But he played his part, let everyone enjoy him; the surface was all that mattered.
He didn’t know how it came up, but at one point in the night he heard a girl, Jess, exclaim rather loudly, “Oh my god! You know what I heard yesterday from my mom?”
Jack rolled his eyes and was fully prepared to leave the room.
Then, “She told me James Ford’s dad killed his mom and then himself. And right in front of James. That’s why he moved out here from Tennessee to live with his aunt.”
Someone asked, “How old was he?”
“I think she said something, like, eight, maybe? Our housekeeper knows his aunt, and she told my mom all about it. Something about his mom cheated on his dad, so he shot her. Isn’t that sad?”
Jack didn’t hear anymore. He went out on the front steps and sat with his head in his hands. He didn’t cry, but he felt like he should.
///
James is running again.
Jack stands at the edge of the stadium, in the dark, watching him doing sprints that take everything he has, harder and faster with each cycle.
He’s been watching him for a good fifteen minutes, too chicken shit to get any closer, thinking to himself over and over that he should’ve known. He should’ve told him.
You should’ve told me.
But then, James had had to fight him to get Jack to talk about his dad. And when he thinks on it, he knows he never would’ve told him without being pushed.
Except having an alcoholic pound on you every once in a while wasn’t anything like being an orphan from a murder/suicide.
He’s back to looking at James like a stranger, someone who’s lived a life outside the lines, who’s seen and done and heard things Jack can’t even comprehend. He’s back to feeling small and useless.
He hears James let out some strange growl and he’s falling to the ground, spent. James lies there for several moments, face down, his right hand fisting into the grass.
Jack tries to leave-he can’t go down there, he can’t, not yet-and then James is yelling, “How long you been up there?” His voice is little muffled, breathless, but it’s clear enough.
He can fool himself into thinking he can ignore him, but it’s a lie. “’Bout twenty minutes.”
James doesn’t reply, only turns his face up and continues to pant like he’s dying.
As much as he hates himself for it, Jack descends the steps to the field, to James, trying to remember the last time he felt scared of him. He keeps his hands buried deep in the pockets of his jeans, his skin breaking out in goosebumps in the night air. The lights from the nearby road make his shadow stretch long and thin over James’ body the closer he gets.
“You’re…followin’ me now?” James says around shallow breaths.
Jack shrugs. “Thought you’d be down here. And since your house is off limits now, I figured I’d give it a chance.”
James slowly rolls onto his back, throwing an arm over his eyes. “So? What it is?”
He swallows hard. Fuck it, there was nothing left lose. “I know.”
James lifts his head and looks at him. “Know what?”
“About…about why you…came out here. To California.”
His expression goes blank for a second, like he’s not quite processing it all. Then his eyes darken right before he shuts them and clenches his jaw. He gets to his feet without a word.
“James-”
“Sorry if it freaks you out, Prep. We all got problems, y’know?” He doesn’t sound like James; his voice is low, dangerous, deep enough that it shudders through Jack. It’s a warning sound: you will get hurt.
Jack grabs his arm before James can disappear, probably for good this time. “Don’t.”
“Let go, Jack.” He whispers his name, but it’s a long way from gentle.
“No. I want to hear it from you.” Jack eases his hand down his arm until his fingers are circling James’ wrist and he can feel his pulse pounding. “I don’t want to go off rumors.”
James tries to jerk his arm away. “You believed the rumors before.”
“That was before.”
“Before what?”
Jack pulls back, bringing him closer, but not touching. He licks his lips without thinking. “Before…you.”
James tries to smirk, but Jack sees him flinch. “That’s real sweet, but I like keepin’ my secrets to myself.”
“But I already know.”
“You don’t know shit.”
“Yeah? You want me to prove it? Say it out loud?”
James flinches again, looks away.
“Your mom cheated, didn’t she? And your dad didn’t like it, so he put a stop to it with his gun.”
Jack doesn’t realize he’s been hit until he’s looking up at James from the ground, the side of his jaw screaming.
”Fuck off, Shephard.” He’s standing over him, glaring at Jack like he’s his worst enemy.
He’s so pissed that James would actually hit him again that he lunges at him, tackling his legs and knocking him back onto the grass. James fights him for real, using fists and words that Jack thought he’d never hear again since that day in the hall. But Jack doesn’t punch him, doesn’t give in to the urge to hurt him, even as James calls him a pathetic prick.
Jack finally pins him down, shoving his arms over his head and pressing his knee into James’ chest.
“You saw it happen, right?” He pants, leaning close enough to where James could look in his eyes and trust him.
James drops his head back and sighs.
“Just tell me.”
It’s like the hotel room all over again, except this time Jack’s dad has nothing to do with it.
“And if I don’t? You gonna beat it outta me till I talk?” But he sounds beaten, and it makes Jack hurt.
“No. But I’ll wait.”
For how long, he didn’t know. But it still makes James squeeze his eyes closed and whisper in a rush, “The guy took all the money. Slept with her and cleaned us out. She never saw it comin’. Neither did my daddy.”
Jack stares at him for a second, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. He looks at James lying there, looking very young and lost, and he knows that ten years haven’t been long enough. He’s so shocked and honored and relieved that he knows now, knows because James told him, that he’s cupping his face and kissing him, soft little nips along his bottom lip.
James sighs against his mouth-“So now you know,” he murmurs-and slides his hands into Jack’s hair, holding him close, and they kiss for long minutes in the dark, remembering the feel of each other’s hands. It’s slow, it’s warm, there’s no rush, and soon Jack’s easing his legs over James’s hips, moaning softly when James bucks up. Jack grinds into him, his hands pressing into James’ chest to push himself up, but James shakes his head, pulls him back down, his tongue swiping lazily back into his mouth. Jack sinks his hands into the ground above James’ shoulders and lets him set the rhythm, lets him kiss him as long and hard and soft as he likes.
James’ hand works its way down between them, and Jack says, “No,” against his chin, thrusting sharply and making James gasp.
“I want to.”
“Not this time.” He rubs against him in languid strokes, trying to feel through layers of cotton and denim.
“But…God, Jack, please…” James suddenly becomes frantic as he grips Jack’s ass, fingers digging in so fiercely Jack knows there will be bruises in the morning. He’s panting and growling and baring his teeth; for an instant, Jack thinks James’ cheeks look too bright, maybe even damp. He leans in, licks his cheekbone.
He tastes salt.
“Jack…” He’s shuddering, and soon James is shoving Jack away, rolling to his side and staggering to his feet.
“I can’t…I can’t do this.” James isn’t looking at him as his voice cracks.
Jack just sits on the ground, arms draped over his knees and his erection throbbing in protest. He stares at his hands and doesn’t answer.
“Go get yourself a girlfriend. A prom queen. That’s what’ll make you happy.”
Jack wants to scream but I’m happy now. But the thought that he’s finally broken James, that James has given up, makes his throat tighten. He swallows a couple times.
“Who put you in charge of my happiness?”
James shoves his hair back. He whispers, “You did, the night you kissed me in your bathroom.”
He doesn’t know what else to say. Jack looks up at him and feels a numbness creep into his body, something that’s both familiar and unexpected, and he hates it. He hates himself for letting it go this far, for putting that look of defeat in James’ eyes.
James tries to smile and it almost breaks Jack completely. “Bygones, Prep.”
Jack hides his face in his arms and doesn’t watch James walk off the field. Eventually, he sighs, wipes his eyes, and goes home.
Pairing: Jack/James (AU)
Rating: R
Summary: It was what they both should’ve done a long time ago.
A/N: 2,662 words for fanfic100, prompt #33 (“too much”). Set after eponine119's "The Deep End".
He’d never heard his voice on phone until that night.
Jack says hello and all James says back is, “Hey.” His voice is lower than usual, softer.
“Hey.” He hasn’t seen James for nearly three weeks. Not since the fight and his pool and James struggling to shut him out, give him up. Jack had promised him he’d see him again, but his suspension kept him out of school, and his house was always dark when Jack would take the chance to drive by.
He hadn’t even thought to call him. But by then, he’d thought maybe there was the possibility that this was easier for James, and that he’d moved on, gotten over it. It was what they both should’ve done a long time ago.
Whenever Jack thinks about getting over it, his stomach turns cold.
“What do you want?” Jack speaks first and tries to sound bored.
“Goin’ for a run.”
“So?” His heart starts to pound.
“So…you could use the exercise, Prep.”
The line goes dead in his ear. Jack stares at the phone in his hand for a second before practically stumbling out the door.
///
This time, it’s different. Jack’s not the one doing laps around the track, and neither is James; when Jack arrives he’s doing sprints like his life depends on it, running so fiercely he finally collapses on the grass, rolling onto his back and sucking the air into his lungs.
Jack panics for a moment, which in turn irritates and scares the shit out of him. “Jesus Christ, what the hell are you doing?” He falls to his knees beside him, watching the way his chest contracts on each breath.
“Runnin’.” James keeps his eyes closed, the sweat making his hair stick to his forehead.
“No shit. This why you called me? To have me come down here and watch you fucking kill yourself?” His voice is rising, the edge becoming more pronounced, but he keeps yelling, shoving him for good measure. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
James finally blinks at him, enough air inside him to actually give him a tiny, sad smirk. “You worried about me or somethin’, Prep?”
“No.” He wants to leave him there, he really does, but…dammit, it’s been three weeks.
“That’s what I thought.” James grunts a little as he sits up, drawing his knees into his chest and not looking at him. “Didn’t actually think you’d come.”
“Why’s that, ‘cause you’ve made such a huge effort to see me?” Jack hates how hurt he sounds, because it’s not that big of a deal, it’s not…
He shrugs and gets to his feet. He shakes the hair out of his face as he turns his back to Jack. “Like I saw you hangin’ around every day.”
“I drove by--”
“Yeah? Good for you.” James pulls his sweatshirt on and starts to walk off.
He’s fighting him again and Jack knows it’s for the best, that they shouldn’t even be here, that this should’ve ended the day James punched him right where his old man had days before.
But he’d called him. And Jack was here.
“Your eye looks better.”
James pauses. “Yeah, I don’t even notice it anymore.”
“It still hurts a little though, right?”
“Sure.” He finally turns around, looks straight at him even as his arms cross over his chest. “I see you healed.”
“I guess. I don’t have guys jumping me in the halls anymore.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“No.” But Jack sees the way James worries his bottom lip and knows he’s given him the wrong answer.
“How’s the girlfriend?” James smirks, like he’s using the last of his reserves to keep up the show.
“There isn’t one. I told you that.”
“Yeah, but you gotta get laid, Prep. You’re only human and all.”
Jack’s chest tightens, and it’s as if a switch is flipped in his brain. He hears himself saying, “Who says I gotta have a girlfriend to get laid?”
James just stares at him for long moment until his throat bobs. He blinks slowly and then the smirk is back, only sharper. “You don’t.”
“Exactly.” His heart is racing, and it’s a wonder Jack’s not panting. He watches James dip his head and try to roll his shoulders back without giving anything away.
“Yeah. So have fun with that.”
“I will, trust me.”
“I’m sure you will. Gettin’ to fuck Golden Boy? That’s a real prize.”
“You think so?” Jack doesn’t even know what he’s saying anymore.
“’s not what I think, it’s everyone else.”
“Everyone else but you.”
Something flickers and dies in James’ eyes. He smiles and turns away again, saying over his shoulder, “Everyone but me.”
Jack stays on the grass at the edge the track, not bothering to yell at him, to stop him. James fades into the dark, and it occurs to Jack that he’d lied to him that night by his pool.
He would let him go.
///
After two days, Jack’s tired of hurting all the time. The guilt he felt was just a side effect.
It’s late, but his parents have gone to bed, so he slips out of the garage and gets in his car and drives.
He’s not surprised that the windows are dark, but there are cars in the driveway. And he knows which window is his.
The cuffs of his jeans soak up the dew from the shaggy lawn as he walks slowly to the house, staring at the ground, watching his feet move. When he’s there, he closes his eyes and counts to five before tapping on the glass.
Lights don’t come on. Instead, the binds go up and James stands there, wearing only his shorts, his body slightly silver in the moonlight. He glares at Jack as he throws open the window.
“What?”
“Can I come in?”
“Fuck, no. D’you know what time it is?”
“It’s barely ten.”
“Yeah, and my aunt’s asleep.”
“But you’re not.”
“So? You’re not comin’ in.”
His voice sounds off, a little too rough around the edges.
“Look…” Jack sighs. “I wanted to say sorry.”
“For what?”
He blinks. Goddamn it, he’s gonna make him say it. “For…not keeping my promise.”
“Whatever. I wasn’t gonna hold you to it, anyway.” Then James slams the window, dismissing him.
“Dammit, Ford!” Jack pounds his fist against the glass. But the blinds come back down and that’s the end of it.
Jack stands outside for several minutes, waiting, hoping by not giving in James will eventually open up.
The blinds never move.
///
He was drunk when he found out, and sometimes he wishes he’d been too far gone he to remember any of it.
Another party, filled with people he knew and didn’t really care about. But he played his part, let everyone enjoy him; the surface was all that mattered.
He didn’t know how it came up, but at one point in the night he heard a girl, Jess, exclaim rather loudly, “Oh my god! You know what I heard yesterday from my mom?”
Jack rolled his eyes and was fully prepared to leave the room.
Then, “She told me James Ford’s dad killed his mom and then himself. And right in front of James. That’s why he moved out here from Tennessee to live with his aunt.”
Someone asked, “How old was he?”
“I think she said something, like, eight, maybe? Our housekeeper knows his aunt, and she told my mom all about it. Something about his mom cheated on his dad, so he shot her. Isn’t that sad?”
Jack didn’t hear anymore. He went out on the front steps and sat with his head in his hands. He didn’t cry, but he felt like he should.
///
James is running again.
Jack stands at the edge of the stadium, in the dark, watching him doing sprints that take everything he has, harder and faster with each cycle.
He’s been watching him for a good fifteen minutes, too chicken shit to get any closer, thinking to himself over and over that he should’ve known. He should’ve told him.
You should’ve told me.
But then, James had had to fight him to get Jack to talk about his dad. And when he thinks on it, he knows he never would’ve told him without being pushed.
Except having an alcoholic pound on you every once in a while wasn’t anything like being an orphan from a murder/suicide.
He’s back to looking at James like a stranger, someone who’s lived a life outside the lines, who’s seen and done and heard things Jack can’t even comprehend. He’s back to feeling small and useless.
He hears James let out some strange growl and he’s falling to the ground, spent. James lies there for several moments, face down, his right hand fisting into the grass.
Jack tries to leave-he can’t go down there, he can’t, not yet-and then James is yelling, “How long you been up there?” His voice is little muffled, breathless, but it’s clear enough.
He can fool himself into thinking he can ignore him, but it’s a lie. “’Bout twenty minutes.”
James doesn’t reply, only turns his face up and continues to pant like he’s dying.
As much as he hates himself for it, Jack descends the steps to the field, to James, trying to remember the last time he felt scared of him. He keeps his hands buried deep in the pockets of his jeans, his skin breaking out in goosebumps in the night air. The lights from the nearby road make his shadow stretch long and thin over James’ body the closer he gets.
“You’re…followin’ me now?” James says around shallow breaths.
Jack shrugs. “Thought you’d be down here. And since your house is off limits now, I figured I’d give it a chance.”
James slowly rolls onto his back, throwing an arm over his eyes. “So? What it is?”
He swallows hard. Fuck it, there was nothing left lose. “I know.”
James lifts his head and looks at him. “Know what?”
“About…about why you…came out here. To California.”
His expression goes blank for a second, like he’s not quite processing it all. Then his eyes darken right before he shuts them and clenches his jaw. He gets to his feet without a word.
“James-”
“Sorry if it freaks you out, Prep. We all got problems, y’know?” He doesn’t sound like James; his voice is low, dangerous, deep enough that it shudders through Jack. It’s a warning sound: you will get hurt.
Jack grabs his arm before James can disappear, probably for good this time. “Don’t.”
“Let go, Jack.” He whispers his name, but it’s a long way from gentle.
“No. I want to hear it from you.” Jack eases his hand down his arm until his fingers are circling James’ wrist and he can feel his pulse pounding. “I don’t want to go off rumors.”
James tries to jerk his arm away. “You believed the rumors before.”
“That was before.”
“Before what?”
Jack pulls back, bringing him closer, but not touching. He licks his lips without thinking. “Before…you.”
James tries to smirk, but Jack sees him flinch. “That’s real sweet, but I like keepin’ my secrets to myself.”
“But I already know.”
“You don’t know shit.”
“Yeah? You want me to prove it? Say it out loud?”
James flinches again, looks away.
“Your mom cheated, didn’t she? And your dad didn’t like it, so he put a stop to it with his gun.”
Jack doesn’t realize he’s been hit until he’s looking up at James from the ground, the side of his jaw screaming.
”Fuck off, Shephard.” He’s standing over him, glaring at Jack like he’s his worst enemy.
He’s so pissed that James would actually hit him again that he lunges at him, tackling his legs and knocking him back onto the grass. James fights him for real, using fists and words that Jack thought he’d never hear again since that day in the hall. But Jack doesn’t punch him, doesn’t give in to the urge to hurt him, even as James calls him a pathetic prick.
Jack finally pins him down, shoving his arms over his head and pressing his knee into James’ chest.
“You saw it happen, right?” He pants, leaning close enough to where James could look in his eyes and trust him.
James drops his head back and sighs.
“Just tell me.”
It’s like the hotel room all over again, except this time Jack’s dad has nothing to do with it.
“And if I don’t? You gonna beat it outta me till I talk?” But he sounds beaten, and it makes Jack hurt.
“No. But I’ll wait.”
For how long, he didn’t know. But it still makes James squeeze his eyes closed and whisper in a rush, “The guy took all the money. Slept with her and cleaned us out. She never saw it comin’. Neither did my daddy.”
Jack stares at him for a second, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. He looks at James lying there, looking very young and lost, and he knows that ten years haven’t been long enough. He’s so shocked and honored and relieved that he knows now, knows because James told him, that he’s cupping his face and kissing him, soft little nips along his bottom lip.
James sighs against his mouth-“So now you know,” he murmurs-and slides his hands into Jack’s hair, holding him close, and they kiss for long minutes in the dark, remembering the feel of each other’s hands. It’s slow, it’s warm, there’s no rush, and soon Jack’s easing his legs over James’s hips, moaning softly when James bucks up. Jack grinds into him, his hands pressing into James’ chest to push himself up, but James shakes his head, pulls him back down, his tongue swiping lazily back into his mouth. Jack sinks his hands into the ground above James’ shoulders and lets him set the rhythm, lets him kiss him as long and hard and soft as he likes.
James’ hand works its way down between them, and Jack says, “No,” against his chin, thrusting sharply and making James gasp.
“I want to.”
“Not this time.” He rubs against him in languid strokes, trying to feel through layers of cotton and denim.
“But…God, Jack, please…” James suddenly becomes frantic as he grips Jack’s ass, fingers digging in so fiercely Jack knows there will be bruises in the morning. He’s panting and growling and baring his teeth; for an instant, Jack thinks James’ cheeks look too bright, maybe even damp. He leans in, licks his cheekbone.
He tastes salt.
“Jack…” He’s shuddering, and soon James is shoving Jack away, rolling to his side and staggering to his feet.
“I can’t…I can’t do this.” James isn’t looking at him as his voice cracks.
Jack just sits on the ground, arms draped over his knees and his erection throbbing in protest. He stares at his hands and doesn’t answer.
“Go get yourself a girlfriend. A prom queen. That’s what’ll make you happy.”
Jack wants to scream but I’m happy now. But the thought that he’s finally broken James, that James has given up, makes his throat tighten. He swallows a couple times.
“Who put you in charge of my happiness?”
James shoves his hair back. He whispers, “You did, the night you kissed me in your bathroom.”
He doesn’t know what else to say. Jack looks up at him and feels a numbness creep into his body, something that’s both familiar and unexpected, and he hates it. He hates himself for letting it go this far, for putting that look of defeat in James’ eyes.
James tries to smile and it almost breaks Jack completely. “Bygones, Prep.”
Jack hides his face in his arms and doesn’t watch James walk off the field. Eventually, he sighs, wipes his eyes, and goes home.