Fic: I'm Thinkin' About My Doorbell (1/3)
Title: I'm Thinkin' About My Doorbell (1/3)
Author: rurounihime
Pairing: J2, other minor het and slash pairings
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: AU, swearing, cameos by lots of people
Summary: The trouble is, Jensen’s sort of in love with a guy he’s never even spoken to. (otherwise known as the one where Jared plays Ultimate, Jensen appreciates slugs, and Santa Cruz is just weird.)
Disclaimer: None of these people belong to me. They have their own lives, and as far as I know, they have never done what I’ve written. I do not make money off of this. Title taken from “My Doorbell” by The White Stripes. All characters involved in adult activities are over 18.
A/N: As a proud alumnus of UC Santa Cruz (and Porter College), I just had to toss the boys into the mix. This is chock-full of fond, self-indulgent memories from my years there. I’ve included links to certain things so you can get a feel for the joint. ^__^
...
I'm Thinkin' About My Doorbell, part 1
“Alright. Best sex ever. Chad?”
Out in the living room, Chad laughs. “Elana Morrissey, last week. Every surface in the apartment, yo.”
Aldis snorts. “Remind me to never set foot in your apartment again. Mike?”
Jensen peers over the top of his book from where he’s sitting in his room. He can just see Mike’s bald head over the back of the couch. Mike spends so long counting on his fingers and muttering names that Aldis waves him off. “Damn, dude, never mind.”
Jensen drops his eyes back to the page he’s pretending to read and shakes his head. From what he’s heard about Mike, this turn of events is not surprising.
Tom says the name Jamie without even stopping to think, and everyone ribs him for being whipped by his girlfriend.
“Yeah, at least I have one,” Tom shoots back with a smug grin. “You all should be so lucky.”
Jared guffaws from the couch. Jensen scoots his chair a little closer to the doorway of his room. He’s got a straight shot into the living room like this.
Another guy goes, detailing a raunchy set of events that Jensen could have done without ever hearing. Chad gets in an argument with Tom about why being a ladies’ man beats out being strapped to one girl by a landslide. Jensen rolls his eyes and gets up to grab a coke from the kitchen. This fight will take several minutes to fizzle out, like it always does.
Except Aldis cuts them off while Jensen is still at the fridge. “Okay, okay, shut up. It’s the baby’s turn.”
A howl goes up from the group, and Jensen almost loses his grip on his soda can.
It’s Jared’s nickname, courtesy of Mike, because Jared’s the only sophomore to stick out the initial Ultimate try-outs. He’s also taller than all of them, even Tom and Aldis, but that hasn’t stopped the name from sticking.
Jensen listens with baited breath.
“Dudes,” Jared says with a short laugh. “I don’t kiss and tell. It’s rude.”
More ribbing. Jensen turns around. He has to see.
Jared’s grinning that half-grin of his, swaying as the guys jostle him back and forth.
“C’mon, Baby,” Chad wheedles, “you have had sex before, right?”
Jared straightens, looking at Chad through narrow eyes. “Yes, I have, you ass.”
Jensen grabs a plate from the drying rack, along with a towel, intent on looking occupied. He’s not sure if he wants an answer. He expected some girl’s name and now he’s got a big unknown.
“Hey, weren’t we heading to Saturn Cafe for burgers?” Aldis says, because Aldis is a peacemaker in a pinch.
Everyone forgets about Jared’s non-answer and starts clambering around for shoes and sweatshirts.
“Jen, wanna come with?” Aldis calls, craning his neck to look through the kitchen doorway.
Jensen turns. “Uh, no, I’m fine. Thanks.”
“Alright, see ya.”
They’re filing out the door. Jensen’s pulse hammers. “Hey, have fun!”
The door closes on a mix of responses. If Jared contributed, Jensen couldn’t tell.
**
The trouble is, Jensen’s sort of in love with a guy he’s never even spoken to.
Jensen’s not an idiot, and he is twenty-two years old: he knows it’s not real love or whatever, just a massive crush that has him completely discombobulated. It’s doubly intense because Jensen doesn’t even go for this guy’s type, and he doesn’t have a habit of going all teeny-bopper psycho over someone he’s never properly met. But this guy came out of nowhere and deep left field at the same time, and Jensen has no idea what the hell his brain is doing these days because of it, but honestly, never in his right mind would he have-
Okay, wait. Starting over.
**
Well, not over over, because the fact that Jensen Ross Ackles was born in Richardson, Texas with a perturbed pout on his face doesn’t matter at all at this juncture.
He doesn’t know how he scored a jock housemate this year. He was too busy to bother with off-campus housing- mostly because Santa Cruz’s housing market is pictured under “extortion” in the dictionary- and he was pretty clear on his accommodations application regarding what he was looking for in terms of housemates. But he and Aldis actually click.
Misha’s there, too, but that’s not the point.
The first two weeks, Aldis isn’t really around anyway because Ultimate is freaking hardcore: practices twice a day most of the time, even though it’s classed as a club sport. When Aldis comes home, he never leaves his sweaty clothing where Jensen can smell or see or trip over it, and he’s surprisingly fastidious in the shared kitchen and bathroom. (Misha is also fastidious, but his habits are way too bizarre for Jensen to get a handle on yet. Suffice it to say that when Misha does come out of his room, Jensen prepares for brief and startling upheaval.) Jensen and Aldis both have baby sisters who they just don’t get, and Aldis understands the whole “yes, sweety, that sounds like a great hobby, but are you sure that’s what you want to do with your life?” approach on the part of their respective parents, who want their sons to be doctors, not professional musicians. With Aldis, it’s doctors versus philosophers, but yeah: the guy gets it.
Jensen only plays his guitar- and his piano and his rented vibraphone- during the afternoons while Aldis is at Ultimate practice, and saves his quiet homework for later in the evening because Aldis has a shitload of huge texts by Marx and Kant and Foucault and Thoreau stacked on the coffee table, and no one wants to face those guys while listening to someone picking out an A-flat diminished chord fifty times in a row in the next room.
(Again, he has no idea when or how Misha leaves or returns home. He’s never witnessed either scenario.)
But Jensen’s a considerate guy. So he’s a little pissed off when the Thursday night before his first exam in Japanese 4 finds extra guys in Aldis’ room laughing their asses off at the tops of their collective lungs.
It’s eleven-fucking-thirty. He’s got a class at eight AM (because it makes so much sense to schedule classes involving foreign insults, quadratic equations, and Bunsen burners before anyone is actually alert, but whatever).
Jensen stumbles out of bed and stomps into the hall, cursing jocks in general and Ultimate Frisbee players specifically as he makes for the kitchen. (Alright, it’s a stupid set up for an apartment, with the kitchen between their two rooms. Jensen’s heard that this bank of apartments was designed by the architecture majors at Kresge College, so there you go.)
There’s someone at the sink. Jensen flips on the light and nearly goes blind at the sudden flare. When he can see again, he finds himself across the room from a guy wearing a dark blue banana slug shirt and holding a glass of water in one hand.
Dude’s really tall. Jensen blinks and rubs his face right as Aldis’ room erupts in raucous guffaws. Jensen gets angry all over again and opens his mouth to cuss the guy into oblivion just for existing. But in that same second, the guy glances at Aldis’ door and winces visibly.
It’s enough. Jensen cools down so rapidly he sways on his feet. It’s really bright. That’s when it occurs to him that this guy didn’t even switch on the light to get his water. Jensen’s brain turns itself up one more notch, to the level of meeting unexpected politeness with equal civility.
“Sorry, I…” The guy gestures at his drink and rakes a hand through his hair. He’s disheveled, probably here straight from practice, whenever that was. “Needed some water. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Dude’s really tall. His hair is longish and his face is- yeah, very nice. Jensen shakes his head. “You didn’t. They did.”
The guy cringes again and puts his glass down on the counter with a little bang. He’s… jeez, he’s good looking. Muscle tone and wiry frame and big, unassuming eyes.
“Look.” Jensen coughs. “I have an exam in Japanese tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” the guy breaks in, “yeah. I’m so sorry, I’ll shut them up, man, I swear.”
And he leaves the kitchen, just like that. Jensen hears him cut through the chatter in Aldis’ room, and things immediately go quiet. Jensen’s left with the memory of a deep voice.
He hits the light switch and makes his way back to his room. Halfway to bed, Jensen realizes just how hot that guy was, how Jensen was in the same room with him, and god, his eyes.
What?
**
So maybe they have actually spoken. It doesn’t count, though, because Jensen doesn’t know if he was truly all that polite in the end, and he’s still in the dark about the guy’s name.
He just knows that he likes him. A lot. He hasn’t had this sort of reaction since the day he saw Danneel Harris for the first time on the playground and chased her until she wheeled back and kicked him in the shins.
**
He sees the guy everywhere after that, because he’s slightly insane. Obviously. Most of the time it’s not the same guy at all: too short, not buff enough, playing on the soccer team instead of on the Ultimate team, actually a really boyish-looking girl… etcetera. Jensen goes to class like normal, skirting his way around froshies who have taken it upon themselves to escort wayward banana slugs off the footpath into the bushes.
Man. Only in Santa Cruz.
He gets into the groove of knowing he’s got a thing for a guy while not being in a position to do anything about it, just enjoying the experience of tumbling head over heels for another person, whom he will probably never see again. It’s nice. Makes him feel warm and snuggly, and that’s pretty handy when the fog blows in from Monterey Bay at night and makes him shiver from the inside out.
But Aldis has another mini-soiree, and Jensen finds the guy in his house once again. Smiling. Laughing. Sitting there looking totally relaxed and gorgeous.
He eavesdrops long enough to determine (through the process of elimination) that the guy goes by the moniker of Jared, mostly because Chad is the whacked out one who acts like he’s constantly high, and Jensen knows Mike and Tom already from Classic Mythology 301, sophomore year. So now he has a name to go with a face. It doesn’t exactly make his situation easier.
It rains, hard, in early October. Jensen is moving his car. He’s got a pass for the main lot, but he’s been parking over at Oakes on the weekends because they never monitor it, and it’s closer to his Saturday class- yes, he is taking a Saturday class. So sue him. He’s a responsible, dedicated fourth-year music major, so there.
At any rate, he’s taking his car across the top of the hill and down toward the main lot so he doesn’t get ticketed, hoping he’s got his umbrella with him so he can wait for the shuttle back to Porter in comfort. And there, standing at the Science Hill bus stop, is Jared. He’s drenched. Completely soaking. Honest, Jensen can see the water sluicing down his face and arms from where he’s paused at the stop sign. It’s not a cold rain- never really a cold rain- but it’s a heavy one, and Jared’s dressed in shorts and a tank top, with a measly hoodie that’s already dripping.
Jensen needs to not think about this. He flicks his turn signal on before he can find a reason not to, and then he has to follow through. Because other drivers will get mad if he doesn’t. Never mind that there are no other cars on the road right now.
The rain’s coming down so hard it’s difficult to see through the windows. Jensen has to flop over the parking brake in an ungainly fashion because his windows aren’t automatic.
“Hey,” he calls once the passenger-side window is sufficiently lowered.
There’s a second’s pause, then Jared bends down to look through the open window. Which is getting a crapload of rain all over the passenger seat. So that’s fun.
Jared’s eyes widen. “Hey, uh…”
“Jensen,” Jensen supplies. He clears his throat. “We haven’t really met. I live with Aldis Hodge?”
“Right.” Jared’s expression clears. “Hey, again.”
“Look, you want a ride? I saw you and… it’s brutal out there.” He can’t believe he’s actually getting the words out coherently.
Jared glances around, then frowns down at Jensen. “Are you sure? I mean, I’m soaked. I’ll mess up your seat.”
Jensen snorts and tries not to blush. “Nah. These seats are old. Gives them more character. Besides, that one’s already wet.”
Jared takes another second, then opens the door and scrambles inside the car. He immediately cranks the window up. “Thanks. So much, man, you have no idea.”
Jensen almost forgets to check his side mirror before easing out onto the road again. “It’s no problem. I mean, I’ve got a car. Might as well use my super power for good, right?”
It sounds so dorky, but Jared laughs. “I envy you, believe me.”
“You and the rest of Aldis’ friends,” Jensen quips. Jared chuckles, and it’s a little awkward after that. Jensen grips the wheel. “So, uh. Where to?”
“I’m at Stevenson,” Jared answers. Another difference; maybe Jensen’s got his head in the sand, but all the other jocks he’s met are at College 8. Well, besides Aldis.
“Porter,” Jensen says, and then feels like an idiot. Duh. Jared’s been to their place.
“Yeah,” Jared says with another small laugh.
It’s not a long drive to Stevenson from Science Hill, but it feels like it’s twenty miles. Jensen is very aware of Jared dripping all over the passenger side of the car, the way the water glistens on his wrists and runs in rivulets under the collar of his hoodie.
“Porter Run should be taking off,” Jensen says without thinking, and Jared perks up.
“So that’s actually true?” he asks. “Damn, I thought Aldis was just fucking with me!”
Jensen grins. “Nope. First rain of the school year. Beware of naked people in the woods.”
They’re already at Stevenson Circle. Jensen pulls to a stop and drops the stick into neutral.
“But you’re not participating.” It’s a statement, and Jared stares at him as he says it. Jensen has to think for a moment before-
“Oh. No, I’m purely a spectator.” Okay, that sounds so wrong. Jensen kind of wants to smack his head on the windshield.
But Jared just shrugs. “Good. I was afraid it was required or something.”
“No, but…” Jensen hedges, then decides to go for it. “The Cowell and Stevenson folks have been known to join in.”
Jared laughs for real, and his face lights up in a way Jensen hasn’t seen yet. “Think I’ll pass. Hey, man, thanks for the ride. Really. You’re a lifesaver.”
He opens the door and gets out into the rain, then leans back into the car. “You should come see one of our games. We’ve got a tournament this weekend. I bet Aldis would love a cheering section.”
“I’m not really that into sports.” Dumb. So dumb. Holy hell, Jensen is a loser.
Jared smiles awkwardly. “Oh. Well… Still. We’re gonna kick some ass. So I hear.”
Jensen smiles back. “Okay. I’ll see what I’ve got going on.”
“Cool.” Jared grins, then straightens with a wave, and shuts the door. Jensen watches him jog toward the buildings, until he disappears around a corner.
**
Jensen goes to the tournament on Friday afternoon. And then again on Sunday. The Slugs are still in the thick of it by the third day, so Jensen assumes they must be pretty good, but he really has no idea what’s going on other than that the game involves a Frisbee and the whole point is similar to football. He thought it would be easy to pick up just by sitting on the grass and watching, but he’s sort of distracted. A little.
(Though it might just be him. When Jensen did a quarter abroad in London, he and his housemates watched a whole hour of cricket and were no closer to understanding it at the end than they’d been when they first turned the TV on. They cheered like mad, regardless.)
Jared’s on the field a lot. He flips the Frisbee with great accuracy every time: underhand, overhand, even in a spike. Jensen’s breath catches often; he claps when the other observers clap and cheers when the Slugs score a touchdown. He doesn’t care if they actually call it that; it looks like a football touchdown, so that’s what he’s calling it.
The next time Jared gets the Frisbee, though, he’s straight-up tackled by a big guy on the other team. Jensen’s pretty sure that’s not supposed to happen, mostly because no one else has been slamming other players into the dirt. He looks on worriedly as the sports doc checks Jared out where he’s sitting on the ground, and after a minute, Jared gets to his feet and wobbles off the field. Jensen’s sigh of relief is cut short by an enthusiastic shout to his right.
“Yeah, Jared! Woohoo! Nice faceplant!”
There’s a tiny, beautiful girl jumping up and down, her dark hair in braids, wearing a smile so wide it’s a wonder her face can contain it all. Jared laughs and gives her a wave. She pumps her fist and claps as the ref gives Aldis the penalty throw.
When the game’s over, Jared leaves his teammates and grabs his personal cheerleader in a hug that lifts her right off the ground. Jensen looks away until they’re done, and by then Aldis is clapping him on the back and expressing his surprise that Jensen’s there.
“Hey, we’re going downtown for dinner after the last game,” Aldis announces. “Pizza My Heart. You want in?”
Jensen likes any excuse to go to Pizza My Heart. He’s slowly collecting shirts for his extended family and, apparently, all of his sister’s friends. “Yeah, sounds good.”
**
But he’s not exactly an athlete, and when they all finally get crammed into three booths, Jensen feels out of his element. He’s next to the cheerleader girl; she’s nice and she talks a lot, even if Jensen doesn’t really hold up well in conversations with people he’s just met. He’s good at watching others, though, and takes his cues from the group for an hour before he feels like his presence is basically going unnoticed.
That’s okay. It’s the perfect opportunity to pick up a copy of Fuck This Book. His friend Chris has been raving non-stop about the website, and Jensen’s dying to get his hands on one for Josh. He can just imagine his older brother’s face when guests visit his lovely little suburban bungalow and pick up Fuck This Book from his coffee table. Jensen’s not even going to give it to Josh. He’s just going to slip it under some magazines next time he visits.
He’s telling Josh’s fiancée Gloria, though, because she’ll totally take photos and put them on Flickr.
He lets Aldis know he’s heading down the street to buy a book and squeezes out of the booth. Outside, the air is cool and smells heavily of the ocean. There are a lot of people downtown tonight. A show is just getting out at the Del Mar and Jensen crosses the street to avoid the crowd.
The book’s at Camouflage. Jensen’s only been in a couple times (he doesn’t really wear lacy panties or have the need to buy a boa, after all) but the salesgirls are laid back like they’ve seen everything under the sun, and they probably have. Plus, Camouflage has awesome costumes around Halloween. Chris said the book is in the back room, and Jensen would normally feel weird surrounded by studded dildos and bins of vagina lollipops, except there are people heading in and out of the room in droves, so it’s not like anyone’s staring.
He finds the book immediately: easy to spot something that’s atomic pink. The salesgirl laughs out loud and praises his choice when he sets it on the counter, then slides it into a discreet black bag and rings him up.
“Free condoms this month,” she says cheerfully, pointing at a bin that looks like it tumbled out of Candyland. Jensen grabs a handful to appease her and heads out. He’s in the midst of cramming them into his pocket when he gets to the front door, and slithers out while a girl holds it open for her friends. He folds the top of the bag over, turns back in the direction of Pizza My Heart, and comes face to face with Jared.
Whose eyebrows are very high on his forehead. He’s also got a bag in his hands, but it plainly says Pacific Cookie Company on it, while Jensen’s basically declares Hi, I’m Chock Full of Filthy Sex Toys, How Are You?
“They sell books,” Jensen blurts out. He lifts the bag, then thinks better of it and tries to hide it instead. Jared glances up at the Camouflage storefront and all the acid green teddies on display. The rest of the group is lagging behind, laughing as they walk.
Jared shrugs. “Yeah, I know. I come here with Sandy a lot.”
Is Sandy that tiny cheerleader? Jensen’s stomach flips a little. She probably wears a really small and adorable lingerie size.
Jared holds out his bag. “Want a cookie? I got Lemon Drops, Mint Conditions, Cahootz and Snickerdoodles.”
“Uh, I’ll take a Lemon Drop. Please.”
Jared roots around, retrieves a cookie, and passes it to Jensen. Jensen’s so frazzled by the ongoing presence of his discreet black bag that he doesn’t realize until afterward that Jared’s fingers touched his.
**
Jensen stays in his room for the next two weeks. Well, not really, because he showers and eats and goes to class like a good son who doesn’t want to piss off his parents. But when he’s not in those places doing necessary things, he keeps the door shut and tries not to think about opening it and discovering that Jared happens to be in the apartment again.
The black bag sits under his bed, and every time Jensen thinks about it, he gets hot all over. Not in a good way.
Never mind what Jared must think about his kinky purchasing habits; Jared basically admitted to frequenting a dirty toys and sexy clothing shop with a girl who could possibly be his girlfriend. Which means they’re close. Which means they’re intimate, because Jensen knows he’d never dream of buying unmentionables with someone unless he was comfortable enough to be laughed at by said individual.
Jensen knows that if he hangs around near Jared, he’ll spend the whole time flushed, tongue tied, and disappointed. Better just to hide. Because Jensen is a mature, rational adult. Sure thing.
It so happens that he has a music final coming up- the damn quarters go by like that- and part of it is an in-class performance of an original composition. He’s not sure which instrument he’s going to use for the test, so he spends a day transposing the piano music for the guitar, and then again into a different key for the vibraphone just because he can.
Really, sheet music is cake mix to him. He sometimes has trouble duplicating music by ear alone, but he was taught to read music and he’s got this down.
As soon as he plays it once on the guitar, though, he knows that’s his instrument for the test. He tried for a Spanish flavor while composing, and that fits best with strings under his fingers instead of keys or mallets.
He’s got his performance down well enough to start playing around with it about two days before his test. It’s oddly hot for Santa Cruz, but then, Santa Cruz is just odd in general, so the heat isn’t really weird. It’s actually… normal. Because in Santa Cruz, normal is weird.
Whatever. Santa Cruz has pretty much redefined the word “weird” for Jensen in a million different ways since he got here.
He’s got his window open and his door propped wide for a little cross breeze, and he’s thinking about heading down to the quad to play outside under the wisteria once he’s through with this round. It’ll be nice to hear the notes outside the confines of his walls, and it won’t be too hot in the shade. Maybe he’ll walk down the hill and climb up on the Squiggle, if he can keep from dropping his guitar while he does it, and then afterward, he can get a Thai chicken wrap at the Hungry Slug.
Jensen’s lost in a cascade of notes, fingers racing over frets, building and building to the finale. He’s got that high he gets when he hits every single note right at the perfect tempo. The tune swells and rolls, and Jensen rocks with it, eyes shut, not feeling like he’s making the music at all but just flowing through it. It already exists, and he’s there, and it’s perfect.
The final note echoes out until it’s faded completely away, and Jensen breathes deep. Lets it out.
A tapping sound comes from behind. Jensen turns and nearly drops his guitar.
Jared’s standing in his hallway with one hand on the doorframe. “Hey.”
Jensen swallows, holding onto the neck of his guitar for dear life. “Hi. Uh. What…?”
Jared’s cheeks redden. “Sorry, your front door was open. Open open, I mean, not just- Uh, is… Aldis here?”
It takes him a few seconds to process; Jared obviously makes Jensen’s brain slow down to a slug’s pace. “I don’t think so. I mean, I haven’t heard him in a while. But then, I’m sort of buried in my music, and I’m not exactly cognizant of the world at large when- um.”
God, he is so hopeless.
Jared shifts his weight and nods. “That sounded really good.”
“I… Thanks.”
Jared’s in board shorts and a tank top. It’s a tight tank top, and it defines his muscles in a very particular way. Jensen casts around for something sophisticated to say. “Uh, you can wait here for him if you-”
“No, that’s-” Jared straightens up and shoves his hands in his pockets. His cheeks are still pink. “I mean, I should actually be somewhere, so…”
He gestures down the hall toward the front door. Jensen nods.
“I can tell him you were here.”
Jared clears his throat and flashes a smile. “Yeah, thanks. See ya.”
Jensen stands there in the middle of his room, trying not to cringe at the fact that Jared doesn’t want to wait in the apartment. Probably he’d rather not listen when Jensen inevitably starts babbling again. And Jensen doesn’t even want to think about how long Jared stood there watching him play.
**
Despite Jensen’s befuddled state, his final goes incredibly well. One of the other guitar players, a guy named Steve, starts jamming with him after the rest of the class clears out. They sound really good together. Jensen mentions that Steve ought to meet his friend Chris, and it turns out they already know each other through Chris’ band, Kane. It’s the way Steve’s face sort of flushes at the mention of Chris that makes Jensen ‘remember’ about a meeting he’s got.
“Wait, so you’re Jenny?” Steve calls in a slightly high voice as Jensen pulls the door open. “I mean- shit, sorry.”
“It’s okay. Chris likes to pretend it still bugs me. I just let him.” Dude, is there an off button somewhere that he could press? That would be really helpful.
Steve looks at him for a moment. “He talks about you all the time.”
Jensen nods awkwardly. They’ve been best friends since high school. But Chris has never really mentioned Steve to Jensen and now he’s not sure what it all means.
It’s almost a relief to get back to Dallas where he can just shut off his school side for an entire four weeks.
It’s a pretty nice Christmas, same as it usually is, with lots of cocoa and candy canes, and Mackenzie squealing and jumping on Jensen when he gets off the plane, when he opens her present, when he comes downstairs to breakfast in the morning, when he turns around, for god’s sake. It’s a good thing she’s so cute.
Jensen’s mom spends her time looking at him in that wistful, proud way moms with kids in college look, and hugging him tightly whenever she can. Jensen’s dad treats him and Josh to two all-nighters of classic action films in their den, complete with popcorn and chips and soda and enough candy to make them throw up. And Josh gets him a really nice hard leather guitar case for when he travels.
But the cherry on top comes when he and Gloria exchange winks over the bright pink book he smuggles into her bag during their goodbye hug just before New Years.
**
He comes back to San Jose on the same flight as Danneel, and they push and shove their way onto the bus heading over Highway 17 into Santa Cruz. It’s pretty late when they make it to their respective homes, and Jensen finds a present from Aldis outside his door. He grins and hangs the brand new sports bag he bought for his housemate over Aldis’ door knob.
After a good minute of consideration, he decides not to put Misha’s gift out until he’s back in town. Jensen doesn’t really think the bags and bags of Sour Patch Kids would last all that long out in the hallway of their apartment.
**
There aren’t too many kids out on the quad the day before class starts. Jensen takes his guitar with him in the morning and picks his way through some Nine Inch Nails, some John Lee Hooker, and a few classical pieces by Rachmaninoff and Satie. The afternoon is nice, not too chilly, no cloud cover. Every breath Jensen takes is fresh with the sea.
He’s just finishing the Gymnopédies when he senses he’s got an audience. Jared’s standing on the same set of steps several yards away, nearly out of his line of sight. Jensen jumps and loses the rhythm.
“Sorry,” Jared says, lifting a hand. “Didn’t mean to mess you up.”
Jensen shakes his head. “No, it’s… I’m just screwing around.”
Jared walks over and takes a seat on the steps next to him. Not all that close, but if anyone walked by, there’d be no question that they’re sitting together. Jared’s in track shorts and a blue t-shirt. He looks like he’s been running.
“That’s pretty damn good for just screwing around.” Jared smiles, eyes flicking up to Jensen’s face.
Jensen swallows and strums a quick chord progression to keep his jittery fingers occupied. “Thanks.”
“Music major?”
“Yeah.”
Jared leans back on both arms, turning his face to the sun. “Man, that’s awesome. I can’t play an instrument to save my life.”
“Yeah, well.” Jensen keeps himself from staring. “I can’t score a goal to save my life, so…”
Jared laughs. They sit in the sunlight for a few minutes, and Jensen pokes through a melody he’s been tinkering with.
“You know any Traffic?”
Jensen looks up. “Uh… John Barleycorn, yeah.”
The grin Jared gives him is stunning. “My dad loves that one.”
Jensen sets his fingers. “Do you?”
Jared’s grin shrinks to a smirk. “It’s Traffic, man. Goes without saying.”
Jensen starts in on the delicate opening notes. Jared doesn’t say a thing the entire way through the song. Partway through, Jensen forgets he’s not alone and sings a few words, but Jared moves in the corner of his eye and Jensen shuts his mouth.
At the end of the song, he finds Jared studying him from behind his sunglasses.
“Dude. You sing, too?”
Jensen can feel his face going hot again. “Yeah.”
“You sound good.”
Jensen shrugs and shakes his head. Launches into Norwegian Wood. It’s almost an hour before Jared gets up and says goodbye.
**
A few weeks into the quarter, Aldis suggests they host a party. Jensen’s totally cool with it. Really, he is. He’s never been averse to parties, just to stupid people. Granted, parties often set the stage for stupid people, but for some reason, he’s even less bothered by the idea of having people over lately. He doesn’t know why that would be. Oh, no.
On the chosen night, the apartment’s got a pretty good group going when the door opens, Brock Kelly walks in, and Jensen’s mood hits the floor with a thud.
God, he hates Brock. The guy is such an ass. After that first time when two dozen eggs ended up splattered all over their kitchen, Aldis swore he’d never invite him to another party again.
Brock came to two successive parties after that.
The thing is, Jensen doesn’t think Aldis did invite him again. Somehow, Brock always figures out when they’re throwing some shindig- Jensen suspects it’s because Chad can’t keep his big fat annoying mouth shut- and shows up. And starts drinking immediately. Once he’s drunk, he kicks up such a fuss when anyone tries to boot him out that Aldis and Jensen decided it’s safer just to ignore him. Try to have fun anyway, and keep the bastard out of the fucking kitchen.
But Jensen isn’t in the mood tonight. He’s missing the first edition reprint of Lord Byron’s Poetry that his grandmother loaned to him for his studies, and even the mad cleanup in preparation for tonight hadn’t revealed its whereabouts. He knows he didn’t take it out of the apartment- he would never- so it’s completely illogical that it’s gone. Not to mention that Chris has to work tonight and Danneel isn’t feeling well, so they aren’t coming. Steve, who Jensen has another class with this quarter, was also invited but is visiting his folks in Palo Alto. Jensen’s still reeling from the nerves of today’s in-class essay test. He just wanted to fucking relax tonight, kick back and maybe try to talk to Jared a little. Except even that’s screwed up because it’s an hour in and Jared still hasn’t shown his face. Jensen decides, fuck it all, they don’t pay him enough for this. He’s just going to lock himself in his room, watch a damn movie, and overturn everything he owns until he finds his grandma’s Byron.
He’s halfway there, gritting his teeth while Brock shouts tasteless jokes, when the door opens again and Jared walks in, carrying two cases of Fosters. Aldis sends up a jovial “Yo! My man!” And now Jensen doesn’t know what to do.
He ends up on the couch in the thick of things, with a beer in his hand and one eye on Jared as the guy makes his way through the front room, greeting everyone he meets.
Eventually, the crowd grows enough that Brock no longer monopolizes everyone’s attention. Aldis has Guitar Hero out and is getting thoroughly trounced by a PoliSci major named Alona. Someone’s singing Dylan in the kitchen, and even Misha has emerged from his room to tell stories that require a lot of gesturing and the use of multiple accents. He’s doing better in the socializing department than Jensen, who is still nursing his first beer on the couch. He hates beer. The taste clings to his throat like saran wrap, but he gets more flak when he doesn’t drink at all than when he nurses a single can all night. He can hear Jared’s laugh just behind him, close enough that Jensen’s feeling both alert and content as hell. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying himself at all. If only Jared would wander over and sit down next to him, just talk to him for a couple minutes. He’d listen to Jared’s Ultimate stories. He’s interested. When Jared’s telling them, he’s interested.
Jared launches into another one to much giggling from his group of listeners. Jensen gets up and heads for the kitchen, making his way close enough to ‘accidentally’ bump into Jared. Jared doesn’t seem to notice. Jensen stumbles over an empty bottle in the kitchen doorway and almost cakes it right into the counter. He manages not to make a fool of himself, but laughter bursts out behind him and suddenly he’s not so sure. He’s too self-conscious to turn around and find out.
He’s got his hands on a cold bottle of Mike’s Hard Lemonade when he becomes aware of someone reading aloud. Jensen frowns, trying to get the bottle open with his shirt, until he recognizes the words all at once and drops the bottle into the sink. He races from the kitchen toward the sound, recognizing the voice as well, desperate not to see what he’s terrified he’ll-
Brock’s standing on the coffee table, book in hand, slurring derisively through every stanza. As he reads, his other hand swings wildly, slopping alcohol out of his glass all over the head of Katie Cassidy, who takes theater and looks this close to jumping up there and socking him in the face. Aldis has a hold on Katie’s arm. Everyone’s looking in the same direction. Jensen feels sick. That’s his grandma’s Byron, and that fuckwit is going to set it on fire or dump it in the toilet or something. The only reason it’s not soaked with liquor already is because he’s holding it close to his face, squinting to read the small print.
“‘It gave them virtues not their own, no ear so dull, no soul’ -Fucking hell, who the fuck reads this shit?” Brock crows, waving his drink around even more wildly.
“That’s Lord Byron, dumbfuck,” Misha states from his place near the table. His nose scrunches up like Brock is some gigantic cockroach. “Have some respect.”
Brock rounds on him, transferring the book to his other hand, and Jensen’s heart jags sideways at its proximity to the glass. “Fuck you, you little shit!”
Aldis lets go of Katie and reaches up, wrapping a hand around Brock’s arm. “Hey, man, get the hell down. You mess up the table, you’re paying for it.”
Everyone’s eyeing Brock with wary or irritated looks, but none of them are moving out of Jensen’s way, and if he doesn’t get that book away from Brock in the next nanosecond, he’s going to throw up. Seriously. He finally shoves between bodies to the foot of the table. “That’s my book, Kelly, give it up.”
Brock sneers at him and lifts the book, and his glass, higher. “Figures it’s the geek’s crap poetry. You-”
“Kelly, get the fuck down.” That’s Jared, suddenly on Jensen’s right, glaring up at Brock. He’s almost tall enough to make a jump, snatch the book. Brock sways and more alcohol sloshes out of the glass. Katie mutters something extremely profane and punches Brock in the thigh.
“You piece of shit, Kelly, now I smell like a fucking bar!”
Brock turns, possibly to dump the rest of his glass over her head, and in that moment, Jared leaps up and grabs for the book. He miscalculates, connects with Brock’s hand instead, and Brock lets go of what he’s holding with a shout. Everyone jumps back as the glass smashes down on the table and shatters. Jensen feels the flat side of a piece glance off his arm and he’s thankful it’s not sharp, but he’s only got eyes for his grandmother’s book. It has landed dangerously close to the puddle of beer spilling from a can Brock kicked over, and Jensen snatches it up, relief flooding him so fast he feels lightheaded.
Aldis wastes no time wrestling Brock down off the table, then hands him over to Tom and Mike. Jensen cradles his grandma’s Byron to his chest, too grateful to feel self-conscious about anything.
Jared’s frown fades to concern as he turns around. “Everybody okay? Anyone get cut?”
Everyone checks themselves, arms and legs, pawing at faces- including Jared. Jensen rubs at his cheeks and neck with his free hand and finds himself whole. He looks to Aldis, ready to throw down an absolute No Brock ultimatum, and finds Aldis staring at his chest.
“Jen…” Aldis trails off. His eyes are getting wider by the second.
Jensen frowns, feels someone grab his shoulder, and spins round to face Jared. Who is also staring at him like he’s grown another set of arms.
“What?” he says, reeling from the movement.
“Jensen?” Jared points down with his free hand. Jensen follows it with his eyes.
Fuck, there’s blood on his grandmother’s book. There’s- Jensen stares at the inside of his left arm, bright red and streaming from palm to elbow. “Uh,” he manages. Oh god, there’s a cut, a long one, he can see it sliced over his wrist and down his forearm and, oh god, there where the skin pulls right open, he can fucking see-
**
Jensen wakes up in a very white room. He blinks, feeling like he’s walked into a fog bank. The woman standing beside the bed leans over him and smiles.
“Hey there. You finally awake, honey?”
Jensen sits up gingerly. The woman’s in penguin scrubs and has latex gloves on. She takes his pulse and pats his shoulder, still smiling. “You saw some stuff you weren’t ready to see, I think.”
Jensen blinks again, takes in the rest of the room, and promptly remembers. He must turn some alarming shade because the nurse- she’s definitely a nurse and this is definitely a clinic of some sort- darts forward and steadies him with both hands. “Okay, honey,” she murmurs. “Deep breaths. In and out.”
“What-?” Jensen manages once he finds his voice.
The nurse taps his left hand gently. Jensen looks down and finds a large swath of white bandage around his hand and forearm. He stares at it as the nurse keeps talking. “You’re in the ER at Dominican Hospital. You have minor cuts on your palm and a nasty slice from the heel of your hand to midway up your forearm. Thirty stitches. It’s pretty impressive.”
Jensen nods, remembering what it was that… well, that must have made him pass out just from looking at it. He immediately wishes he could forget again. He reaches instinctively for his cell phone and finds that he’s wearing a hospital gown over his shirt and jeans. His pockets are empty.
“Please tell me you didn’t call my folks,” he breathes, and the nurse chuckles.
“Don’t worry.” She pats his arm. “You’re legally an adult. You can call them on your own. Meanwhile, your things are with your friends in the waiting room.”
“My…” Jensen turns toward the door as if he’ll magically be able to see them.
“I think you scared the daylights out of one or two of them.” She shook her head. Her smile turns fond. “The way they rushed in here…”
Jensen zones out a little trying to picture it. He’s got nothing but a complete blank from the moment he saw his injury until now. It occurs to him that the nurse is still talking.
“-patched you up and given you a shot of antibiotics. The doctor is sending you home with a prescription for the pain, but if your injuries show any signs of infection, we want you back in here immediately. Okay?”
He nods. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
**
He’s a little wobbly getting out to the waiting room, and the feeling doubles when Chris storms up to him, arms waving.
“Fucking fuck, Jenny!” Chris grabs him, relief and exasperation all over his face. “What the fuck?”
Jensen gapes at his best friend, and then looks past him to find Danneel wringing her hands. There are honest-to-god tear tracks down her face and she looks like he’s just punched her in the gut. She grabs him by the shoulders and yanks him out of Chris’ grip.
“Oh my god, I thought you were dead!” she sobs into his shirt. Which is probably still covered in blood. Jensen winces.
Behind her are Aldis, looking a good deal calmer, Misha, staring at him inscrutably, and Jared, who resembles a deer frozen in the headlights. Jared’s mouth keeps opening and closing without emitting sound. Jensen notices belatedly that his shirt is also streaked with blood.
Aldis is holding his cell phone in one hand. Jensen glares.
“You called Chris? And Danneel?”
Aldis shrugs. “They were numbers one and two on your speed dial.”
Danneel gives a fresh wail and clings to him like a monkey. Chris is still glowering at him, as if it’s entirely his fault.
“Man, it’s fucking wrong to get a fucking call in the fucking Burger King drive-thru telling me my best friend is fucking bleeding to death.”
Jensen groans. “Please stop cussing, Chris.”
Finally Danneel lets him peel her away from his now-soggy front. He raises his bandaged arm and all eyes follow it like it’s a fishing lure. “So… what happened?”
“Dude,” Misha pipes up. “You fainted. Right there on the floor.”
Jared jerks like he can’t help himself. “He didn’t faint. He saw the inside of his own arm and fucking passed out! You would have done the same.”
Misha shrugs and nods.
“I passed out.” Jensen tries it on for size. It’s still horribly embarrassing. “How… How did I get here?”
Aldis snorts, peering askance at Jared. “This guy,” he says, clapping a hand on Jared’s shoulder, “picked you up and took off running to my car. Damn, I knew there was a reason we kept him around.”
Jensen stares at Jared, along with Danneel, whose eyes are wider than he’s ever seen, and Chris, who is studying Jared with a new pucker to his mouth like he’s inspecting him for cracks. Jared, for his part, turns red and looks away. He actually scuffs his shoe on the floor, like a guilty child. “Just got you where you needed to be.”
Jared picked him up and basically carried him to safety. God, Jensen wishes he could have been conscious for that.
Of course, he probably would have fainted anyway as a direct result.
**
It takes Jensen all of two days to realize that it is physically impossible for him to play his guitar and piano. He can manage the vibraphone for a short time, but then it just hurts like hell and Jensen knows he’s going to pull his stitches if he keeps forcing it.
It’s devastating. Jensen isn’t expecting the depth of it when it hits.
He calls his folks and gives them a watered-down version of events so his mother won’t try to buy a ticket on the next red-eye to San Jose. She does anyway, and he ends up begging his dad to talk her down. It’s when he calls Josh that the reality of it becomes clear and he breaks down on the phone with his big brother.
“Jen, it’s okay,” Josh soothes. “They’ll let you retake the classes, don’t worry.”
“I had it all figured out,” Jensen manages between hitches. “Was gonna… gonna graduate in June. Stay in town, try to play in San Francisco.”
“You can still do that. Just a little later than you thought. You know Chris will wait for you.”
He’s not technically part of Chris’ band, but he knows all the songs because their base guitarist quit last spring and he filled in for a while. Now that he thinks about it, the new replacement must be Steve. It wouldn’t matter anyway; Chris wants to give him solo spots in between the band’s sets the next time they go to the Bay Area.
Jensen wipes his eyes. “I know. I know he will.”
Josh continues. “You didn’t cut any tendons, you didn’t screw up your fingers. Just gotta wait for the stitches to come out and the soreness to go away.”
Jensen knows it. It doesn’t make his immediate future any more bearable.
“Oh, by the way,” Josh continues. “Thanks for the book. Asshole.”
Jensen manages a smile. “I try.”
**
So now Jensen has tons of time to spend in the library. McHenry is way prettier than the Science Library, so Jensen goes there for walks in the woods and quiet contemplation over how not to dwell on his screwed up school year.
Turns out that Jared’s little cheerleader works on the second floor. She spots him and starts talking a mile a minute.
“Oh, hey, you’re Jared’s friend, right? He told me about your arm and the party, and I know Brock, too, god, that guy’s an ass. Did he ruin your book? I love Byron. How’s your arm? Jared said you’re a music major and you can’t play now because of that dickwad. Are you going to have to drop your classes? I hope not. I saw you play at a show with Kane last year and you’re really good! So you’re friends with the band? Their new bassist rocks. I hear they’re going to tour the coast from San Francisco to San Diego this summer. I hope you’re well enough to go with them. How’s it going?”
Wow. Jensen can’t even remember what was a question and what wasn’t. He does remember her talking about Jared, Jared telling her all about how he can’t play. Did he tell Jared that? He doesn’t think so. Maybe Aldis did.
Jensen tries to answer. “Are you two dating?” Oh my god.
Sandy- if that’s her name- blinks at him. “Uh, me and Jared? I don’t think so. He’s kind of out, you know?”
And then she’s looking at him. And grinning. And opening her mouth.
“I have to get going,” he wheezes before she can start. “I’ll, uh, see you around, Sandy. Your name’s Sandy, right?”
“Yep, Sandy McCoy. Hey, so are you and Jared-”
“Shit.” Jensen whips out his phone, which has not rung or buzzed or anything, and flips it open. “Sorry, I have to- I’ll see you. Bye.”
He rushes away talking to an imaginary person about imaginary raccoons in their imaginary dorm.
**
Chris calls him up on Saturday. “Hey, man. How’s your arm?”
“Hurts.” It really does. And when it doesn’t hurt, it itches.
“Steve quit the band.”
“What?”
“We had this huge fight. I swear, out of nowhere. Why did you tell Steve we’re dating?”
“I… didn’t?”
“Oh.” Chris is quiet for a moment. “Um, Jensen-”
“Yeah?”
Another pause. “Never mind. Well, okay, so I could be bi, right?”
“Uh.” Jensen thinks that when reality gets to Santa Cruz, California, it promptly goes out to sniff glue, he really does. One time a kid asked him for spare change in the middle of Pacific Avenue, citing his overwhelming urge to buy LSD. It’s kind of refreshing not to hear stories about needing gas for a car that doesn’t exist, but really? Really? “Yeah, I guess you could be.”
“And you didn’t tell him we’re together?”
“I didn’t tell him we’re together.”
“Huh. Okay, well, take it easy, man.”
“Yeah.”
Chris hangs up. Jensen wonders yet again if he should be putting money aside for therapy somewhere down the line.
**
Jensen and Danneel go to The Crepe Place for dinner. Danneel’s all dressed up, trying to catch the eye of one of the waiters. Jensen has already told her that going out with a guy in order to flirt with another guy isn’t the best way to bag your man, but whatever. Danneel lives a charmed life.
“Oh, there he is!” She smacks Jensen repeatedly on the arm until he threatens to stab her with his fork. “Okay, his name’s- quit it! God, Jensen. His name’s Matt. Oh my god, I love blonds.”
Matt comes over with their respective dinner crepes and Jensen does his best to look unattached while Danneel bats her eyes and laughs coquettishly when Matt asks if they want more drinks. The result is that Matt gives Jensen some pretty troubled looks for the rest of the night.
Finally, Jensen feigns heading for the men’s room and corners Matt in the hallway with his arms full of dirty dishes. Hey, he’s not brave on his own behalf, but for his friends? Jensen’s fucking Rambo.
“Hey, man, I’m not with her. If you’re wondering.”
Matt stares at him. He’s got those kind of blue eyes that make it hard to look at him for very long. “You’re not?”
Jensen shrugs. “Nah. Call me her wingman. Whatever. She really likes you. She’s single.”
Matt’s face breaks into a smile. “Really? You’re not just screwing with me, are you?”
“No.” Jensen shakes his head. “Girls aren’t really my type.”
“Ah.”
Jensen looks up and blushes. “I mean, I’m not hitting on you, too. She is. But I’m not. Not that you aren’t… hot… or anything. Okay, I’m stopping now.”
Matt grins. He shifts all the plates to one hand, somehow, and claps Jensen on the back. “Hey, no sweat, man. Thanks for the heads up. She’s really cute.”
Jensen nods, then fixes Matt with a frown. “So, yeah, if she cries because of you-”
Matt nods emphatically. “Hey, I’ll beat myself up if that happens. No worries.”
By the time Jensen pays the bill that night, Danneel has a surfing date with her boy. Jensen can’t resist the grin as she squeals and hugs him on their way out. He pulls her close and plants a kiss on her forehead.
And looks up to see Jared in the doorway, staring at them. He’s holding the door for Sandy, who comes in under his arm, chattering away, and Jensen goes cold down to his toes at the look on Jared’s face.
Danneel is aware enough to give them a chipper hello, arms still tight around Jensen’s waist. She kisses Jensen’s cheek, and then they’re past each other, Jared turning to watch them go. Jensen looks back, desperation clenching in his stomach, until Danneel pulls him around the corner to his car.
...
Part 2
Author: rurounihime
Pairing: J2, other minor het and slash pairings
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: AU, swearing, cameos by lots of people
Summary: The trouble is, Jensen’s sort of in love with a guy he’s never even spoken to. (otherwise known as the one where Jared plays Ultimate, Jensen appreciates slugs, and Santa Cruz is just weird.)
Disclaimer: None of these people belong to me. They have their own lives, and as far as I know, they have never done what I’ve written. I do not make money off of this. Title taken from “My Doorbell” by The White Stripes. All characters involved in adult activities are over 18.
A/N: As a proud alumnus of UC Santa Cruz (and Porter College), I just had to toss the boys into the mix. This is chock-full of fond, self-indulgent memories from my years there. I’ve included links to certain things so you can get a feel for the joint. ^__^
...
I'm Thinkin' About My Doorbell, part 1
“Alright. Best sex ever. Chad?”
Out in the living room, Chad laughs. “Elana Morrissey, last week. Every surface in the apartment, yo.”
Aldis snorts. “Remind me to never set foot in your apartment again. Mike?”
Jensen peers over the top of his book from where he’s sitting in his room. He can just see Mike’s bald head over the back of the couch. Mike spends so long counting on his fingers and muttering names that Aldis waves him off. “Damn, dude, never mind.”
Jensen drops his eyes back to the page he’s pretending to read and shakes his head. From what he’s heard about Mike, this turn of events is not surprising.
Tom says the name Jamie without even stopping to think, and everyone ribs him for being whipped by his girlfriend.
“Yeah, at least I have one,” Tom shoots back with a smug grin. “You all should be so lucky.”
Jared guffaws from the couch. Jensen scoots his chair a little closer to the doorway of his room. He’s got a straight shot into the living room like this.
Another guy goes, detailing a raunchy set of events that Jensen could have done without ever hearing. Chad gets in an argument with Tom about why being a ladies’ man beats out being strapped to one girl by a landslide. Jensen rolls his eyes and gets up to grab a coke from the kitchen. This fight will take several minutes to fizzle out, like it always does.
Except Aldis cuts them off while Jensen is still at the fridge. “Okay, okay, shut up. It’s the baby’s turn.”
A howl goes up from the group, and Jensen almost loses his grip on his soda can.
It’s Jared’s nickname, courtesy of Mike, because Jared’s the only sophomore to stick out the initial Ultimate try-outs. He’s also taller than all of them, even Tom and Aldis, but that hasn’t stopped the name from sticking.
Jensen listens with baited breath.
“Dudes,” Jared says with a short laugh. “I don’t kiss and tell. It’s rude.”
More ribbing. Jensen turns around. He has to see.
Jared’s grinning that half-grin of his, swaying as the guys jostle him back and forth.
“C’mon, Baby,” Chad wheedles, “you have had sex before, right?”
Jared straightens, looking at Chad through narrow eyes. “Yes, I have, you ass.”
Jensen grabs a plate from the drying rack, along with a towel, intent on looking occupied. He’s not sure if he wants an answer. He expected some girl’s name and now he’s got a big unknown.
“Hey, weren’t we heading to Saturn Cafe for burgers?” Aldis says, because Aldis is a peacemaker in a pinch.
Everyone forgets about Jared’s non-answer and starts clambering around for shoes and sweatshirts.
“Jen, wanna come with?” Aldis calls, craning his neck to look through the kitchen doorway.
Jensen turns. “Uh, no, I’m fine. Thanks.”
“Alright, see ya.”
They’re filing out the door. Jensen’s pulse hammers. “Hey, have fun!”
The door closes on a mix of responses. If Jared contributed, Jensen couldn’t tell.
**
The trouble is, Jensen’s sort of in love with a guy he’s never even spoken to.
Jensen’s not an idiot, and he is twenty-two years old: he knows it’s not real love or whatever, just a massive crush that has him completely discombobulated. It’s doubly intense because Jensen doesn’t even go for this guy’s type, and he doesn’t have a habit of going all teeny-bopper psycho over someone he’s never properly met. But this guy came out of nowhere and deep left field at the same time, and Jensen has no idea what the hell his brain is doing these days because of it, but honestly, never in his right mind would he have-
Okay, wait. Starting over.
**
Well, not over over, because the fact that Jensen Ross Ackles was born in Richardson, Texas with a perturbed pout on his face doesn’t matter at all at this juncture.
He doesn’t know how he scored a jock housemate this year. He was too busy to bother with off-campus housing- mostly because Santa Cruz’s housing market is pictured under “extortion” in the dictionary- and he was pretty clear on his accommodations application regarding what he was looking for in terms of housemates. But he and Aldis actually click.
Misha’s there, too, but that’s not the point.
The first two weeks, Aldis isn’t really around anyway because Ultimate is freaking hardcore: practices twice a day most of the time, even though it’s classed as a club sport. When Aldis comes home, he never leaves his sweaty clothing where Jensen can smell or see or trip over it, and he’s surprisingly fastidious in the shared kitchen and bathroom. (Misha is also fastidious, but his habits are way too bizarre for Jensen to get a handle on yet. Suffice it to say that when Misha does come out of his room, Jensen prepares for brief and startling upheaval.) Jensen and Aldis both have baby sisters who they just don’t get, and Aldis understands the whole “yes, sweety, that sounds like a great hobby, but are you sure that’s what you want to do with your life?” approach on the part of their respective parents, who want their sons to be doctors, not professional musicians. With Aldis, it’s doctors versus philosophers, but yeah: the guy gets it.
Jensen only plays his guitar- and his piano and his rented vibraphone- during the afternoons while Aldis is at Ultimate practice, and saves his quiet homework for later in the evening because Aldis has a shitload of huge texts by Marx and Kant and Foucault and Thoreau stacked on the coffee table, and no one wants to face those guys while listening to someone picking out an A-flat diminished chord fifty times in a row in the next room.
(Again, he has no idea when or how Misha leaves or returns home. He’s never witnessed either scenario.)
But Jensen’s a considerate guy. So he’s a little pissed off when the Thursday night before his first exam in Japanese 4 finds extra guys in Aldis’ room laughing their asses off at the tops of their collective lungs.
It’s eleven-fucking-thirty. He’s got a class at eight AM (because it makes so much sense to schedule classes involving foreign insults, quadratic equations, and Bunsen burners before anyone is actually alert, but whatever).
Jensen stumbles out of bed and stomps into the hall, cursing jocks in general and Ultimate Frisbee players specifically as he makes for the kitchen. (Alright, it’s a stupid set up for an apartment, with the kitchen between their two rooms. Jensen’s heard that this bank of apartments was designed by the architecture majors at Kresge College, so there you go.)
There’s someone at the sink. Jensen flips on the light and nearly goes blind at the sudden flare. When he can see again, he finds himself across the room from a guy wearing a dark blue banana slug shirt and holding a glass of water in one hand.
Dude’s really tall. Jensen blinks and rubs his face right as Aldis’ room erupts in raucous guffaws. Jensen gets angry all over again and opens his mouth to cuss the guy into oblivion just for existing. But in that same second, the guy glances at Aldis’ door and winces visibly.
It’s enough. Jensen cools down so rapidly he sways on his feet. It’s really bright. That’s when it occurs to him that this guy didn’t even switch on the light to get his water. Jensen’s brain turns itself up one more notch, to the level of meeting unexpected politeness with equal civility.
“Sorry, I…” The guy gestures at his drink and rakes a hand through his hair. He’s disheveled, probably here straight from practice, whenever that was. “Needed some water. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Dude’s really tall. His hair is longish and his face is- yeah, very nice. Jensen shakes his head. “You didn’t. They did.”
The guy cringes again and puts his glass down on the counter with a little bang. He’s… jeez, he’s good looking. Muscle tone and wiry frame and big, unassuming eyes.
“Look.” Jensen coughs. “I have an exam in Japanese tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” the guy breaks in, “yeah. I’m so sorry, I’ll shut them up, man, I swear.”
And he leaves the kitchen, just like that. Jensen hears him cut through the chatter in Aldis’ room, and things immediately go quiet. Jensen’s left with the memory of a deep voice.
He hits the light switch and makes his way back to his room. Halfway to bed, Jensen realizes just how hot that guy was, how Jensen was in the same room with him, and god, his eyes.
What?
**
So maybe they have actually spoken. It doesn’t count, though, because Jensen doesn’t know if he was truly all that polite in the end, and he’s still in the dark about the guy’s name.
He just knows that he likes him. A lot. He hasn’t had this sort of reaction since the day he saw Danneel Harris for the first time on the playground and chased her until she wheeled back and kicked him in the shins.
**
He sees the guy everywhere after that, because he’s slightly insane. Obviously. Most of the time it’s not the same guy at all: too short, not buff enough, playing on the soccer team instead of on the Ultimate team, actually a really boyish-looking girl… etcetera. Jensen goes to class like normal, skirting his way around froshies who have taken it upon themselves to escort wayward banana slugs off the footpath into the bushes.
Man. Only in Santa Cruz.
He gets into the groove of knowing he’s got a thing for a guy while not being in a position to do anything about it, just enjoying the experience of tumbling head over heels for another person, whom he will probably never see again. It’s nice. Makes him feel warm and snuggly, and that’s pretty handy when the fog blows in from Monterey Bay at night and makes him shiver from the inside out.
But Aldis has another mini-soiree, and Jensen finds the guy in his house once again. Smiling. Laughing. Sitting there looking totally relaxed and gorgeous.
He eavesdrops long enough to determine (through the process of elimination) that the guy goes by the moniker of Jared, mostly because Chad is the whacked out one who acts like he’s constantly high, and Jensen knows Mike and Tom already from Classic Mythology 301, sophomore year. So now he has a name to go with a face. It doesn’t exactly make his situation easier.
It rains, hard, in early October. Jensen is moving his car. He’s got a pass for the main lot, but he’s been parking over at Oakes on the weekends because they never monitor it, and it’s closer to his Saturday class- yes, he is taking a Saturday class. So sue him. He’s a responsible, dedicated fourth-year music major, so there.
At any rate, he’s taking his car across the top of the hill and down toward the main lot so he doesn’t get ticketed, hoping he’s got his umbrella with him so he can wait for the shuttle back to Porter in comfort. And there, standing at the Science Hill bus stop, is Jared. He’s drenched. Completely soaking. Honest, Jensen can see the water sluicing down his face and arms from where he’s paused at the stop sign. It’s not a cold rain- never really a cold rain- but it’s a heavy one, and Jared’s dressed in shorts and a tank top, with a measly hoodie that’s already dripping.
Jensen needs to not think about this. He flicks his turn signal on before he can find a reason not to, and then he has to follow through. Because other drivers will get mad if he doesn’t. Never mind that there are no other cars on the road right now.
The rain’s coming down so hard it’s difficult to see through the windows. Jensen has to flop over the parking brake in an ungainly fashion because his windows aren’t automatic.
“Hey,” he calls once the passenger-side window is sufficiently lowered.
There’s a second’s pause, then Jared bends down to look through the open window. Which is getting a crapload of rain all over the passenger seat. So that’s fun.
Jared’s eyes widen. “Hey, uh…”
“Jensen,” Jensen supplies. He clears his throat. “We haven’t really met. I live with Aldis Hodge?”
“Right.” Jared’s expression clears. “Hey, again.”
“Look, you want a ride? I saw you and… it’s brutal out there.” He can’t believe he’s actually getting the words out coherently.
Jared glances around, then frowns down at Jensen. “Are you sure? I mean, I’m soaked. I’ll mess up your seat.”
Jensen snorts and tries not to blush. “Nah. These seats are old. Gives them more character. Besides, that one’s already wet.”
Jared takes another second, then opens the door and scrambles inside the car. He immediately cranks the window up. “Thanks. So much, man, you have no idea.”
Jensen almost forgets to check his side mirror before easing out onto the road again. “It’s no problem. I mean, I’ve got a car. Might as well use my super power for good, right?”
It sounds so dorky, but Jared laughs. “I envy you, believe me.”
“You and the rest of Aldis’ friends,” Jensen quips. Jared chuckles, and it’s a little awkward after that. Jensen grips the wheel. “So, uh. Where to?”
“I’m at Stevenson,” Jared answers. Another difference; maybe Jensen’s got his head in the sand, but all the other jocks he’s met are at College 8. Well, besides Aldis.
“Porter,” Jensen says, and then feels like an idiot. Duh. Jared’s been to their place.
“Yeah,” Jared says with another small laugh.
It’s not a long drive to Stevenson from Science Hill, but it feels like it’s twenty miles. Jensen is very aware of Jared dripping all over the passenger side of the car, the way the water glistens on his wrists and runs in rivulets under the collar of his hoodie.
“Porter Run should be taking off,” Jensen says without thinking, and Jared perks up.
“So that’s actually true?” he asks. “Damn, I thought Aldis was just fucking with me!”
Jensen grins. “Nope. First rain of the school year. Beware of naked people in the woods.”
They’re already at Stevenson Circle. Jensen pulls to a stop and drops the stick into neutral.
“But you’re not participating.” It’s a statement, and Jared stares at him as he says it. Jensen has to think for a moment before-
“Oh. No, I’m purely a spectator.” Okay, that sounds so wrong. Jensen kind of wants to smack his head on the windshield.
But Jared just shrugs. “Good. I was afraid it was required or something.”
“No, but…” Jensen hedges, then decides to go for it. “The Cowell and Stevenson folks have been known to join in.”
Jared laughs for real, and his face lights up in a way Jensen hasn’t seen yet. “Think I’ll pass. Hey, man, thanks for the ride. Really. You’re a lifesaver.”
He opens the door and gets out into the rain, then leans back into the car. “You should come see one of our games. We’ve got a tournament this weekend. I bet Aldis would love a cheering section.”
“I’m not really that into sports.” Dumb. So dumb. Holy hell, Jensen is a loser.
Jared smiles awkwardly. “Oh. Well… Still. We’re gonna kick some ass. So I hear.”
Jensen smiles back. “Okay. I’ll see what I’ve got going on.”
“Cool.” Jared grins, then straightens with a wave, and shuts the door. Jensen watches him jog toward the buildings, until he disappears around a corner.
**
Jensen goes to the tournament on Friday afternoon. And then again on Sunday. The Slugs are still in the thick of it by the third day, so Jensen assumes they must be pretty good, but he really has no idea what’s going on other than that the game involves a Frisbee and the whole point is similar to football. He thought it would be easy to pick up just by sitting on the grass and watching, but he’s sort of distracted. A little.
(Though it might just be him. When Jensen did a quarter abroad in London, he and his housemates watched a whole hour of cricket and were no closer to understanding it at the end than they’d been when they first turned the TV on. They cheered like mad, regardless.)
Jared’s on the field a lot. He flips the Frisbee with great accuracy every time: underhand, overhand, even in a spike. Jensen’s breath catches often; he claps when the other observers clap and cheers when the Slugs score a touchdown. He doesn’t care if they actually call it that; it looks like a football touchdown, so that’s what he’s calling it.
The next time Jared gets the Frisbee, though, he’s straight-up tackled by a big guy on the other team. Jensen’s pretty sure that’s not supposed to happen, mostly because no one else has been slamming other players into the dirt. He looks on worriedly as the sports doc checks Jared out where he’s sitting on the ground, and after a minute, Jared gets to his feet and wobbles off the field. Jensen’s sigh of relief is cut short by an enthusiastic shout to his right.
“Yeah, Jared! Woohoo! Nice faceplant!”
There’s a tiny, beautiful girl jumping up and down, her dark hair in braids, wearing a smile so wide it’s a wonder her face can contain it all. Jared laughs and gives her a wave. She pumps her fist and claps as the ref gives Aldis the penalty throw.
When the game’s over, Jared leaves his teammates and grabs his personal cheerleader in a hug that lifts her right off the ground. Jensen looks away until they’re done, and by then Aldis is clapping him on the back and expressing his surprise that Jensen’s there.
“Hey, we’re going downtown for dinner after the last game,” Aldis announces. “Pizza My Heart. You want in?”
Jensen likes any excuse to go to Pizza My Heart. He’s slowly collecting shirts for his extended family and, apparently, all of his sister’s friends. “Yeah, sounds good.”
**
But he’s not exactly an athlete, and when they all finally get crammed into three booths, Jensen feels out of his element. He’s next to the cheerleader girl; she’s nice and she talks a lot, even if Jensen doesn’t really hold up well in conversations with people he’s just met. He’s good at watching others, though, and takes his cues from the group for an hour before he feels like his presence is basically going unnoticed.
That’s okay. It’s the perfect opportunity to pick up a copy of Fuck This Book. His friend Chris has been raving non-stop about the website, and Jensen’s dying to get his hands on one for Josh. He can just imagine his older brother’s face when guests visit his lovely little suburban bungalow and pick up Fuck This Book from his coffee table. Jensen’s not even going to give it to Josh. He’s just going to slip it under some magazines next time he visits.
He’s telling Josh’s fiancée Gloria, though, because she’ll totally take photos and put them on Flickr.
He lets Aldis know he’s heading down the street to buy a book and squeezes out of the booth. Outside, the air is cool and smells heavily of the ocean. There are a lot of people downtown tonight. A show is just getting out at the Del Mar and Jensen crosses the street to avoid the crowd.
The book’s at Camouflage. Jensen’s only been in a couple times (he doesn’t really wear lacy panties or have the need to buy a boa, after all) but the salesgirls are laid back like they’ve seen everything under the sun, and they probably have. Plus, Camouflage has awesome costumes around Halloween. Chris said the book is in the back room, and Jensen would normally feel weird surrounded by studded dildos and bins of vagina lollipops, except there are people heading in and out of the room in droves, so it’s not like anyone’s staring.
He finds the book immediately: easy to spot something that’s atomic pink. The salesgirl laughs out loud and praises his choice when he sets it on the counter, then slides it into a discreet black bag and rings him up.
“Free condoms this month,” she says cheerfully, pointing at a bin that looks like it tumbled out of Candyland. Jensen grabs a handful to appease her and heads out. He’s in the midst of cramming them into his pocket when he gets to the front door, and slithers out while a girl holds it open for her friends. He folds the top of the bag over, turns back in the direction of Pizza My Heart, and comes face to face with Jared.
Whose eyebrows are very high on his forehead. He’s also got a bag in his hands, but it plainly says Pacific Cookie Company on it, while Jensen’s basically declares Hi, I’m Chock Full of Filthy Sex Toys, How Are You?
“They sell books,” Jensen blurts out. He lifts the bag, then thinks better of it and tries to hide it instead. Jared glances up at the Camouflage storefront and all the acid green teddies on display. The rest of the group is lagging behind, laughing as they walk.
Jared shrugs. “Yeah, I know. I come here with Sandy a lot.”
Is Sandy that tiny cheerleader? Jensen’s stomach flips a little. She probably wears a really small and adorable lingerie size.
Jared holds out his bag. “Want a cookie? I got Lemon Drops, Mint Conditions, Cahootz and Snickerdoodles.”
“Uh, I’ll take a Lemon Drop. Please.”
Jared roots around, retrieves a cookie, and passes it to Jensen. Jensen’s so frazzled by the ongoing presence of his discreet black bag that he doesn’t realize until afterward that Jared’s fingers touched his.
**
Jensen stays in his room for the next two weeks. Well, not really, because he showers and eats and goes to class like a good son who doesn’t want to piss off his parents. But when he’s not in those places doing necessary things, he keeps the door shut and tries not to think about opening it and discovering that Jared happens to be in the apartment again.
The black bag sits under his bed, and every time Jensen thinks about it, he gets hot all over. Not in a good way.
Never mind what Jared must think about his kinky purchasing habits; Jared basically admitted to frequenting a dirty toys and sexy clothing shop with a girl who could possibly be his girlfriend. Which means they’re close. Which means they’re intimate, because Jensen knows he’d never dream of buying unmentionables with someone unless he was comfortable enough to be laughed at by said individual.
Jensen knows that if he hangs around near Jared, he’ll spend the whole time flushed, tongue tied, and disappointed. Better just to hide. Because Jensen is a mature, rational adult. Sure thing.
It so happens that he has a music final coming up- the damn quarters go by like that- and part of it is an in-class performance of an original composition. He’s not sure which instrument he’s going to use for the test, so he spends a day transposing the piano music for the guitar, and then again into a different key for the vibraphone just because he can.
Really, sheet music is cake mix to him. He sometimes has trouble duplicating music by ear alone, but he was taught to read music and he’s got this down.
As soon as he plays it once on the guitar, though, he knows that’s his instrument for the test. He tried for a Spanish flavor while composing, and that fits best with strings under his fingers instead of keys or mallets.
He’s got his performance down well enough to start playing around with it about two days before his test. It’s oddly hot for Santa Cruz, but then, Santa Cruz is just odd in general, so the heat isn’t really weird. It’s actually… normal. Because in Santa Cruz, normal is weird.
Whatever. Santa Cruz has pretty much redefined the word “weird” for Jensen in a million different ways since he got here.
He’s got his window open and his door propped wide for a little cross breeze, and he’s thinking about heading down to the quad to play outside under the wisteria once he’s through with this round. It’ll be nice to hear the notes outside the confines of his walls, and it won’t be too hot in the shade. Maybe he’ll walk down the hill and climb up on the Squiggle, if he can keep from dropping his guitar while he does it, and then afterward, he can get a Thai chicken wrap at the Hungry Slug.
Jensen’s lost in a cascade of notes, fingers racing over frets, building and building to the finale. He’s got that high he gets when he hits every single note right at the perfect tempo. The tune swells and rolls, and Jensen rocks with it, eyes shut, not feeling like he’s making the music at all but just flowing through it. It already exists, and he’s there, and it’s perfect.
The final note echoes out until it’s faded completely away, and Jensen breathes deep. Lets it out.
A tapping sound comes from behind. Jensen turns and nearly drops his guitar.
Jared’s standing in his hallway with one hand on the doorframe. “Hey.”
Jensen swallows, holding onto the neck of his guitar for dear life. “Hi. Uh. What…?”
Jared’s cheeks redden. “Sorry, your front door was open. Open open, I mean, not just- Uh, is… Aldis here?”
It takes him a few seconds to process; Jared obviously makes Jensen’s brain slow down to a slug’s pace. “I don’t think so. I mean, I haven’t heard him in a while. But then, I’m sort of buried in my music, and I’m not exactly cognizant of the world at large when- um.”
God, he is so hopeless.
Jared shifts his weight and nods. “That sounded really good.”
“I… Thanks.”
Jared’s in board shorts and a tank top. It’s a tight tank top, and it defines his muscles in a very particular way. Jensen casts around for something sophisticated to say. “Uh, you can wait here for him if you-”
“No, that’s-” Jared straightens up and shoves his hands in his pockets. His cheeks are still pink. “I mean, I should actually be somewhere, so…”
He gestures down the hall toward the front door. Jensen nods.
“I can tell him you were here.”
Jared clears his throat and flashes a smile. “Yeah, thanks. See ya.”
Jensen stands there in the middle of his room, trying not to cringe at the fact that Jared doesn’t want to wait in the apartment. Probably he’d rather not listen when Jensen inevitably starts babbling again. And Jensen doesn’t even want to think about how long Jared stood there watching him play.
**
Despite Jensen’s befuddled state, his final goes incredibly well. One of the other guitar players, a guy named Steve, starts jamming with him after the rest of the class clears out. They sound really good together. Jensen mentions that Steve ought to meet his friend Chris, and it turns out they already know each other through Chris’ band, Kane. It’s the way Steve’s face sort of flushes at the mention of Chris that makes Jensen ‘remember’ about a meeting he’s got.
“Wait, so you’re Jenny?” Steve calls in a slightly high voice as Jensen pulls the door open. “I mean- shit, sorry.”
“It’s okay. Chris likes to pretend it still bugs me. I just let him.” Dude, is there an off button somewhere that he could press? That would be really helpful.
Steve looks at him for a moment. “He talks about you all the time.”
Jensen nods awkwardly. They’ve been best friends since high school. But Chris has never really mentioned Steve to Jensen and now he’s not sure what it all means.
It’s almost a relief to get back to Dallas where he can just shut off his school side for an entire four weeks.
It’s a pretty nice Christmas, same as it usually is, with lots of cocoa and candy canes, and Mackenzie squealing and jumping on Jensen when he gets off the plane, when he opens her present, when he comes downstairs to breakfast in the morning, when he turns around, for god’s sake. It’s a good thing she’s so cute.
Jensen’s mom spends her time looking at him in that wistful, proud way moms with kids in college look, and hugging him tightly whenever she can. Jensen’s dad treats him and Josh to two all-nighters of classic action films in their den, complete with popcorn and chips and soda and enough candy to make them throw up. And Josh gets him a really nice hard leather guitar case for when he travels.
But the cherry on top comes when he and Gloria exchange winks over the bright pink book he smuggles into her bag during their goodbye hug just before New Years.
**
He comes back to San Jose on the same flight as Danneel, and they push and shove their way onto the bus heading over Highway 17 into Santa Cruz. It’s pretty late when they make it to their respective homes, and Jensen finds a present from Aldis outside his door. He grins and hangs the brand new sports bag he bought for his housemate over Aldis’ door knob.
After a good minute of consideration, he decides not to put Misha’s gift out until he’s back in town. Jensen doesn’t really think the bags and bags of Sour Patch Kids would last all that long out in the hallway of their apartment.
**
There aren’t too many kids out on the quad the day before class starts. Jensen takes his guitar with him in the morning and picks his way through some Nine Inch Nails, some John Lee Hooker, and a few classical pieces by Rachmaninoff and Satie. The afternoon is nice, not too chilly, no cloud cover. Every breath Jensen takes is fresh with the sea.
He’s just finishing the Gymnopédies when he senses he’s got an audience. Jared’s standing on the same set of steps several yards away, nearly out of his line of sight. Jensen jumps and loses the rhythm.
“Sorry,” Jared says, lifting a hand. “Didn’t mean to mess you up.”
Jensen shakes his head. “No, it’s… I’m just screwing around.”
Jared walks over and takes a seat on the steps next to him. Not all that close, but if anyone walked by, there’d be no question that they’re sitting together. Jared’s in track shorts and a blue t-shirt. He looks like he’s been running.
“That’s pretty damn good for just screwing around.” Jared smiles, eyes flicking up to Jensen’s face.
Jensen swallows and strums a quick chord progression to keep his jittery fingers occupied. “Thanks.”
“Music major?”
“Yeah.”
Jared leans back on both arms, turning his face to the sun. “Man, that’s awesome. I can’t play an instrument to save my life.”
“Yeah, well.” Jensen keeps himself from staring. “I can’t score a goal to save my life, so…”
Jared laughs. They sit in the sunlight for a few minutes, and Jensen pokes through a melody he’s been tinkering with.
“You know any Traffic?”
Jensen looks up. “Uh… John Barleycorn, yeah.”
The grin Jared gives him is stunning. “My dad loves that one.”
Jensen sets his fingers. “Do you?”
Jared’s grin shrinks to a smirk. “It’s Traffic, man. Goes without saying.”
Jensen starts in on the delicate opening notes. Jared doesn’t say a thing the entire way through the song. Partway through, Jensen forgets he’s not alone and sings a few words, but Jared moves in the corner of his eye and Jensen shuts his mouth.
At the end of the song, he finds Jared studying him from behind his sunglasses.
“Dude. You sing, too?”
Jensen can feel his face going hot again. “Yeah.”
“You sound good.”
Jensen shrugs and shakes his head. Launches into Norwegian Wood. It’s almost an hour before Jared gets up and says goodbye.
**
A few weeks into the quarter, Aldis suggests they host a party. Jensen’s totally cool with it. Really, he is. He’s never been averse to parties, just to stupid people. Granted, parties often set the stage for stupid people, but for some reason, he’s even less bothered by the idea of having people over lately. He doesn’t know why that would be. Oh, no.
On the chosen night, the apartment’s got a pretty good group going when the door opens, Brock Kelly walks in, and Jensen’s mood hits the floor with a thud.
God, he hates Brock. The guy is such an ass. After that first time when two dozen eggs ended up splattered all over their kitchen, Aldis swore he’d never invite him to another party again.
Brock came to two successive parties after that.
The thing is, Jensen doesn’t think Aldis did invite him again. Somehow, Brock always figures out when they’re throwing some shindig- Jensen suspects it’s because Chad can’t keep his big fat annoying mouth shut- and shows up. And starts drinking immediately. Once he’s drunk, he kicks up such a fuss when anyone tries to boot him out that Aldis and Jensen decided it’s safer just to ignore him. Try to have fun anyway, and keep the bastard out of the fucking kitchen.
But Jensen isn’t in the mood tonight. He’s missing the first edition reprint of Lord Byron’s Poetry that his grandmother loaned to him for his studies, and even the mad cleanup in preparation for tonight hadn’t revealed its whereabouts. He knows he didn’t take it out of the apartment- he would never- so it’s completely illogical that it’s gone. Not to mention that Chris has to work tonight and Danneel isn’t feeling well, so they aren’t coming. Steve, who Jensen has another class with this quarter, was also invited but is visiting his folks in Palo Alto. Jensen’s still reeling from the nerves of today’s in-class essay test. He just wanted to fucking relax tonight, kick back and maybe try to talk to Jared a little. Except even that’s screwed up because it’s an hour in and Jared still hasn’t shown his face. Jensen decides, fuck it all, they don’t pay him enough for this. He’s just going to lock himself in his room, watch a damn movie, and overturn everything he owns until he finds his grandma’s Byron.
He’s halfway there, gritting his teeth while Brock shouts tasteless jokes, when the door opens again and Jared walks in, carrying two cases of Fosters. Aldis sends up a jovial “Yo! My man!” And now Jensen doesn’t know what to do.
He ends up on the couch in the thick of things, with a beer in his hand and one eye on Jared as the guy makes his way through the front room, greeting everyone he meets.
Eventually, the crowd grows enough that Brock no longer monopolizes everyone’s attention. Aldis has Guitar Hero out and is getting thoroughly trounced by a PoliSci major named Alona. Someone’s singing Dylan in the kitchen, and even Misha has emerged from his room to tell stories that require a lot of gesturing and the use of multiple accents. He’s doing better in the socializing department than Jensen, who is still nursing his first beer on the couch. He hates beer. The taste clings to his throat like saran wrap, but he gets more flak when he doesn’t drink at all than when he nurses a single can all night. He can hear Jared’s laugh just behind him, close enough that Jensen’s feeling both alert and content as hell. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying himself at all. If only Jared would wander over and sit down next to him, just talk to him for a couple minutes. He’d listen to Jared’s Ultimate stories. He’s interested. When Jared’s telling them, he’s interested.
Jared launches into another one to much giggling from his group of listeners. Jensen gets up and heads for the kitchen, making his way close enough to ‘accidentally’ bump into Jared. Jared doesn’t seem to notice. Jensen stumbles over an empty bottle in the kitchen doorway and almost cakes it right into the counter. He manages not to make a fool of himself, but laughter bursts out behind him and suddenly he’s not so sure. He’s too self-conscious to turn around and find out.
He’s got his hands on a cold bottle of Mike’s Hard Lemonade when he becomes aware of someone reading aloud. Jensen frowns, trying to get the bottle open with his shirt, until he recognizes the words all at once and drops the bottle into the sink. He races from the kitchen toward the sound, recognizing the voice as well, desperate not to see what he’s terrified he’ll-
Brock’s standing on the coffee table, book in hand, slurring derisively through every stanza. As he reads, his other hand swings wildly, slopping alcohol out of his glass all over the head of Katie Cassidy, who takes theater and looks this close to jumping up there and socking him in the face. Aldis has a hold on Katie’s arm. Everyone’s looking in the same direction. Jensen feels sick. That’s his grandma’s Byron, and that fuckwit is going to set it on fire or dump it in the toilet or something. The only reason it’s not soaked with liquor already is because he’s holding it close to his face, squinting to read the small print.
“‘It gave them virtues not their own, no ear so dull, no soul’ -Fucking hell, who the fuck reads this shit?” Brock crows, waving his drink around even more wildly.
“That’s Lord Byron, dumbfuck,” Misha states from his place near the table. His nose scrunches up like Brock is some gigantic cockroach. “Have some respect.”
Brock rounds on him, transferring the book to his other hand, and Jensen’s heart jags sideways at its proximity to the glass. “Fuck you, you little shit!”
Aldis lets go of Katie and reaches up, wrapping a hand around Brock’s arm. “Hey, man, get the hell down. You mess up the table, you’re paying for it.”
Everyone’s eyeing Brock with wary or irritated looks, but none of them are moving out of Jensen’s way, and if he doesn’t get that book away from Brock in the next nanosecond, he’s going to throw up. Seriously. He finally shoves between bodies to the foot of the table. “That’s my book, Kelly, give it up.”
Brock sneers at him and lifts the book, and his glass, higher. “Figures it’s the geek’s crap poetry. You-”
“Kelly, get the fuck down.” That’s Jared, suddenly on Jensen’s right, glaring up at Brock. He’s almost tall enough to make a jump, snatch the book. Brock sways and more alcohol sloshes out of the glass. Katie mutters something extremely profane and punches Brock in the thigh.
“You piece of shit, Kelly, now I smell like a fucking bar!”
Brock turns, possibly to dump the rest of his glass over her head, and in that moment, Jared leaps up and grabs for the book. He miscalculates, connects with Brock’s hand instead, and Brock lets go of what he’s holding with a shout. Everyone jumps back as the glass smashes down on the table and shatters. Jensen feels the flat side of a piece glance off his arm and he’s thankful it’s not sharp, but he’s only got eyes for his grandmother’s book. It has landed dangerously close to the puddle of beer spilling from a can Brock kicked over, and Jensen snatches it up, relief flooding him so fast he feels lightheaded.
Aldis wastes no time wrestling Brock down off the table, then hands him over to Tom and Mike. Jensen cradles his grandma’s Byron to his chest, too grateful to feel self-conscious about anything.
Jared’s frown fades to concern as he turns around. “Everybody okay? Anyone get cut?”
Everyone checks themselves, arms and legs, pawing at faces- including Jared. Jensen rubs at his cheeks and neck with his free hand and finds himself whole. He looks to Aldis, ready to throw down an absolute No Brock ultimatum, and finds Aldis staring at his chest.
“Jen…” Aldis trails off. His eyes are getting wider by the second.
Jensen frowns, feels someone grab his shoulder, and spins round to face Jared. Who is also staring at him like he’s grown another set of arms.
“What?” he says, reeling from the movement.
“Jensen?” Jared points down with his free hand. Jensen follows it with his eyes.
Fuck, there’s blood on his grandmother’s book. There’s- Jensen stares at the inside of his left arm, bright red and streaming from palm to elbow. “Uh,” he manages. Oh god, there’s a cut, a long one, he can see it sliced over his wrist and down his forearm and, oh god, there where the skin pulls right open, he can fucking see-
**
Jensen wakes up in a very white room. He blinks, feeling like he’s walked into a fog bank. The woman standing beside the bed leans over him and smiles.
“Hey there. You finally awake, honey?”
Jensen sits up gingerly. The woman’s in penguin scrubs and has latex gloves on. She takes his pulse and pats his shoulder, still smiling. “You saw some stuff you weren’t ready to see, I think.”
Jensen blinks again, takes in the rest of the room, and promptly remembers. He must turn some alarming shade because the nurse- she’s definitely a nurse and this is definitely a clinic of some sort- darts forward and steadies him with both hands. “Okay, honey,” she murmurs. “Deep breaths. In and out.”
“What-?” Jensen manages once he finds his voice.
The nurse taps his left hand gently. Jensen looks down and finds a large swath of white bandage around his hand and forearm. He stares at it as the nurse keeps talking. “You’re in the ER at Dominican Hospital. You have minor cuts on your palm and a nasty slice from the heel of your hand to midway up your forearm. Thirty stitches. It’s pretty impressive.”
Jensen nods, remembering what it was that… well, that must have made him pass out just from looking at it. He immediately wishes he could forget again. He reaches instinctively for his cell phone and finds that he’s wearing a hospital gown over his shirt and jeans. His pockets are empty.
“Please tell me you didn’t call my folks,” he breathes, and the nurse chuckles.
“Don’t worry.” She pats his arm. “You’re legally an adult. You can call them on your own. Meanwhile, your things are with your friends in the waiting room.”
“My…” Jensen turns toward the door as if he’ll magically be able to see them.
“I think you scared the daylights out of one or two of them.” She shook her head. Her smile turns fond. “The way they rushed in here…”
Jensen zones out a little trying to picture it. He’s got nothing but a complete blank from the moment he saw his injury until now. It occurs to him that the nurse is still talking.
“-patched you up and given you a shot of antibiotics. The doctor is sending you home with a prescription for the pain, but if your injuries show any signs of infection, we want you back in here immediately. Okay?”
He nods. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”
**
He’s a little wobbly getting out to the waiting room, and the feeling doubles when Chris storms up to him, arms waving.
“Fucking fuck, Jenny!” Chris grabs him, relief and exasperation all over his face. “What the fuck?”
Jensen gapes at his best friend, and then looks past him to find Danneel wringing her hands. There are honest-to-god tear tracks down her face and she looks like he’s just punched her in the gut. She grabs him by the shoulders and yanks him out of Chris’ grip.
“Oh my god, I thought you were dead!” she sobs into his shirt. Which is probably still covered in blood. Jensen winces.
Behind her are Aldis, looking a good deal calmer, Misha, staring at him inscrutably, and Jared, who resembles a deer frozen in the headlights. Jared’s mouth keeps opening and closing without emitting sound. Jensen notices belatedly that his shirt is also streaked with blood.
Aldis is holding his cell phone in one hand. Jensen glares.
“You called Chris? And Danneel?”
Aldis shrugs. “They were numbers one and two on your speed dial.”
Danneel gives a fresh wail and clings to him like a monkey. Chris is still glowering at him, as if it’s entirely his fault.
“Man, it’s fucking wrong to get a fucking call in the fucking Burger King drive-thru telling me my best friend is fucking bleeding to death.”
Jensen groans. “Please stop cussing, Chris.”
Finally Danneel lets him peel her away from his now-soggy front. He raises his bandaged arm and all eyes follow it like it’s a fishing lure. “So… what happened?”
“Dude,” Misha pipes up. “You fainted. Right there on the floor.”
Jared jerks like he can’t help himself. “He didn’t faint. He saw the inside of his own arm and fucking passed out! You would have done the same.”
Misha shrugs and nods.
“I passed out.” Jensen tries it on for size. It’s still horribly embarrassing. “How… How did I get here?”
Aldis snorts, peering askance at Jared. “This guy,” he says, clapping a hand on Jared’s shoulder, “picked you up and took off running to my car. Damn, I knew there was a reason we kept him around.”
Jensen stares at Jared, along with Danneel, whose eyes are wider than he’s ever seen, and Chris, who is studying Jared with a new pucker to his mouth like he’s inspecting him for cracks. Jared, for his part, turns red and looks away. He actually scuffs his shoe on the floor, like a guilty child. “Just got you where you needed to be.”
Jared picked him up and basically carried him to safety. God, Jensen wishes he could have been conscious for that.
Of course, he probably would have fainted anyway as a direct result.
**
It takes Jensen all of two days to realize that it is physically impossible for him to play his guitar and piano. He can manage the vibraphone for a short time, but then it just hurts like hell and Jensen knows he’s going to pull his stitches if he keeps forcing it.
It’s devastating. Jensen isn’t expecting the depth of it when it hits.
He calls his folks and gives them a watered-down version of events so his mother won’t try to buy a ticket on the next red-eye to San Jose. She does anyway, and he ends up begging his dad to talk her down. It’s when he calls Josh that the reality of it becomes clear and he breaks down on the phone with his big brother.
“Jen, it’s okay,” Josh soothes. “They’ll let you retake the classes, don’t worry.”
“I had it all figured out,” Jensen manages between hitches. “Was gonna… gonna graduate in June. Stay in town, try to play in San Francisco.”
“You can still do that. Just a little later than you thought. You know Chris will wait for you.”
He’s not technically part of Chris’ band, but he knows all the songs because their base guitarist quit last spring and he filled in for a while. Now that he thinks about it, the new replacement must be Steve. It wouldn’t matter anyway; Chris wants to give him solo spots in between the band’s sets the next time they go to the Bay Area.
Jensen wipes his eyes. “I know. I know he will.”
Josh continues. “You didn’t cut any tendons, you didn’t screw up your fingers. Just gotta wait for the stitches to come out and the soreness to go away.”
Jensen knows it. It doesn’t make his immediate future any more bearable.
“Oh, by the way,” Josh continues. “Thanks for the book. Asshole.”
Jensen manages a smile. “I try.”
**
So now Jensen has tons of time to spend in the library. McHenry is way prettier than the Science Library, so Jensen goes there for walks in the woods and quiet contemplation over how not to dwell on his screwed up school year.
Turns out that Jared’s little cheerleader works on the second floor. She spots him and starts talking a mile a minute.
“Oh, hey, you’re Jared’s friend, right? He told me about your arm and the party, and I know Brock, too, god, that guy’s an ass. Did he ruin your book? I love Byron. How’s your arm? Jared said you’re a music major and you can’t play now because of that dickwad. Are you going to have to drop your classes? I hope not. I saw you play at a show with Kane last year and you’re really good! So you’re friends with the band? Their new bassist rocks. I hear they’re going to tour the coast from San Francisco to San Diego this summer. I hope you’re well enough to go with them. How’s it going?”
Wow. Jensen can’t even remember what was a question and what wasn’t. He does remember her talking about Jared, Jared telling her all about how he can’t play. Did he tell Jared that? He doesn’t think so. Maybe Aldis did.
Jensen tries to answer. “Are you two dating?” Oh my god.
Sandy- if that’s her name- blinks at him. “Uh, me and Jared? I don’t think so. He’s kind of out, you know?”
And then she’s looking at him. And grinning. And opening her mouth.
“I have to get going,” he wheezes before she can start. “I’ll, uh, see you around, Sandy. Your name’s Sandy, right?”
“Yep, Sandy McCoy. Hey, so are you and Jared-”
“Shit.” Jensen whips out his phone, which has not rung or buzzed or anything, and flips it open. “Sorry, I have to- I’ll see you. Bye.”
He rushes away talking to an imaginary person about imaginary raccoons in their imaginary dorm.
**
Chris calls him up on Saturday. “Hey, man. How’s your arm?”
“Hurts.” It really does. And when it doesn’t hurt, it itches.
“Steve quit the band.”
“What?”
“We had this huge fight. I swear, out of nowhere. Why did you tell Steve we’re dating?”
“I… didn’t?”
“Oh.” Chris is quiet for a moment. “Um, Jensen-”
“Yeah?”
Another pause. “Never mind. Well, okay, so I could be bi, right?”
“Uh.” Jensen thinks that when reality gets to Santa Cruz, California, it promptly goes out to sniff glue, he really does. One time a kid asked him for spare change in the middle of Pacific Avenue, citing his overwhelming urge to buy LSD. It’s kind of refreshing not to hear stories about needing gas for a car that doesn’t exist, but really? Really? “Yeah, I guess you could be.”
“And you didn’t tell him we’re together?”
“I didn’t tell him we’re together.”
“Huh. Okay, well, take it easy, man.”
“Yeah.”
Chris hangs up. Jensen wonders yet again if he should be putting money aside for therapy somewhere down the line.
**
Jensen and Danneel go to The Crepe Place for dinner. Danneel’s all dressed up, trying to catch the eye of one of the waiters. Jensen has already told her that going out with a guy in order to flirt with another guy isn’t the best way to bag your man, but whatever. Danneel lives a charmed life.
“Oh, there he is!” She smacks Jensen repeatedly on the arm until he threatens to stab her with his fork. “Okay, his name’s- quit it! God, Jensen. His name’s Matt. Oh my god, I love blonds.”
Matt comes over with their respective dinner crepes and Jensen does his best to look unattached while Danneel bats her eyes and laughs coquettishly when Matt asks if they want more drinks. The result is that Matt gives Jensen some pretty troubled looks for the rest of the night.
Finally, Jensen feigns heading for the men’s room and corners Matt in the hallway with his arms full of dirty dishes. Hey, he’s not brave on his own behalf, but for his friends? Jensen’s fucking Rambo.
“Hey, man, I’m not with her. If you’re wondering.”
Matt stares at him. He’s got those kind of blue eyes that make it hard to look at him for very long. “You’re not?”
Jensen shrugs. “Nah. Call me her wingman. Whatever. She really likes you. She’s single.”
Matt’s face breaks into a smile. “Really? You’re not just screwing with me, are you?”
“No.” Jensen shakes his head. “Girls aren’t really my type.”
“Ah.”
Jensen looks up and blushes. “I mean, I’m not hitting on you, too. She is. But I’m not. Not that you aren’t… hot… or anything. Okay, I’m stopping now.”
Matt grins. He shifts all the plates to one hand, somehow, and claps Jensen on the back. “Hey, no sweat, man. Thanks for the heads up. She’s really cute.”
Jensen nods, then fixes Matt with a frown. “So, yeah, if she cries because of you-”
Matt nods emphatically. “Hey, I’ll beat myself up if that happens. No worries.”
By the time Jensen pays the bill that night, Danneel has a surfing date with her boy. Jensen can’t resist the grin as she squeals and hugs him on their way out. He pulls her close and plants a kiss on her forehead.
And looks up to see Jared in the doorway, staring at them. He’s holding the door for Sandy, who comes in under his arm, chattering away, and Jensen goes cold down to his toes at the look on Jared’s face.
Danneel is aware enough to give them a chipper hello, arms still tight around Jensen’s waist. She kisses Jensen’s cheek, and then they’re past each other, Jared turning to watch them go. Jensen looks back, desperation clenching in his stomach, until Danneel pulls him around the corner to his car.
...
Part 2