FIC: Never Will Run Smooth (Jared/Jensen)
title. Never Will Run Smooth
pairing. Jensen/Jared
rating. PG13 [boy-kissing and fluff, meanttobe like whoa]
words. ~12,000
prompt. #50 More Than A Memory [Garret Logan's dead fiancee just walked into his pub. It's been seven years since Colleen died, but he hasn't been able to break free of her memory. And now she's back with a new name, claiming not to remember him. Jo Carroll has traveled to Tennessee looking for answers. She's lived a sheltered life since the accident that erased her memory, but now has to face that everything she knew may have been a lie. As the truth emerges, the feelings between her and Garret grow and she's drawn into his world. Before she can commit, however, she needs to know if he loves the woman she was...or the one she's become.] Written for spn_meanttobe.
summary. When he was six, JR Ackles met Jared Anderson-his best friend and future husband. Twenty years later, Jensen meets Jay Padalecki.
“Ew, Dad! He's drooling."
Alan Ackles watched his six year old son's face scrunch up. Jared, the drooling toddler, kept on playing with his blocks and ignored the boy looking at him with distaste.
"He's not drooling, JR," Alan smiled-Jared laughing and spitting happily. "He's just having fun."
Jensen Ross Ackles-JR to just about everyone-grimaced when Jared reached grubby hands towards his new sneakers.
"Dad…."
"Just let him play, JR."
JR kicked a few toy cars in Jared's direction, successfully diverting the toddler's attention away from his shoes. He didn't know why Dad made them drive all the way to San Antonio to see the Andersons. What the heck was he supposed to do with a kid who barely talked and preferred wooden toys to action figures?
"Can we go now, Dad?"
"We just got here. Settle down."
Mrs. Anderson walked into the family room and laughed at JR's pout. She handed one bright yellow juice box to her son and another to JR.
"Dad...."
"JR, drink it."
"But it's grape!"
"JR."
"Fine," JR huffed, peeling the straw from the box with a crackle. He thumped down cross-legged on the carpet, watching Jared ignore his own Hi-C fruit punch. Alan didn't miss his son's dour mood.
"Why don't you play with Jared?"
"He doesn't haven any cool toys."
"Play a game then."
"But he's a baby!"
The adults shared a secret laugh, Mrs. Anderson ducking her head.
"Someday you're going to love Jared very much, JR," she said. "More than anything."
JR doubted that, and he scowled so the adults knew it too. "More than my swing set?"
Jared's mom nodded.
"More than my Big Wheels?"
"You'll love Jared more than Maxie," Alan chimed in.
"Whoa!" JR was baffled. His teddy bear was his best friend. There was no way he'd ever consider liking this kid more than Maxie.
"Wait and see, JR."
Alan and Jared's mom talked quietly, and JR turned sullenly back to the oblivious toddler. JR just stared until he felt tiny fingers curling over his knee. Jared's big, brown eyes looked up at him.
"Trade?"
His other hand offered the box of fruit punch. JR looked at his own untouched grape juice, and handed it over. He got a big, honest smile and reached out to help Jared poke the straw through the tiny, silver hole. Jared took a slurp, cheeks puckering with juice, and then giggled.
Maybe this kid wasn't so bad.
* * *
* * *
"Jesus, Jen-you're a bastard."
Christian doesn't sound all that pissed. The redhead he's just blown off stomps away from their table-Jensen takes one last look at her great ass-and into the crowd.
"Least you could have done was to introduce me, man. Was it even good?"
"Awesome," Jensen smirks over the top of his beer. "But you know me."
"Hit it once and never again?"
"Not worth it, dude."
It hasn't been worth it in a long time. Jensen folds his damp cocktail napkin in half, corner-to-corner, and wonders if it ever would be.
* * *
The journal is the first thing Jensen pulls from his nightstand when he finally makes it into bed. There's a new blank page halfway in, and he ruins the pristine paper with two words.
Julie McNiven.
Jensen can't think of anything else to add about the red-head from earlier. They'd hit it off the night before, had a little fun with no promise of anything more. He sets the black rolling ball pen to thick paper and starts a spiral. He draws one continuous line, tracing around and around in abstract designs.
A quarter of the page is filled before Jensen stops. He turns to the front cover of the thick, leather bound book.
"Just another day," Jensen mutters quietly to the sepia photo. "Nothing special."
* * *
Fads are funny things. They're unpredictable, stupid, and pass quickly-most forgotten as soon as the next one shows up. Those concerning parenting are the funniest and usually the most pointless. Today it's organic diets and genderless baby names. Yesterday it was Mozart, trying to make babies smarter before they'd even graduated to solid foods.
Twenty three years ago in Texas, it was betrothals. Yeah, that's right, parents planning their children's marriages before they could talk and object to the pointless ritual.
In reality, most never panned out but that didn't mean parents weren't trying. It was the thing in Texas society; Donna Ackles got very caught up in the whirlwind and her enthusiasm never dimmed until her plans came to nothing.
Jensen's mother never spoke of it again until she was in the hospital. Then, every few days, Donna would remember the Andersons. She'd prattle absentmindedly about reception halls and family gatherings like she wasn't sick and the past never happened.
* * *
Jensen pretends otherwise, but he really doesn't get his family's business.
Ackles Acquisitions specialized in "eating up small, floundering corporations like a bear gorging after a long winter."
It always gets a chuckle; Jensen uses that same line over and over with new contacts and nameless suits--he can never think of anything else to say. He's not stupid-Jensen can do his job with a robotic efficiency and he earns plenty of money-but he's not particularly fond of the aggressive business. He was nudged into it after college left him with little drive and even less direction. After a few years he was too settled to contemplate anything else. There's a lot of nonsense, barely anything memorable, and Jensen spends a good deal of his day making plans for his nights out. The arrangements can get complicated.
"What about Henry's?"
"We went there last week, Chris." Jensen stares at the beige walls of his office and spins idly in his computer chair. Twice clockwise. Stop. Three times in the other direction. Stop.
"And we can't go back?" Christian pauses. "Aw shit, man. The girl that was dancing in the cage-hot, tiny brunette chick?"
Yeah, there was her-in the womens' bathroom-and the tall, blond from the corner table who begged Jensen to fuck him before they'd even gotten to the guy's apartment. He doesn't need to tell Christian about that guy.
Henry's is definitely out.
"That place over on King Street-the new brewery?"
"Gretchen's still a waitress there."
"Social?"
"The owner, Chris."
His friend groans. "Okay, how about that dive bar over on Broad? Jack's always begging us to go and I'm pretty sure there's no one there you'd even know, let alone fucked."
Jensen thinks back and comes up clean.
"Sure, why not?"
* * *
The dive, the Porthouse, is exactly that. Nothing much to talk about, but there's plenty of cheap beer and Christian seems way too comfortable in the light crowd. It's pretty clear that none of the Porthouse's customers have ever shopped at Saks or gotten reservations at Torch, but after three beers and the first acoustic set, Jensen's too mellow to care.
"Guess I found the perfect hang out, huh?"
Christian is lazing back in their booth, sprawling like he owns the beat up benches and scratched table. The king in his shabby castle.
"Enough beer to go around, the gig's not that bad, and you're not trying to fuck the next pair of killer legs or hot ass that walks by. It's like my garden of fucking Eden, man."
"If you say so."
He never guessed that Christian's ideal hangout would be the one place where Jensen wasn't hitting on everyone-not that he needs to try overly hard. Here, everyone's minding their own business and having a good time. There are no bouncers to impress in order to cross the velvet rope, and no one's clamoring for the bartender's attention with flirty eyes and cleavage barely contained in tight tops. It's all so normal that Jensen drinks more to banish the strange feeling in his stomach.
Five beers into the night and Jensen's getting antsy. His right leg is bouncing steadily but Christian doesn't notice thanks to the musician's bass. It's early enough that the clubs on the other side of the city are still open. With one cab ride he could be on familiar ground with his choice of willing partners and an outlet for his nervous tics.
Jensen leans over to shove at Christian when, over the strumming and singing from the stage, a loud laugh catches his attention. The rough and rugged bartender is red-faced and chuckling, but the laugh belongs to the younger man next to him. He's tall, broad shouldered, shaggy haired, and adorable-the complete opposite of what Jensen's looking for. There's nothing overly-pretty, twinkish, or high-maintenance about this guy-no signs pointing to "fuck me now, stud"-but Jensen's eyes won't take the hint to move on. Jensen's stuck just watching while the guy shifts racks of glasses, rolls up his sleeves, and pulls pints from the colorful draught taps; he's oblivious until Christian thunks him on the shoulder.
“You ready to head out, man?”
Jensen hadn't even noticed the singer packing up or the house lights getting brighter. He nods and stands. The guy is occupied with wiping the bar down, but he looks up suddenly and his eyes find Jensen's with a quick certainty, like he's been able to feel Jensen's stare all night.
“Hey, Jensen!” Christian yanks on his sleeve and he nearly tumbles over a wayward chair. “Easy there. You all set?”
When Jensen turns back, he's no longer being watched so he trails Christian to the door, more carefully this time.
“Yeah, let's get out of here.”
* * *
When he's back in the barely furnished, sterile apartment graciously paid for by Ackles Acquisitions, Jensen pulls out his journal but flips right to the picture stuck inside the front cover. The kid's immortalized smile has a matching one pulling reflexively at Jensen's lips.
"Checked out this new place tonight with Chris," he begins, settling cross-legged on the bed. The cicadas outside chirp in a constant, low drone as Jensen talks. Hushed words meant only for the boy in the photograph.
* * *
* * *
“JR!”
Hearing the screech, JR prepared himself for the tiny onslaught. Jared ran right into him as soon as he rounded the corner and he toppled to the floor with the excited four year old.
“You missed my birthday.”
Jared pouted from his place sitting atop JR's legs.
“Why do you think I'm here, runt?”
“Did you bring me a present?”
“Maybe,” JR reached up to tickle and tease the boy. Jared squealed and tried to fend off JR's attack, but he tumbled over onto the carpet, laughing.
“JR, stop!” Jared yelled when he caught his breath. He beamed up and unleashed his dastardly puppy-eyes on JR.
“It's in the kitchen,” JR gave in quickly, unable to resist the kid's pout. Jared tore out of the room and JR could hear him ripping through the shiny wrapping paper that he had carefully folded and taped himself.
Oh well.
The excited shouts made up for the destruction. JR sat up and listened to the childish glee coming from the kitchen until Jared dashed back with his box. Shredded blue paper was clinging tenuously to the cardboard and Jared plunked his gift between them on the carpet.
“Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles! Those are my favorite!”
JR had begged his momma to buy the comic book and cassette tape when he'd seen them at the toy store. Donna hadn't even blinked when he said they were for Jared - she'd just smiled and told J.R. to pick out whatever he wanted. Another book and three action figures later, JR had the perfect birthday presents.
Jared held the comic book out to JR. “Will you read it to me?”
“You don't want to listen to the tape?”
“No, you can do Splinter's voice better. Please?”
They settled side by side on their stomachs, spreading out Jared's gifts on the soft carpet. JR's voice changed for each character, imitating what he saw on the cartoons, and he could feel Jared shake with giggles every time he gets to shout 'Cowabunga, dudes!'
* * *
The job is the same, day in and day out. Jensen says the same things, mutters the same mundane greetings to the people he passes. He pushes the buttons on the elevator in the same order every day - once for the fifth floor, his office, and the 'close door' button twice. The same breakfast is on his desk, waiting-cinnamon raisin bagel with honey cream cheese-and he shoots Elizabeth the same, grateful smile when he shuts his door.
It's easier not to think about what he's doing. The day goes by faster this way and Jensen doesn't tamper with the order. Get through one day and start on the next.
Maybe this is where the routines started.
Going out is just another piece of his routine these days. One he's broken the last few nights.
But at lunch, Christian is doing his best to change that. He's surprised, choking on pico de gallo when Jensen offers his own suggestion.
“Wait, the Porthouse?”
“Did I stutter?”
Jensen doesn't need to look up to feel Christian's glare from across the table.
“No, but that's twice in less than a week. You feelin' all right?”
“That place was chill, man,” Jensen waves off his best friend's confusion. “I'm in the mood for something easy. Not someone easy,” he adds quickly before Christian can crack a lame joke.
Christian stares at him, considering, and folds a slice of his quesadilla, biting and chewing. His serious expression is ruined by the melting pepper-jack hanging from the corner of his mouth.
* * *
It's not about luck, Jensen keeps telling himself. Given that the guy works here, it shouldn't be a big deal-or make Jensen feel like his heart's light with helium-to walk into the Porthouse and spot the tall guy within two minutes.
Jensen's memory hasn't exaggerated; the bartender's still tall, goofy, and unfortunately already occupied. A gaggle of I-Felta-Thi's-or whatever-are clustered around the end of the concrete bar.
"You're kidding, right?" Christian tracks Jensen's line of sight. "We came here for that? Not really the type you go for."
He should say that he's not going for anyone-thank you-but Christian is right. Jensen's never gotten wound up for the great smile-and-dimples combo, or stalk limbs and shaggy hair. It's always been the killer ass or supermodel face reeling him in.
The pause hangs too long and Christian sees right through him.
"Go on and talk to him." Christian shoves past him, heading towards the dimly lit stage where the house band is setting up. "Find me when you come to your senses."
It's a Thursday night, but the floor's getting crowded. Jensen eases through the press of bodies and plops down on an empty stool.
"Get'cha something?"
Not the bartender he's hoping for, but Jensen gives the middle-aged leather mama a smile-not returned-and orders a beer. The lager splashes over the rim when she thunks the pint glass down.
Christian wanders over between songs, pointedly glancing between Jensen and the male bartender. He hasn't traveled down to Jensen's end of the bar yet, and maybe it's the alcohol, but Jensen swears he's seen the guy look over more than once. Probably wondering why the hell a customer's been nursing the same pint for nearly an hour and a half.
Christian, on the other hand, has gone through four.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"I just want to drink," Jensen mopes.
"Beer's probably piss by now."
Yeah, probably. The glass is room-temperature and the lager smells stale.
"But have it your way. I'm gonna help the guitarist with his blues tracks." Christian pauses. "You gonna miss me?"
"Call you tomorrow, Chris."
"Yeah, that's what I thought."
He's gone into the crowd gathered around the corner stage. Jensen cracks his knuckles against the bar-old nervous tic-when the empty space in his periphery is suddenly filled.
"It's just a beer, man."
Shaggy-hair is smirking, leaning over the bar and into Jensen's little corner of solitude.
"Excuse me?"
"You've been staring at your glass like it holds the meaning of life. From where I'm standing, it just looks like a beer."
Slack-jawed confusion is not one of those expressions you'd find listed under "enticing" on Wikipedia, but Jensen's pulling it off in spectacular fashion.
"Warm beer, too," the guy adds with a wrinkle creasing his pointed nose. "Did you want another drink?"
He doesn't catch on to the fact that Jensen's not saying anything, just staring baffled at the man who has unknowingly shuffled some piece of Jensen's jigsawed life-and who won't shut up, apparently.
"Better order something easy, though, like a beer. I can't really make anything complicated--oh, but I did light some cheap vodka on fire last week. Gave some of my customers a scare, and I think one guy thought I'd burned off his eyebrows, but he was fine. But seriously, did you want something?"
"Um-"
"Order from me, because Mona," he indicates the leather mama, "doesn't think you like her very much and-"
"Hey!" Jensen finally shouts, though with the ambient noise, the guy just barely hears him. "Are you okay?" Talking that much, that rapidly, could be a sign of total crazy, or a some kind of sickness, Jensen figures.
That's when he notices the guy's eyes-beautifully hazel-darting in every which direction so as not to look Jensen straight in the eye. And then he gets it. The guy is nervous. He's ducking his head shyly, turning away when two women in straw cowboy hats insinuate themselves between Jensen's stool and the wall, flashing smiles and skin, trying to get service. Jensen appraises the man as he grabs two brown bottles from a fridge-low calorie, no taste crap-and hands them over to waiting, manicured hands. No conversation, just a simple transaction, and Jensen's heart starts doing that singing-in-the-rain kind of happy dance. Either Jensen is that scary, he makes bartenders ramble, or this guy's interested.
But that poses the problem of how Jensen's supposed to go about this pick-up. His normal opening maneuver, buying him a drink, is off the table already. Probably pretty tacky to offer a drink to the guy who is serving them.
"Sorry about that-it's pretty busy for a Thursday." Shy-smile is back, taking no notice of the two disappointed man-eaters slinking away from the bar. "Are you here with anyone?"
This smile is better than the shy one, Jensen decides. It's mostly nervous, a dash of embarrassment, but with a clear quirk of hope. Apparently no grand schemes are needed. It's as simple as a conversation-a real one.
"No, I'm not." For flirting purposes, Christian matters as much as a single raindrop in a Texas storm. "And hey, another beer sounds great."
"Which one?"
Jensen's smile is genuine-it's a night full of surprises. "Whichever one is your favorite. I'm Jensen, by the way," he adds as the guy pulls a brightly painted wooden tap to release a cold stream of hoppy goodness.
"I'm Jay-nice to meet you."
The beer Jay picked is great-crisp and cool, the bitter hops balanced with a sweeter roast. Hazel eyes follow the movements of his lips where they touch the glass rim; Jensen can't resist a little lick to the corner of his mouth when he sets the glass down.
"So, you were in here the other night," Jay says.
"Yeah, it was my first time. Have a buddy who's been here a few times, though."
"Where do you usually hang out?"
Remarkably, Jay's not distracted by the clamor around him. That or he's ignoring it. Mona seems to be quite a force, handling a bar lined with patrons single handedly.
"Here and there," Jensen teases. If he's got Jay's full attention, he's going to use it. "Mostly over towards the West End-Light, McDaniel's, the DBC. Sometimes I'll hit the clubs downtown."
"Cool. I've never been over there."
"What's keeping you?"
"School, mostly." Jay shrugs, leaning both elbows on the bar, face that much closer to Jensen's. In the low light, it helps him pick out the details he hasn't noticed, like the moles strategically placed by genetics for greater effect, and tanned skin. "I just moved back to town for grad school. And, you know, working here."
School and work puts Jay at the opposite end of the social scheme from Jensen. And he doesn't mind-somehow it's almost a relief that Jay hasn't hung around the same meat-markets Jensen's been prowling for years.
"What are you studying?"
"Trying to get my Masters in Social Work."
A wannabe saint, Jensen imagines, wrapped in a tall, introverted package.
"Sounds like admirable work."
And clearly he hasn't had enough to drink. Admirable work? Really? But Jay looks pleased, taking it as a compliment instead of a brush-off.
"Thanks-I just, there's a lot I want to do with it."
"A big man with big plans, huh?"
Jensen should stop talking, immediately. Where the fuck was Christian to help him shut up? Again Jay blushes. Huh. Maybe he ought to just go with this whole talking-without-thinking-first thing. Silly-albeit honest-comments that would have gotten him ditched at McDaniel's have the opposite effect on Jay.
They talk until the crowd starts to thin. Christian leaves at some point, passing on his way out the door and thumping Jensen's shoulder. The conversation doesn't stray from casual, but there are enough subtle touches and inflections for Jensen to know where the night could end up. From the other end of the bar, Mona sends a glare their way and Jay guiltily bites his bottom lip.
"I should really go and help-closing and all that." Jay hesitates, mouth ready to lead the night in a whole new direction, and Jensen feels an unusual wave of apprehension where he'd normally be all-systems-go. The familiar urge to rush things along isn't there.
"Do you work tomorrow night?"
"Okay-" Jay stops, shuts his mouth. There's an awkward moment, like he thought Jensen was going to ask something else. "Um, yeah. I meant, I'll be here. Does that mean you'll be here too?"
Chris is going to drop dead of shock, but that could at least be entertaining.
"Yeah." Jensen grins, shifting off the stool before Mona's stare gets any harsher. "I'll definitely be back."
It's not until he gets outside, air fresher without the haze of alcohol and cigarettes, that the night catches up. Just past midnight and he's heading home alone-and yet he's perfectly happy.
* * *
Christian doesn't drop dead, but he does sputter rather amusingly when he meets Jensen for lunch on Friday.
"I don't know what to say, man." Christian sighs.
"Um, that you'll go with me?"
"Oh-yeah, 'course I will." His friend's never quite mastered the whole chew-with-your-mouth-closed thing, and bits of cabbage drop from Christian's eggroll back onto the plate. "Three times this week. You don't miss the clubs? Did you get black-listed or something I should know about?"
"Nope, I'm good. Except for that one place where I did that thing with that guy?"
"That stripper?"
"Yeah," Jensen smirks with the memory. "I'm still banned from there, but that wasn't my fault."
"It's always the stripper's fault." Christian nods. "But you don't need to pretend with me. I know this is about that kid."
Jay can hardly be called a kid, but men approaching the thirty-year benchmark have their quirks. And Jensen doesn't try to deny it, just smiles over his General Tso's and rearranges the chopsticks in his fingers.
"Man, you're weird." Christian shakes his head. Jensen doesn't deny that either.
* * *
It's more crowded tonight. Jay's one of three bartenders-complete with a personal army of tiny cocktail waitresses-and Jensen has a hard time even getting arm's distance from the bar. Christian is already in tight with the house band-some sort of weird, musician mojo going on-so they spend most of their time to the left of the stage with a nearly unobstructed view of Jay hustling and bustling from taps to fridge to well. But he's not frazzled. Jensen can see Jay has a big smile for everyone stepping up, slinging drinks as carefree and easy as if he were playing ball in his backyard.
"Kid keeps looking at you." Christian yells over the music. Jensen already knows, but his damn cheeks flush anyway. "Aw, Jen's got a crush. Excuse me while I go throw up in my beer."
No comeback's going to settle Christian, so he says nothing. The band's got the crowd singin' and swayin' to classic covers. Then, a twangy take on "Sweet Caroline" and everyone drops what they're doing to sing along. Seizing the opportunity, Jensen squeezes past happy, drunken bodies until he's facing Jay at the bar.
"Hey-I'm glad you made it." Jay brings a bottle of beer to his lips and takes a long swallow. Mona and the other bartender are similarly using the break.
"That kind of night, huh?"
"Been like this since happy hour." He finishes the beer and tosses it in the barrel serving as a trash bin. Jay's dressed like he could be out in the crowd. Mandatory boots, jeans with the kind of wear you don't have to pay extra for, and a dark t-shirt tight across his shoulders. Only the white rag stuck in his back pocket gives him away.
"Got plans for the weekend?"
"Not really much besides sleeping in." Jay shakes his head, eyes finding Jensen's and quickly moving away.
"Sounds exactly like what I have planned." Jensen teases.
Jay's wearing a smile that says all the right things, but deep down, Jensen's got a niggling feeling that things shouldn't go this way. Jay's a great guy to talk to-for once, he doesn't want to chance ruining that rapport. On the other hand, last night's fantasy had definitely starred one shaggy-haired bartender, and Jensen's body really wouldn't mind the opportunity to turn that into reality. And then there's the problem of how to ask. Jensen's no expert on normal relationships and dating, and he's mostly pretty sure a simple "my place or yours" isn't what Jay wants to-
"Did you want to maybe come over after closing?" Jay beats him to it, blurting the question before Jensen's finished with his convoluted line of thought. "To my apartment, I mean-it's not very far, but I have some great movies. Well, I think they're great, but I have video games too, and coffee."
There goes the nervous chattering again. "Hey-that sounds great," Jensen says, just as Neil Diamond's classic is winding down. Jay beams-there's no other way to put it-when he accepts.
"Awesome, I've just-" Jay stops as the bar is inundated with thirsty customers, privacy disappearing along with the song. "Hang around until close, and we can walk?"
Jensen tips his bottle in the universal 'sure, man' gesture, getting another smile, just as he's pushed back from the bar.
Christian takes one look at him and pretends to gag, but when his friend turns back to the stage, there's a funny sort of smile on his face Jensen can't place. After that, the time passes quickly with back-and-forth looks from the bar, and an unfamiliar anticipation in Jensen's stomach. He sips his next beer slowly, barely able to hear the band over his ridiculously indecisive inner voice.
He's going with Jay-no doubts there-but Jensen has no idea what he wants. Or what Jay really wants. Maybe it is just a chance to hang out where Jensen's not paying Jay for drinks and there aren't at least twenty other people crowded around listening to their conversations. And wasn't he just thinking about how he wanted to get to know Jay better? What better way than seeing his apartment?
He gets nowhere trying to argue with himself, so he stops. Risking another glance in Jay's direction, he finds the guy looking right back. They smile at the same time.
* * *
"Sorry about the mess."
Jay flicks on a few lights and Jensen sees that the place really is this side of a disaster area. Funny, it's almost a relief that Jay's even honest about this, considering most people are just fishing for compliments when someone claims their apartment is a total mess.
"I had a full week at school, plus an extra shift at the bar-" He goes around stacking books and pushing papers out of the way to reveal a tan sofa. The clutter is all notebooks and binders, a few empty soda cans precariously balanced on stapled stacks. The laptop on the desk is on sleep mode, probably grateful to get a night off.
Jensen likes the apartment immediately. Someone lives here.
"Dude, it's fine," Jensen says. "You should see my place." His stark, anonymous apartment ranks lower than Jay's well-loved abode any day.
"Right-so, movie?"
Jensen nods, noticing the warm flush that spreads across Jay's cheeks. "Pick something good. I haven't seen anything in a while."
They settle on Quantum of Solace, but before the opening song, Jay's up off the couch.
"You want a beer? I think I have a six-pack of something."
Jensen hears the fridge open and close, then the thunk of cabinetry, and Jay reappears a few minutes later. He sits down with two bottles, and Jensen immediately notices that his eyes are duller than they were before. His heart sinks towards his stomach.
"Hey, you okay?"
"Mmmhmm, fine." Jay smiles, but it's not as powerful now.
Shifting closer on the couch, Jensen tries to get Jay to look at him again, but his eyes are fixed on the screen as he polishes off half a beer in less than thirty seconds.
Jensen's brain throws up a red flag.
"Jay," he gets closer until their thighs are touching. Jay could have changed his mind. "Do you need me to leave?"
"No-'course not." Jay turns and Jensen can definitely smell the alcohol on his breath now. Not just beer, but something sharper as well.
"What have you been drinking, man?"
"Couple people bought me shots tonight," Jay says, but his fingers are fidgeting where they hang between his knees. "I couldn't say no to all of them."
"And just now?"
A wry sort of laugh. "Calming my nerves."
Jensen tries stay casual, but there's an edge to his voice. "You don't have to be nervous."
He's in uncharted territory. Usually tongues are down throats before he crosses the threshold. Jay isn't smiling, eyes wavering between Jensen and the wall like he's gathering courage. Before Jensen can reassure him again, Jay picks up his beer and finishes it.
"Seriously, I can-"
And then Jay's on him, tall frame invading Jensen's half of the couch, and trying to kiss him uncoordinatedly. Hands grab at bad angles-Jay nearly elbows his groin-and it's too wet. The kiss is ninety proof-sharp taste of vodka slipping onto Jensen's tongue. He wants Jay, he does, but nothing like this mix of drunk and desperate. So he tries to slow the kiss down, gentle press of mouths getting to know one another. It could be perfect, Jensen knows, if only-
Only Jay's suddenly not kissing him back. Shocked, Jensen leans away.
"Jay?"
Jay's trying hard not to fly apart. He stares up at the blades of the ceiling fan with bleary eyes, biting his lip.
"What's wrong?"
"I can't-Jensen, 'm sorry." Whatever Jay has had to drink soaked in; his words are beginning to slur. He blinks, almost surprised to see Jensen still sitting there. "You should-should, oh God."
He flops down onto the couch cushions, breathing heavily or sobbing, Jensen can't hear which. When he reaches for Jay's back, the guy flinches so Jensen waits. Waits for nearly five minutes until he realizes Jay's passed out. He must have drank more than Jensen thought, or was long past the point of exhaustion from a hectic week.
His sinking heart has bottomed out, and part of him is screaming to just get up and go. But he finds himself pulling off Jay's boots and tucking all his limbs onto the couch. There's a woven blanket handy so he spreads it over Jay's alcohol-heavy form, and he leaves a bottle of water from the fridge on the coffee table.
Even when Jensen's done all he can, it doesn't feel like enough. The entire situation is so wrong, he'd be laughing in delirium if it wouldn't wake Jay up. Jensen knows that whatever's happened, Jay doesn't want to get up and face it right now. He slinks out of the apartment and clicks the door lock behind him.
Time. He needs time.
* * *
"Jensen, you have to get out of the car."
At the old age of nine, JR didn't have to do anything. He crossed his arms and sulked in the backseat.
"Don't make me get your father, young man."
It was a dreary day and JR had been shoved into a suit early that morning, then bundled into the car. His parents hadn't spoken the entire ride to San Antonio, and they wouldn't even let JR play with the radio.
"Jensen, please." Donna's voice cracked on the last word and Jensen looked up.
"Where's Jared?"
"Honey-"
"No! I'm not getting out until you tell me."
"Alan," he heard his mother call over to his dad, and heard heavier footsteps crossing the asphalt. "I cant-you have to deal with him."
"It's okay," Dad said, voice much calmer, but very sad. "I'll talk to him."
Mom walked away with tears in her eyes, straightening her black dress with nervous hands.
"Hey, JR." Dad climbed in the backseat. "I know this is tough for all of us, but you need to come out."
"Dad-" JR started. "Where's Jared?"
"He's gone."
"But when is he coming back?" He already asked Dad all of this a few days ago when Mom got off the phone and starting crying. Dad told him they wouldn't be able to see the Andersons any more.
"He's not, JR."
That was a lie, it had to be. Jared always came back. The Andersons went to Hawaii for Christmas, but they came back. Jared was visiting his cousins over JR's birthday last year, but his mom drove him to the Ackles the next weekend so Jared could give JR his present.
"I know it's hard to understand, but when someone dies-"
"Jared's not dead," he insisted with a full pout. His G.I. Joes died in combat, but then you could pick them back up and start a new game. When Mario fell off a cliff too many times in a row, you restarted the game. But maybe it didn't mean the same thing when it happened to a person.
Dad looked like he couldn't find anything else to say, but he took JR's hand and pulled him out of the car.
And JR went, still hoping Jared would pop around a corner at any minute.
* * *
Jensen doesn't tell Christian what happened. The annoying voices in his head don't need anyone agreeing with them. In fact, Jensen barely leaves his apartment all weekend. There's enough football on Sunday to distract him, and he lazes the day away in front of his flatscreen, hi-def combo, but Saturday is just plain weird.
His phone rings at noon but he doesn't answer. He's not tired, but he hasn't gotten out of bed. In his mind, Jensen replays last night, from the mutual anticipation at the bar to Jay's own brand of freaking out. Jensen combs through every moment, but he can't find where it all turned for the worse. He thought-well, he's not sure what he thought. That Jay was into him, that things were going somewhere. Somewhere Jensen wasn't really used to, but was looking forward to.
He only makes it as far as the couch when he gets up. He's existing, Jensen thinks, but he's not doing anything. It's been that way for years now. Nothing memorable, he's always telling his photograph, and it's the truth. Life has thrown many things his way since college, but after Mom died, nothing's stuck.
Except for Jay. The bartender's stuck in his head, has a tenuous hold on Jensen's heart.
He is so fucked.
* * *
Getting out of his office on Monday afternoon is a relief. Jensen locks the door at two, tells Elizabeth he won't be back after his meeting, and heads across the city.
The meeting's not a big deal-coffee with a former client who has some key information Jensen's meant to pry out of him. Another kind of act he bullshits through until the guy leaves, smiling like he got the better end of the deal. Jensen doesn't particularly care, or feel satisfied, that the guy's wrong.
There's a constant flow of people through the coffee shop seeking relief from the afternoon slump. Jensen sits, slowly draining his own caffeine and sugar combination, until a bag knocks into his chair and a flailing limb reaches out to steady the bag's owner.
"Shit, I'm sorry-oh."
Oh indeed, Jensen's brain snarks.
"Jensen! I didn't see you and this bag-" Jay glares at the offending item, "is way too heavy."
"It's okay. I don't bruise easily."
"Here for coffee? I mean, of course you're here for coffee-unless you're more into those green tea smoothies. They're pretty good too. What I meant was, how are you?"
Jensen doesn't stumble over the non sequitur. "I'm great." But he does lie with a sunny smile. "Just finished a meeting and I'm taking the afternoon off."
"Cool," Jay wavers. "Do you mind-can I join you?"
Before he opens his mouth to answer, a short, slender man slides up to the table.
"Jay, were we supposed to meet today?" The guy glances between them, oblivious to what he's interrupting. "Thought it was tomorrow."
"No, you're right." Jensen hates that Jay becomes inexplicably uncomfortable-reminds him too much of Friday night. "Ed, this is Jensen. Jensen, Ed and I are teaching assistants for the same class."
Ed's eyes stretch wide at the drop of Jensen's name. Jay folds himself into a tiny cafe chair, and Ed gets the wrong idea-thinking introduction equals invitation-and snags the remaining chair.
"Jensen, right." Ed says like he knows something. Which pisses him off since Jensen's still a little lost. "Nice to meet you."
The conversation that follows is normal, but the words fall awkward on Jensen's ears. Ed's eyes are fixed on Jensen while Jay rambles about his classes. Jensen finds Jay strangely adorable when he's flushed and animated, and he wants to listen but it's hard with a third wheel distracting him.
"So, you two meet at the Porthouse?" Jay pausing for breath gives Ed an opening. "That's a chill place."
"Guess so." Jay answers for both of them, fingers busy making a mosaic with the colored packets of sweetener.
"Good," but Ed's only focused on Jensen. "Jay needs to get out more, so show him a good time."
Jensen doesn't say that he'd rather stay in with Jared and have a good time. Jay seems like he wants to slink under the table and disappear.
"Ed, come on, man."
"Nah, I'm serious. You work too hard-tell him, Jensen."
He'll do no such thing. "Work is an accomplishment," he mimics his dad. "Some people enjoy that."
Ed throws the comment aside. "But everyone should be able to let loose, get out once in a while. You know what I'm talking about, right? And in Jay's case, he really needs to get laid."
Chris could pull a straight face if he said something like that to Jensen. They know each other through thick and thicker-up, down, and sideways. But he gets the impression there's no such familiarity between Ed and Jay. If it is, it's painfully one-sided. Jensen bristles and Jay's cheeks flush red.
"I'm sure Jay does what he wants. Nothing wrong-"
"No, man." God, this guy's dense. "I mean Jay finally needs to get laid or he's gonna end up as the only virgin graduating from-"
"Dude," Jay snaps, and the anger in his eyes is more attractive to Jensen than the guy who was just sitting back and taking it from this asshole. "I fucking told you-"
"You're not a virgin, right." Ed drawls with boredom, but at the same time sounds like he's spoiling for conflict. He narrows his eyes on Jensen. "Jay's just waiting for 'the one'. Did he tell you that?" His words are teasing but the tone is pure scorn. "Jay's our own little romantic-"
Jensen's chair scrapes harshly as he pushes back and stands. "Well, I need to run." He draws Jay's eyes from where they're concentrating on the cracks in the tabletop. "Jay, are you coming?"
That gets him raised eyebrows and a small, hopeful smile. Jay slings his bag over his shoulder, matching Jensen's stride out of the shop and leaving Ed behind with an unattractively gaping mouth. But once they're on the sidewalk, Jay's fingers pull nervously at his strap.
"I can-thanks, I guess."
The gratitude seems out of place. If Jensen had sat there another few minutes, he would have committed assault.
"Do you want a ride somewhere? I don't have to be anywhere."
"Are you sure?" And Jensen nods. "A ride to my apartment would be great."
In the car, things are quiet and smooth until Jensen sees Jay's long face from the corner of his eye. Jensen's not sure which deity is getting its jollies by sending so much awkward shit their way, but he's fucking sick of it. Which is clear when he smacks the steering wheel and Jay flinches.
"Are you seriously-"
But Jay opens his mouth at the same time. "Sorry about Ed. He's under the impression that hanging out with a group every once in a while makes us friends."
"You don't have to apologize for him. But why does he think he knows so much about you?"
Jay shrugs. "Shared way too much during a drinking game, probably. And he asked me out once." He tries to lay it as a joke, but Jensen knows it makes him uncomfortable. "It's true though, what he said-"
"It's not any of his fucking business." Jensen surprises himself with his vehemence. Jay's not asking to be defended.
"I know." Jay's tone softens and his fingers curl over Jensen's knee, intimate like he's been diffusing Jensen for years. "But I didn't want to lie to you."
The clear honesty relaxes Jensen. He smiles, but Jay's leg is still bouncing a rhythm on the floorboards.
"Thanks for the other night, by the way."
"Yeah, what happened? I thought we-"
"It wasn't you," Jay says, shaking his head. "It was nothing."
"Jay, that wasn't nothing. You were fine at the bar." Jensen doesn't let Jay protest. "You can tell me."
"I am fine. Just got nervous."
"Because of me?"
"Because-weren't you listening to Ed?"
Jensen swallows. "Not particularly." Jay shakes his head disbelievingly. "Listen, I don't care." Jensen's a little shocked that he doesn't, but it's true. "I'm not gonna tell you how to live your life." In that, Jensen barely has a leg to stand on considering his own twists.
Jay turns back towards him, not quite able to hide his surprise quickly enough. Jensen feels that familiar ease coming back, the illusion that there's more here than he knows what to do with. But before he gets a chance to say anything, they're at Jay's apartment and the guy's scrambling to get out of the car.
"Thanks for the ride-and, you know."
"Hey," Jensen calls out before Jay can move away. "Are you busy this week?"
"I have a crazy schedule, but I'm working Wednesday night."
Jay doesn't even need to ask; the catch in his voice is enough.
"I'll see you then."
* * *
There are two messages on his cell from Christian when Jensen gets home. Monday nights mean going out. Or they used to.
Jensen rubs his face and grabs a beer from the stainless steel refrigerator. It's only been a week since he met Jay, and his life is already different. Not turned upside down-more like someone's changed the filter and he's beginning to see everything a little off-kilter. When he's around Jay, things are usually calmer: he can talk without being judged, laugh without looking over his shoulder. Feel without the inevitable end. But away from him, there's a frantic beating in his chest.
His phone beckons, the key to a night out, the way things used to be. There's a strange sensation that he's drowning in air, body unable to pull itself in any one direction. He's holding his breath waiting for something to break and show him the way out.
In the bedroom, the only thing he can do is find his journal. Instead of writing, he pulls Jared's picture from the cover and sets it in a frame on his nightstand. And he does the only thing that's felt right since college.
* * *
On to Part Two.
pairing. Jensen/Jared
rating. PG13 [boy-kissing and fluff, meanttobe like whoa]
words. ~12,000
prompt. #50 More Than A Memory [Garret Logan's dead fiancee just walked into his pub. It's been seven years since Colleen died, but he hasn't been able to break free of her memory. And now she's back with a new name, claiming not to remember him. Jo Carroll has traveled to Tennessee looking for answers. She's lived a sheltered life since the accident that erased her memory, but now has to face that everything she knew may have been a lie. As the truth emerges, the feelings between her and Garret grow and she's drawn into his world. Before she can commit, however, she needs to know if he loves the woman she was...or the one she's become.] Written for spn_meanttobe.
summary. When he was six, JR Ackles met Jared Anderson-his best friend and future husband. Twenty years later, Jensen meets Jay Padalecki.
“Ew, Dad! He's drooling."
Alan Ackles watched his six year old son's face scrunch up. Jared, the drooling toddler, kept on playing with his blocks and ignored the boy looking at him with distaste.
"He's not drooling, JR," Alan smiled-Jared laughing and spitting happily. "He's just having fun."
Jensen Ross Ackles-JR to just about everyone-grimaced when Jared reached grubby hands towards his new sneakers.
"Dad…."
"Just let him play, JR."
JR kicked a few toy cars in Jared's direction, successfully diverting the toddler's attention away from his shoes. He didn't know why Dad made them drive all the way to San Antonio to see the Andersons. What the heck was he supposed to do with a kid who barely talked and preferred wooden toys to action figures?
"Can we go now, Dad?"
"We just got here. Settle down."
Mrs. Anderson walked into the family room and laughed at JR's pout. She handed one bright yellow juice box to her son and another to JR.
"Dad...."
"JR, drink it."
"But it's grape!"
"JR."
"Fine," JR huffed, peeling the straw from the box with a crackle. He thumped down cross-legged on the carpet, watching Jared ignore his own Hi-C fruit punch. Alan didn't miss his son's dour mood.
"Why don't you play with Jared?"
"He doesn't haven any cool toys."
"Play a game then."
"But he's a baby!"
The adults shared a secret laugh, Mrs. Anderson ducking her head.
"Someday you're going to love Jared very much, JR," she said. "More than anything."
JR doubted that, and he scowled so the adults knew it too. "More than my swing set?"
Jared's mom nodded.
"More than my Big Wheels?"
"You'll love Jared more than Maxie," Alan chimed in.
"Whoa!" JR was baffled. His teddy bear was his best friend. There was no way he'd ever consider liking this kid more than Maxie.
"Wait and see, JR."
Alan and Jared's mom talked quietly, and JR turned sullenly back to the oblivious toddler. JR just stared until he felt tiny fingers curling over his knee. Jared's big, brown eyes looked up at him.
"Trade?"
His other hand offered the box of fruit punch. JR looked at his own untouched grape juice, and handed it over. He got a big, honest smile and reached out to help Jared poke the straw through the tiny, silver hole. Jared took a slurp, cheeks puckering with juice, and then giggled.
Maybe this kid wasn't so bad.
* * *
* * *
"Jesus, Jen-you're a bastard."
Christian doesn't sound all that pissed. The redhead he's just blown off stomps away from their table-Jensen takes one last look at her great ass-and into the crowd.
"Least you could have done was to introduce me, man. Was it even good?"
"Awesome," Jensen smirks over the top of his beer. "But you know me."
"Hit it once and never again?"
"Not worth it, dude."
It hasn't been worth it in a long time. Jensen folds his damp cocktail napkin in half, corner-to-corner, and wonders if it ever would be.
* * *
The journal is the first thing Jensen pulls from his nightstand when he finally makes it into bed. There's a new blank page halfway in, and he ruins the pristine paper with two words.
Julie McNiven.
Jensen can't think of anything else to add about the red-head from earlier. They'd hit it off the night before, had a little fun with no promise of anything more. He sets the black rolling ball pen to thick paper and starts a spiral. He draws one continuous line, tracing around and around in abstract designs.
A quarter of the page is filled before Jensen stops. He turns to the front cover of the thick, leather bound book.
"Just another day," Jensen mutters quietly to the sepia photo. "Nothing special."
* * *
Fads are funny things. They're unpredictable, stupid, and pass quickly-most forgotten as soon as the next one shows up. Those concerning parenting are the funniest and usually the most pointless. Today it's organic diets and genderless baby names. Yesterday it was Mozart, trying to make babies smarter before they'd even graduated to solid foods.
Twenty three years ago in Texas, it was betrothals. Yeah, that's right, parents planning their children's marriages before they could talk and object to the pointless ritual.
In reality, most never panned out but that didn't mean parents weren't trying. It was the thing in Texas society; Donna Ackles got very caught up in the whirlwind and her enthusiasm never dimmed until her plans came to nothing.
Jensen's mother never spoke of it again until she was in the hospital. Then, every few days, Donna would remember the Andersons. She'd prattle absentmindedly about reception halls and family gatherings like she wasn't sick and the past never happened.
* * *
Jensen pretends otherwise, but he really doesn't get his family's business.
Ackles Acquisitions specialized in "eating up small, floundering corporations like a bear gorging after a long winter."
It always gets a chuckle; Jensen uses that same line over and over with new contacts and nameless suits--he can never think of anything else to say. He's not stupid-Jensen can do his job with a robotic efficiency and he earns plenty of money-but he's not particularly fond of the aggressive business. He was nudged into it after college left him with little drive and even less direction. After a few years he was too settled to contemplate anything else. There's a lot of nonsense, barely anything memorable, and Jensen spends a good deal of his day making plans for his nights out. The arrangements can get complicated.
"What about Henry's?"
"We went there last week, Chris." Jensen stares at the beige walls of his office and spins idly in his computer chair. Twice clockwise. Stop. Three times in the other direction. Stop.
"And we can't go back?" Christian pauses. "Aw shit, man. The girl that was dancing in the cage-hot, tiny brunette chick?"
Yeah, there was her-in the womens' bathroom-and the tall, blond from the corner table who begged Jensen to fuck him before they'd even gotten to the guy's apartment. He doesn't need to tell Christian about that guy.
Henry's is definitely out.
"That place over on King Street-the new brewery?"
"Gretchen's still a waitress there."
"Social?"
"The owner, Chris."
His friend groans. "Okay, how about that dive bar over on Broad? Jack's always begging us to go and I'm pretty sure there's no one there you'd even know, let alone fucked."
Jensen thinks back and comes up clean.
"Sure, why not?"
* * *
The dive, the Porthouse, is exactly that. Nothing much to talk about, but there's plenty of cheap beer and Christian seems way too comfortable in the light crowd. It's pretty clear that none of the Porthouse's customers have ever shopped at Saks or gotten reservations at Torch, but after three beers and the first acoustic set, Jensen's too mellow to care.
"Guess I found the perfect hang out, huh?"
Christian is lazing back in their booth, sprawling like he owns the beat up benches and scratched table. The king in his shabby castle.
"Enough beer to go around, the gig's not that bad, and you're not trying to fuck the next pair of killer legs or hot ass that walks by. It's like my garden of fucking Eden, man."
"If you say so."
He never guessed that Christian's ideal hangout would be the one place where Jensen wasn't hitting on everyone-not that he needs to try overly hard. Here, everyone's minding their own business and having a good time. There are no bouncers to impress in order to cross the velvet rope, and no one's clamoring for the bartender's attention with flirty eyes and cleavage barely contained in tight tops. It's all so normal that Jensen drinks more to banish the strange feeling in his stomach.
Five beers into the night and Jensen's getting antsy. His right leg is bouncing steadily but Christian doesn't notice thanks to the musician's bass. It's early enough that the clubs on the other side of the city are still open. With one cab ride he could be on familiar ground with his choice of willing partners and an outlet for his nervous tics.
Jensen leans over to shove at Christian when, over the strumming and singing from the stage, a loud laugh catches his attention. The rough and rugged bartender is red-faced and chuckling, but the laugh belongs to the younger man next to him. He's tall, broad shouldered, shaggy haired, and adorable-the complete opposite of what Jensen's looking for. There's nothing overly-pretty, twinkish, or high-maintenance about this guy-no signs pointing to "fuck me now, stud"-but Jensen's eyes won't take the hint to move on. Jensen's stuck just watching while the guy shifts racks of glasses, rolls up his sleeves, and pulls pints from the colorful draught taps; he's oblivious until Christian thunks him on the shoulder.
“You ready to head out, man?”
Jensen hadn't even noticed the singer packing up or the house lights getting brighter. He nods and stands. The guy is occupied with wiping the bar down, but he looks up suddenly and his eyes find Jensen's with a quick certainty, like he's been able to feel Jensen's stare all night.
“Hey, Jensen!” Christian yanks on his sleeve and he nearly tumbles over a wayward chair. “Easy there. You all set?”
When Jensen turns back, he's no longer being watched so he trails Christian to the door, more carefully this time.
“Yeah, let's get out of here.”
* * *
When he's back in the barely furnished, sterile apartment graciously paid for by Ackles Acquisitions, Jensen pulls out his journal but flips right to the picture stuck inside the front cover. The kid's immortalized smile has a matching one pulling reflexively at Jensen's lips.
"Checked out this new place tonight with Chris," he begins, settling cross-legged on the bed. The cicadas outside chirp in a constant, low drone as Jensen talks. Hushed words meant only for the boy in the photograph.
* * *
* * *
“JR!”
Hearing the screech, JR prepared himself for the tiny onslaught. Jared ran right into him as soon as he rounded the corner and he toppled to the floor with the excited four year old.
“You missed my birthday.”
Jared pouted from his place sitting atop JR's legs.
“Why do you think I'm here, runt?”
“Did you bring me a present?”
“Maybe,” JR reached up to tickle and tease the boy. Jared squealed and tried to fend off JR's attack, but he tumbled over onto the carpet, laughing.
“JR, stop!” Jared yelled when he caught his breath. He beamed up and unleashed his dastardly puppy-eyes on JR.
“It's in the kitchen,” JR gave in quickly, unable to resist the kid's pout. Jared tore out of the room and JR could hear him ripping through the shiny wrapping paper that he had carefully folded and taped himself.
Oh well.
The excited shouts made up for the destruction. JR sat up and listened to the childish glee coming from the kitchen until Jared dashed back with his box. Shredded blue paper was clinging tenuously to the cardboard and Jared plunked his gift between them on the carpet.
“Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles! Those are my favorite!”
JR had begged his momma to buy the comic book and cassette tape when he'd seen them at the toy store. Donna hadn't even blinked when he said they were for Jared - she'd just smiled and told J.R. to pick out whatever he wanted. Another book and three action figures later, JR had the perfect birthday presents.
Jared held the comic book out to JR. “Will you read it to me?”
“You don't want to listen to the tape?”
“No, you can do Splinter's voice better. Please?”
They settled side by side on their stomachs, spreading out Jared's gifts on the soft carpet. JR's voice changed for each character, imitating what he saw on the cartoons, and he could feel Jared shake with giggles every time he gets to shout 'Cowabunga, dudes!'
* * *
The job is the same, day in and day out. Jensen says the same things, mutters the same mundane greetings to the people he passes. He pushes the buttons on the elevator in the same order every day - once for the fifth floor, his office, and the 'close door' button twice. The same breakfast is on his desk, waiting-cinnamon raisin bagel with honey cream cheese-and he shoots Elizabeth the same, grateful smile when he shuts his door.
It's easier not to think about what he's doing. The day goes by faster this way and Jensen doesn't tamper with the order. Get through one day and start on the next.
Maybe this is where the routines started.
Going out is just another piece of his routine these days. One he's broken the last few nights.
But at lunch, Christian is doing his best to change that. He's surprised, choking on pico de gallo when Jensen offers his own suggestion.
“Wait, the Porthouse?”
“Did I stutter?”
Jensen doesn't need to look up to feel Christian's glare from across the table.
“No, but that's twice in less than a week. You feelin' all right?”
“That place was chill, man,” Jensen waves off his best friend's confusion. “I'm in the mood for something easy. Not someone easy,” he adds quickly before Christian can crack a lame joke.
Christian stares at him, considering, and folds a slice of his quesadilla, biting and chewing. His serious expression is ruined by the melting pepper-jack hanging from the corner of his mouth.
* * *
It's not about luck, Jensen keeps telling himself. Given that the guy works here, it shouldn't be a big deal-or make Jensen feel like his heart's light with helium-to walk into the Porthouse and spot the tall guy within two minutes.
Jensen's memory hasn't exaggerated; the bartender's still tall, goofy, and unfortunately already occupied. A gaggle of I-Felta-Thi's-or whatever-are clustered around the end of the concrete bar.
"You're kidding, right?" Christian tracks Jensen's line of sight. "We came here for that? Not really the type you go for."
He should say that he's not going for anyone-thank you-but Christian is right. Jensen's never gotten wound up for the great smile-and-dimples combo, or stalk limbs and shaggy hair. It's always been the killer ass or supermodel face reeling him in.
The pause hangs too long and Christian sees right through him.
"Go on and talk to him." Christian shoves past him, heading towards the dimly lit stage where the house band is setting up. "Find me when you come to your senses."
It's a Thursday night, but the floor's getting crowded. Jensen eases through the press of bodies and plops down on an empty stool.
"Get'cha something?"
Not the bartender he's hoping for, but Jensen gives the middle-aged leather mama a smile-not returned-and orders a beer. The lager splashes over the rim when she thunks the pint glass down.
Christian wanders over between songs, pointedly glancing between Jensen and the male bartender. He hasn't traveled down to Jensen's end of the bar yet, and maybe it's the alcohol, but Jensen swears he's seen the guy look over more than once. Probably wondering why the hell a customer's been nursing the same pint for nearly an hour and a half.
Christian, on the other hand, has gone through four.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"I just want to drink," Jensen mopes.
"Beer's probably piss by now."
Yeah, probably. The glass is room-temperature and the lager smells stale.
"But have it your way. I'm gonna help the guitarist with his blues tracks." Christian pauses. "You gonna miss me?"
"Call you tomorrow, Chris."
"Yeah, that's what I thought."
He's gone into the crowd gathered around the corner stage. Jensen cracks his knuckles against the bar-old nervous tic-when the empty space in his periphery is suddenly filled.
"It's just a beer, man."
Shaggy-hair is smirking, leaning over the bar and into Jensen's little corner of solitude.
"Excuse me?"
"You've been staring at your glass like it holds the meaning of life. From where I'm standing, it just looks like a beer."
Slack-jawed confusion is not one of those expressions you'd find listed under "enticing" on Wikipedia, but Jensen's pulling it off in spectacular fashion.
"Warm beer, too," the guy adds with a wrinkle creasing his pointed nose. "Did you want another drink?"
He doesn't catch on to the fact that Jensen's not saying anything, just staring baffled at the man who has unknowingly shuffled some piece of Jensen's jigsawed life-and who won't shut up, apparently.
"Better order something easy, though, like a beer. I can't really make anything complicated--oh, but I did light some cheap vodka on fire last week. Gave some of my customers a scare, and I think one guy thought I'd burned off his eyebrows, but he was fine. But seriously, did you want something?"
"Um-"
"Order from me, because Mona," he indicates the leather mama, "doesn't think you like her very much and-"
"Hey!" Jensen finally shouts, though with the ambient noise, the guy just barely hears him. "Are you okay?" Talking that much, that rapidly, could be a sign of total crazy, or a some kind of sickness, Jensen figures.
That's when he notices the guy's eyes-beautifully hazel-darting in every which direction so as not to look Jensen straight in the eye. And then he gets it. The guy is nervous. He's ducking his head shyly, turning away when two women in straw cowboy hats insinuate themselves between Jensen's stool and the wall, flashing smiles and skin, trying to get service. Jensen appraises the man as he grabs two brown bottles from a fridge-low calorie, no taste crap-and hands them over to waiting, manicured hands. No conversation, just a simple transaction, and Jensen's heart starts doing that singing-in-the-rain kind of happy dance. Either Jensen is that scary, he makes bartenders ramble, or this guy's interested.
But that poses the problem of how Jensen's supposed to go about this pick-up. His normal opening maneuver, buying him a drink, is off the table already. Probably pretty tacky to offer a drink to the guy who is serving them.
"Sorry about that-it's pretty busy for a Thursday." Shy-smile is back, taking no notice of the two disappointed man-eaters slinking away from the bar. "Are you here with anyone?"
This smile is better than the shy one, Jensen decides. It's mostly nervous, a dash of embarrassment, but with a clear quirk of hope. Apparently no grand schemes are needed. It's as simple as a conversation-a real one.
"No, I'm not." For flirting purposes, Christian matters as much as a single raindrop in a Texas storm. "And hey, another beer sounds great."
"Which one?"
Jensen's smile is genuine-it's a night full of surprises. "Whichever one is your favorite. I'm Jensen, by the way," he adds as the guy pulls a brightly painted wooden tap to release a cold stream of hoppy goodness.
"I'm Jay-nice to meet you."
The beer Jay picked is great-crisp and cool, the bitter hops balanced with a sweeter roast. Hazel eyes follow the movements of his lips where they touch the glass rim; Jensen can't resist a little lick to the corner of his mouth when he sets the glass down.
"So, you were in here the other night," Jay says.
"Yeah, it was my first time. Have a buddy who's been here a few times, though."
"Where do you usually hang out?"
Remarkably, Jay's not distracted by the clamor around him. That or he's ignoring it. Mona seems to be quite a force, handling a bar lined with patrons single handedly.
"Here and there," Jensen teases. If he's got Jay's full attention, he's going to use it. "Mostly over towards the West End-Light, McDaniel's, the DBC. Sometimes I'll hit the clubs downtown."
"Cool. I've never been over there."
"What's keeping you?"
"School, mostly." Jay shrugs, leaning both elbows on the bar, face that much closer to Jensen's. In the low light, it helps him pick out the details he hasn't noticed, like the moles strategically placed by genetics for greater effect, and tanned skin. "I just moved back to town for grad school. And, you know, working here."
School and work puts Jay at the opposite end of the social scheme from Jensen. And he doesn't mind-somehow it's almost a relief that Jay hasn't hung around the same meat-markets Jensen's been prowling for years.
"What are you studying?"
"Trying to get my Masters in Social Work."
A wannabe saint, Jensen imagines, wrapped in a tall, introverted package.
"Sounds like admirable work."
And clearly he hasn't had enough to drink. Admirable work? Really? But Jay looks pleased, taking it as a compliment instead of a brush-off.
"Thanks-I just, there's a lot I want to do with it."
"A big man with big plans, huh?"
Jensen should stop talking, immediately. Where the fuck was Christian to help him shut up? Again Jay blushes. Huh. Maybe he ought to just go with this whole talking-without-thinking-first thing. Silly-albeit honest-comments that would have gotten him ditched at McDaniel's have the opposite effect on Jay.
They talk until the crowd starts to thin. Christian leaves at some point, passing on his way out the door and thumping Jensen's shoulder. The conversation doesn't stray from casual, but there are enough subtle touches and inflections for Jensen to know where the night could end up. From the other end of the bar, Mona sends a glare their way and Jay guiltily bites his bottom lip.
"I should really go and help-closing and all that." Jay hesitates, mouth ready to lead the night in a whole new direction, and Jensen feels an unusual wave of apprehension where he'd normally be all-systems-go. The familiar urge to rush things along isn't there.
"Do you work tomorrow night?"
"Okay-" Jay stops, shuts his mouth. There's an awkward moment, like he thought Jensen was going to ask something else. "Um, yeah. I meant, I'll be here. Does that mean you'll be here too?"
Chris is going to drop dead of shock, but that could at least be entertaining.
"Yeah." Jensen grins, shifting off the stool before Mona's stare gets any harsher. "I'll definitely be back."
It's not until he gets outside, air fresher without the haze of alcohol and cigarettes, that the night catches up. Just past midnight and he's heading home alone-and yet he's perfectly happy.
* * *
Christian doesn't drop dead, but he does sputter rather amusingly when he meets Jensen for lunch on Friday.
"I don't know what to say, man." Christian sighs.
"Um, that you'll go with me?"
"Oh-yeah, 'course I will." His friend's never quite mastered the whole chew-with-your-mouth-closed thing, and bits of cabbage drop from Christian's eggroll back onto the plate. "Three times this week. You don't miss the clubs? Did you get black-listed or something I should know about?"
"Nope, I'm good. Except for that one place where I did that thing with that guy?"
"That stripper?"
"Yeah," Jensen smirks with the memory. "I'm still banned from there, but that wasn't my fault."
"It's always the stripper's fault." Christian nods. "But you don't need to pretend with me. I know this is about that kid."
Jay can hardly be called a kid, but men approaching the thirty-year benchmark have their quirks. And Jensen doesn't try to deny it, just smiles over his General Tso's and rearranges the chopsticks in his fingers.
"Man, you're weird." Christian shakes his head. Jensen doesn't deny that either.
* * *
It's more crowded tonight. Jay's one of three bartenders-complete with a personal army of tiny cocktail waitresses-and Jensen has a hard time even getting arm's distance from the bar. Christian is already in tight with the house band-some sort of weird, musician mojo going on-so they spend most of their time to the left of the stage with a nearly unobstructed view of Jay hustling and bustling from taps to fridge to well. But he's not frazzled. Jensen can see Jay has a big smile for everyone stepping up, slinging drinks as carefree and easy as if he were playing ball in his backyard.
"Kid keeps looking at you." Christian yells over the music. Jensen already knows, but his damn cheeks flush anyway. "Aw, Jen's got a crush. Excuse me while I go throw up in my beer."
No comeback's going to settle Christian, so he says nothing. The band's got the crowd singin' and swayin' to classic covers. Then, a twangy take on "Sweet Caroline" and everyone drops what they're doing to sing along. Seizing the opportunity, Jensen squeezes past happy, drunken bodies until he's facing Jay at the bar.
"Hey-I'm glad you made it." Jay brings a bottle of beer to his lips and takes a long swallow. Mona and the other bartender are similarly using the break.
"That kind of night, huh?"
"Been like this since happy hour." He finishes the beer and tosses it in the barrel serving as a trash bin. Jay's dressed like he could be out in the crowd. Mandatory boots, jeans with the kind of wear you don't have to pay extra for, and a dark t-shirt tight across his shoulders. Only the white rag stuck in his back pocket gives him away.
"Got plans for the weekend?"
"Not really much besides sleeping in." Jay shakes his head, eyes finding Jensen's and quickly moving away.
"Sounds exactly like what I have planned." Jensen teases.
Jay's wearing a smile that says all the right things, but deep down, Jensen's got a niggling feeling that things shouldn't go this way. Jay's a great guy to talk to-for once, he doesn't want to chance ruining that rapport. On the other hand, last night's fantasy had definitely starred one shaggy-haired bartender, and Jensen's body really wouldn't mind the opportunity to turn that into reality. And then there's the problem of how to ask. Jensen's no expert on normal relationships and dating, and he's mostly pretty sure a simple "my place or yours" isn't what Jay wants to-
"Did you want to maybe come over after closing?" Jay beats him to it, blurting the question before Jensen's finished with his convoluted line of thought. "To my apartment, I mean-it's not very far, but I have some great movies. Well, I think they're great, but I have video games too, and coffee."
There goes the nervous chattering again. "Hey-that sounds great," Jensen says, just as Neil Diamond's classic is winding down. Jay beams-there's no other way to put it-when he accepts.
"Awesome, I've just-" Jay stops as the bar is inundated with thirsty customers, privacy disappearing along with the song. "Hang around until close, and we can walk?"
Jensen tips his bottle in the universal 'sure, man' gesture, getting another smile, just as he's pushed back from the bar.
Christian takes one look at him and pretends to gag, but when his friend turns back to the stage, there's a funny sort of smile on his face Jensen can't place. After that, the time passes quickly with back-and-forth looks from the bar, and an unfamiliar anticipation in Jensen's stomach. He sips his next beer slowly, barely able to hear the band over his ridiculously indecisive inner voice.
He's going with Jay-no doubts there-but Jensen has no idea what he wants. Or what Jay really wants. Maybe it is just a chance to hang out where Jensen's not paying Jay for drinks and there aren't at least twenty other people crowded around listening to their conversations. And wasn't he just thinking about how he wanted to get to know Jay better? What better way than seeing his apartment?
He gets nowhere trying to argue with himself, so he stops. Risking another glance in Jay's direction, he finds the guy looking right back. They smile at the same time.
* * *
"Sorry about the mess."
Jay flicks on a few lights and Jensen sees that the place really is this side of a disaster area. Funny, it's almost a relief that Jay's even honest about this, considering most people are just fishing for compliments when someone claims their apartment is a total mess.
"I had a full week at school, plus an extra shift at the bar-" He goes around stacking books and pushing papers out of the way to reveal a tan sofa. The clutter is all notebooks and binders, a few empty soda cans precariously balanced on stapled stacks. The laptop on the desk is on sleep mode, probably grateful to get a night off.
Jensen likes the apartment immediately. Someone lives here.
"Dude, it's fine," Jensen says. "You should see my place." His stark, anonymous apartment ranks lower than Jay's well-loved abode any day.
"Right-so, movie?"
Jensen nods, noticing the warm flush that spreads across Jay's cheeks. "Pick something good. I haven't seen anything in a while."
They settle on Quantum of Solace, but before the opening song, Jay's up off the couch.
"You want a beer? I think I have a six-pack of something."
Jensen hears the fridge open and close, then the thunk of cabinetry, and Jay reappears a few minutes later. He sits down with two bottles, and Jensen immediately notices that his eyes are duller than they were before. His heart sinks towards his stomach.
"Hey, you okay?"
"Mmmhmm, fine." Jay smiles, but it's not as powerful now.
Shifting closer on the couch, Jensen tries to get Jay to look at him again, but his eyes are fixed on the screen as he polishes off half a beer in less than thirty seconds.
Jensen's brain throws up a red flag.
"Jay," he gets closer until their thighs are touching. Jay could have changed his mind. "Do you need me to leave?"
"No-'course not." Jay turns and Jensen can definitely smell the alcohol on his breath now. Not just beer, but something sharper as well.
"What have you been drinking, man?"
"Couple people bought me shots tonight," Jay says, but his fingers are fidgeting where they hang between his knees. "I couldn't say no to all of them."
"And just now?"
A wry sort of laugh. "Calming my nerves."
Jensen tries stay casual, but there's an edge to his voice. "You don't have to be nervous."
He's in uncharted territory. Usually tongues are down throats before he crosses the threshold. Jay isn't smiling, eyes wavering between Jensen and the wall like he's gathering courage. Before Jensen can reassure him again, Jay picks up his beer and finishes it.
"Seriously, I can-"
And then Jay's on him, tall frame invading Jensen's half of the couch, and trying to kiss him uncoordinatedly. Hands grab at bad angles-Jay nearly elbows his groin-and it's too wet. The kiss is ninety proof-sharp taste of vodka slipping onto Jensen's tongue. He wants Jay, he does, but nothing like this mix of drunk and desperate. So he tries to slow the kiss down, gentle press of mouths getting to know one another. It could be perfect, Jensen knows, if only-
Only Jay's suddenly not kissing him back. Shocked, Jensen leans away.
"Jay?"
Jay's trying hard not to fly apart. He stares up at the blades of the ceiling fan with bleary eyes, biting his lip.
"What's wrong?"
"I can't-Jensen, 'm sorry." Whatever Jay has had to drink soaked in; his words are beginning to slur. He blinks, almost surprised to see Jensen still sitting there. "You should-should, oh God."
He flops down onto the couch cushions, breathing heavily or sobbing, Jensen can't hear which. When he reaches for Jay's back, the guy flinches so Jensen waits. Waits for nearly five minutes until he realizes Jay's passed out. He must have drank more than Jensen thought, or was long past the point of exhaustion from a hectic week.
His sinking heart has bottomed out, and part of him is screaming to just get up and go. But he finds himself pulling off Jay's boots and tucking all his limbs onto the couch. There's a woven blanket handy so he spreads it over Jay's alcohol-heavy form, and he leaves a bottle of water from the fridge on the coffee table.
Even when Jensen's done all he can, it doesn't feel like enough. The entire situation is so wrong, he'd be laughing in delirium if it wouldn't wake Jay up. Jensen knows that whatever's happened, Jay doesn't want to get up and face it right now. He slinks out of the apartment and clicks the door lock behind him.
Time. He needs time.
* * *
"Jensen, you have to get out of the car."
At the old age of nine, JR didn't have to do anything. He crossed his arms and sulked in the backseat.
"Don't make me get your father, young man."
It was a dreary day and JR had been shoved into a suit early that morning, then bundled into the car. His parents hadn't spoken the entire ride to San Antonio, and they wouldn't even let JR play with the radio.
"Jensen, please." Donna's voice cracked on the last word and Jensen looked up.
"Where's Jared?"
"Honey-"
"No! I'm not getting out until you tell me."
"Alan," he heard his mother call over to his dad, and heard heavier footsteps crossing the asphalt. "I cant-you have to deal with him."
"It's okay," Dad said, voice much calmer, but very sad. "I'll talk to him."
Mom walked away with tears in her eyes, straightening her black dress with nervous hands.
"Hey, JR." Dad climbed in the backseat. "I know this is tough for all of us, but you need to come out."
"Dad-" JR started. "Where's Jared?"
"He's gone."
"But when is he coming back?" He already asked Dad all of this a few days ago when Mom got off the phone and starting crying. Dad told him they wouldn't be able to see the Andersons any more.
"He's not, JR."
That was a lie, it had to be. Jared always came back. The Andersons went to Hawaii for Christmas, but they came back. Jared was visiting his cousins over JR's birthday last year, but his mom drove him to the Ackles the next weekend so Jared could give JR his present.
"I know it's hard to understand, but when someone dies-"
"Jared's not dead," he insisted with a full pout. His G.I. Joes died in combat, but then you could pick them back up and start a new game. When Mario fell off a cliff too many times in a row, you restarted the game. But maybe it didn't mean the same thing when it happened to a person.
Dad looked like he couldn't find anything else to say, but he took JR's hand and pulled him out of the car.
And JR went, still hoping Jared would pop around a corner at any minute.
* * *
Jensen doesn't tell Christian what happened. The annoying voices in his head don't need anyone agreeing with them. In fact, Jensen barely leaves his apartment all weekend. There's enough football on Sunday to distract him, and he lazes the day away in front of his flatscreen, hi-def combo, but Saturday is just plain weird.
His phone rings at noon but he doesn't answer. He's not tired, but he hasn't gotten out of bed. In his mind, Jensen replays last night, from the mutual anticipation at the bar to Jay's own brand of freaking out. Jensen combs through every moment, but he can't find where it all turned for the worse. He thought-well, he's not sure what he thought. That Jay was into him, that things were going somewhere. Somewhere Jensen wasn't really used to, but was looking forward to.
He only makes it as far as the couch when he gets up. He's existing, Jensen thinks, but he's not doing anything. It's been that way for years now. Nothing memorable, he's always telling his photograph, and it's the truth. Life has thrown many things his way since college, but after Mom died, nothing's stuck.
Except for Jay. The bartender's stuck in his head, has a tenuous hold on Jensen's heart.
He is so fucked.
* * *
Getting out of his office on Monday afternoon is a relief. Jensen locks the door at two, tells Elizabeth he won't be back after his meeting, and heads across the city.
The meeting's not a big deal-coffee with a former client who has some key information Jensen's meant to pry out of him. Another kind of act he bullshits through until the guy leaves, smiling like he got the better end of the deal. Jensen doesn't particularly care, or feel satisfied, that the guy's wrong.
There's a constant flow of people through the coffee shop seeking relief from the afternoon slump. Jensen sits, slowly draining his own caffeine and sugar combination, until a bag knocks into his chair and a flailing limb reaches out to steady the bag's owner.
"Shit, I'm sorry-oh."
Oh indeed, Jensen's brain snarks.
"Jensen! I didn't see you and this bag-" Jay glares at the offending item, "is way too heavy."
"It's okay. I don't bruise easily."
"Here for coffee? I mean, of course you're here for coffee-unless you're more into those green tea smoothies. They're pretty good too. What I meant was, how are you?"
Jensen doesn't stumble over the non sequitur. "I'm great." But he does lie with a sunny smile. "Just finished a meeting and I'm taking the afternoon off."
"Cool," Jay wavers. "Do you mind-can I join you?"
Before he opens his mouth to answer, a short, slender man slides up to the table.
"Jay, were we supposed to meet today?" The guy glances between them, oblivious to what he's interrupting. "Thought it was tomorrow."
"No, you're right." Jensen hates that Jay becomes inexplicably uncomfortable-reminds him too much of Friday night. "Ed, this is Jensen. Jensen, Ed and I are teaching assistants for the same class."
Ed's eyes stretch wide at the drop of Jensen's name. Jay folds himself into a tiny cafe chair, and Ed gets the wrong idea-thinking introduction equals invitation-and snags the remaining chair.
"Jensen, right." Ed says like he knows something. Which pisses him off since Jensen's still a little lost. "Nice to meet you."
The conversation that follows is normal, but the words fall awkward on Jensen's ears. Ed's eyes are fixed on Jensen while Jay rambles about his classes. Jensen finds Jay strangely adorable when he's flushed and animated, and he wants to listen but it's hard with a third wheel distracting him.
"So, you two meet at the Porthouse?" Jay pausing for breath gives Ed an opening. "That's a chill place."
"Guess so." Jay answers for both of them, fingers busy making a mosaic with the colored packets of sweetener.
"Good," but Ed's only focused on Jensen. "Jay needs to get out more, so show him a good time."
Jensen doesn't say that he'd rather stay in with Jared and have a good time. Jay seems like he wants to slink under the table and disappear.
"Ed, come on, man."
"Nah, I'm serious. You work too hard-tell him, Jensen."
He'll do no such thing. "Work is an accomplishment," he mimics his dad. "Some people enjoy that."
Ed throws the comment aside. "But everyone should be able to let loose, get out once in a while. You know what I'm talking about, right? And in Jay's case, he really needs to get laid."
Chris could pull a straight face if he said something like that to Jensen. They know each other through thick and thicker-up, down, and sideways. But he gets the impression there's no such familiarity between Ed and Jay. If it is, it's painfully one-sided. Jensen bristles and Jay's cheeks flush red.
"I'm sure Jay does what he wants. Nothing wrong-"
"No, man." God, this guy's dense. "I mean Jay finally needs to get laid or he's gonna end up as the only virgin graduating from-"
"Dude," Jay snaps, and the anger in his eyes is more attractive to Jensen than the guy who was just sitting back and taking it from this asshole. "I fucking told you-"
"You're not a virgin, right." Ed drawls with boredom, but at the same time sounds like he's spoiling for conflict. He narrows his eyes on Jensen. "Jay's just waiting for 'the one'. Did he tell you that?" His words are teasing but the tone is pure scorn. "Jay's our own little romantic-"
Jensen's chair scrapes harshly as he pushes back and stands. "Well, I need to run." He draws Jay's eyes from where they're concentrating on the cracks in the tabletop. "Jay, are you coming?"
That gets him raised eyebrows and a small, hopeful smile. Jay slings his bag over his shoulder, matching Jensen's stride out of the shop and leaving Ed behind with an unattractively gaping mouth. But once they're on the sidewalk, Jay's fingers pull nervously at his strap.
"I can-thanks, I guess."
The gratitude seems out of place. If Jensen had sat there another few minutes, he would have committed assault.
"Do you want a ride somewhere? I don't have to be anywhere."
"Are you sure?" And Jensen nods. "A ride to my apartment would be great."
In the car, things are quiet and smooth until Jensen sees Jay's long face from the corner of his eye. Jensen's not sure which deity is getting its jollies by sending so much awkward shit their way, but he's fucking sick of it. Which is clear when he smacks the steering wheel and Jay flinches.
"Are you seriously-"
But Jay opens his mouth at the same time. "Sorry about Ed. He's under the impression that hanging out with a group every once in a while makes us friends."
"You don't have to apologize for him. But why does he think he knows so much about you?"
Jay shrugs. "Shared way too much during a drinking game, probably. And he asked me out once." He tries to lay it as a joke, but Jensen knows it makes him uncomfortable. "It's true though, what he said-"
"It's not any of his fucking business." Jensen surprises himself with his vehemence. Jay's not asking to be defended.
"I know." Jay's tone softens and his fingers curl over Jensen's knee, intimate like he's been diffusing Jensen for years. "But I didn't want to lie to you."
The clear honesty relaxes Jensen. He smiles, but Jay's leg is still bouncing a rhythm on the floorboards.
"Thanks for the other night, by the way."
"Yeah, what happened? I thought we-"
"It wasn't you," Jay says, shaking his head. "It was nothing."
"Jay, that wasn't nothing. You were fine at the bar." Jensen doesn't let Jay protest. "You can tell me."
"I am fine. Just got nervous."
"Because of me?"
"Because-weren't you listening to Ed?"
Jensen swallows. "Not particularly." Jay shakes his head disbelievingly. "Listen, I don't care." Jensen's a little shocked that he doesn't, but it's true. "I'm not gonna tell you how to live your life." In that, Jensen barely has a leg to stand on considering his own twists.
Jay turns back towards him, not quite able to hide his surprise quickly enough. Jensen feels that familiar ease coming back, the illusion that there's more here than he knows what to do with. But before he gets a chance to say anything, they're at Jay's apartment and the guy's scrambling to get out of the car.
"Thanks for the ride-and, you know."
"Hey," Jensen calls out before Jay can move away. "Are you busy this week?"
"I have a crazy schedule, but I'm working Wednesday night."
Jay doesn't even need to ask; the catch in his voice is enough.
"I'll see you then."
* * *
There are two messages on his cell from Christian when Jensen gets home. Monday nights mean going out. Or they used to.
Jensen rubs his face and grabs a beer from the stainless steel refrigerator. It's only been a week since he met Jay, and his life is already different. Not turned upside down-more like someone's changed the filter and he's beginning to see everything a little off-kilter. When he's around Jay, things are usually calmer: he can talk without being judged, laugh without looking over his shoulder. Feel without the inevitable end. But away from him, there's a frantic beating in his chest.
His phone beckons, the key to a night out, the way things used to be. There's a strange sensation that he's drowning in air, body unable to pull itself in any one direction. He's holding his breath waiting for something to break and show him the way out.
In the bedroom, the only thing he can do is find his journal. Instead of writing, he pulls Jared's picture from the cover and sets it in a frame on his nightstand. And he does the only thing that's felt right since college.
* * *
On to Part Two.