Chapter Text
Almost at the Middle
“Sorry I’m late,” Eric apologises as he slips into the seat across from Jack at the small table, unwinding a scarf from his neck. “I know I was the one who recommended this cafe but I’ve never actually been before, just heard it was good from a friend.”
“That’s fine,” Jack tells him. “I haven’t been here long.”
Once they're settled with coffees, Jack asks about Eric’s dream. This is their first time working together on Eric’s dreams. He’s not sure if they’re doing social pleasantries and small talk. He’s not sure if Eric wants them to. He’s not sure if he does.
"I don't know yet. It's that Polaroid thing," Eric explains. "I don't have a lot of it yet. That's why you're here."
"Right. How is this going to work? Do you describe the dream to me?"
"Huh." Eric folds his hands on the table. "I really should have put more thought into this. If I had a paper and pen I could sketch out what I've got so far."
"Hang on. I've probably got something." Jack ruffles in his backpack and unearths some music stave paper and a pencil. He passes it over to Eric who takes it with a grateful smile and begins to draw while talking.
"So it's like I said with the Polaroid thing. I've had four dreams now so there's enough there. I'm hoping you can work out where it takes place at least."
Jack watches Eric draw. He's in no way an artist, but it's still interesting to watch his hands move across the page. Though after several seconds, it occurs to Jack he may just be watching Eric’s hands.
"Here," Eric says before Jack can dig into what that means. "Recognise it?"
Eric swivels the paper so it's facing Jack. It takes Jack a second to ignore the black stave lines running under Eric's drawing, but luckily he's had a lot of practise with his Gift and this is a very similar thing.
He pulls the drawing closer.
"There are some big dead patches still." Eric points them out with the pencil.
"It looks like it could be the laundry room in my apartment block," Jack says after staring at the paper for a minute.
"How certain are you?" Eric asks.
Jack looks at Eric. "Pretty certain. Like ninety-two percent maybe.” Jack traces his finger over a half-drawn object on the page. "That looks like it could be the fern the landlord has down there."
"You have a plant in your laundry room?" Eric's eyebrows raise. "Fancy. My old apartment block just had dust bunnies."
"I wouldn't get too excited about it. It's fake."
"Still." Eric folds his drawing and puts it into the back pocket of his jeans. "I'll add to this when I can, but it sounds like we know the where. Just got to work on the when."
"How long will that take?" Jack asks, breaking off a piece of the muffin he bought for them to share.
Eric shrugs. "I'm working in the dark here as much as you. Normally, we get to sit with the dreams for years and it's incredibly slow learning anything. So identifying a location after four dreams is actually phenomenal if this were a regular situation."
"Does that mean the dreams are developing quicker?" Jack checks, trying to use the photography terminology Eric likes.
"Yeah, so far. Fingers crossed it keeps that way." Eric picks up a knife and cuts a quarter of the muffin off. "If it does, I'd say another…six dreams until we can be absolutely certain of the event." Eric bites a section off his quarter of the muffin.
"How long to have six more dreams?"
Eric shrugs again. "I've been keeping track. Well, I've had Justin help me keep track. He's a whiz at excel and volunteered himself. He gets an honest kick out of it and it's less work for me. So." Eric shrugs and takes another bite of the muffin.
Jack's stomach does a strange twisting motion when Eric mentions Justin. He shoves a large piece of muffin into his mouth to try and distract himself.
"He tells me I average between two and three dreams a month."
Jack swallows the enormous mouthful. "Then this thing probably won't happen for another two months then? That's good."
Eric's mouth twists down. "Is it?" he asks almost soft enough Jack doesn't hear.
Jack tilts his head, encouraging Eric to continue.
Eric sighs and drops his hands into his lap. "Sometimes I wonder if it would have been better if I'd never let you in on what's going on." Eric looks at Jack, forehead furrowed. "I can't imagine it's pleasant living life like this, knowing the possibility of death is just around the corner."
Jack doesn't want to tell Eric he's worrying too much over this, because he knows that's futile. Eric's going to feel what Eric's going to feel. "We're all going to go eventually," Jack points out instead, which he realises as he says it, has the same effect as what he was trying not to say.
"Yeah, eventually." Eric chews at his lower lip. "I'm worried I'm going to turn you into a hyper-paranoid person, worrying every time you do your laundry that it might be the last thing you ever do."
Jack shakes his head and reaches a gloved hand across the table, though Eric's hands remain beneath it.
"I'm not worried," Jack says, looking into Eric's eyes. "I know you'll be there."
Eric blinks then ducks his head. His hair flops down but Jack can see the blush on his cheekbones.
"No pressure then," Eric says, laughing wryly. He lifts his head back up and pushes his hair off his forehead. "I'll just be stressed enough for the both of us."
Jack draws his hand back to his side of the table. "I thought you'd made peace with your stress."
"Ah, you know," Eric shrugs a dismissive shoulder. "Sometimes it's fine and sometimes it's not."
Jack frowns. He doesn't want to be the cause of that in Eric, not when this man—his Guardian Angel—is committed to saving his life on a regular basis.
"What can I do to make it better more often?"
Eric bites his lip again and straightens the knife on the table. "Well actually, I was thinking—and we only need to do this if you're comfortable with it—but I was wondering if I could see your place?"
"You want to look at my apartment?"
Eric nods. "I think it would be helpful for me to see it. And any place you spend a lot of time, not just where you live."
"Of course," Jack agrees immediately. "If that's going to make things easier for you. Of course you can come over."
Eric sighs out and smiles at Jack. He stops pushing the knife around and reaches for his coffee instead, grimacing after taking a sip.
"Cold," Eric explains at Jack's look. "I didn't realise we'd been talking so long."
Jack checks his watch, surprised to see Eric is right; it's been nearly an hour. "Let me grab you another one. Do you have somewhere to be this afternoon?"
Eric shakes his head. "That would be great. As long as you don't have plans?"
Jack thinks about the cleaning that's waiting for him at home this afternoon and shakes his head. Turns out, he does want to get to know Eric after all.
Present Day
"So you'll just never come to my place," Eric announces in a slight panic after they’ve finished the omelettes Jack made them for breakfast. "I think that's the solution."
"You know you can't get around the vision like that,” Jack reminds him gently. “It's one of the first things you told me about your Gift."
"I hate this. I really hate this." Most people would enjoy dreaming frequently about someone they cared for. Not if they had dreams like Eric’s.
Eric folds forward and presses his forehead to Jack's kitchen table. He wonders if he's got a tipping point with all this. He wonders if it's close. He wonders if soon he’ll stop swallowing the words and just tell Jack he loves him and about the details of every thought he’s ever had about him and his hands and his smile and the way he says Eric’s name.
Jack pulls Eric's chair back from the table and grabs his hand. “Come on."
"What are you doing?"
"Distracting you.”
Jack pulls Eric back into the music room he slept in last night. He strips the sheet and Eric helps him re-fold the pull-out couch he’d left unmade in his haste earlier this morning.
Jack grabs his acoustic guitar and swings it onto the couch.
Eric blinks. "You're going to serenade me?" It’s a fantasy of his, but he’s always imagined the setting differently.
Jack shakes his head. "Guess again."
"Uh, you want help with the Lizzo song?"
"Nope." Jack pauses. "Yes, actually. But not right now. Now, I'm going to teach you to play."
Jack pulls the acoustic guitar out of its case.
"Really? Now?"
"Yeah." Jack puts the empty case on the floor and sits on the couch. "How many times have you said you'd love to learn?"
"Many."
"So pick a song."
Jack pats the space on his right. Eric sits down.
"Any song?" Eric checks.
"Any song,” Jack confirms. “Get the chords for it on your phone."
Eric suddenly doesn't know any songs. "You'll sing and I'll play?"
Jack laughs. "There's one singer between us and we know it's not me."
"You can sing." Eric wouldn’t have that fantasy of being serenaded if he couldn’t. He loves Jack’s voice. The depth in it, the way his accent shapes his vowels, how sometimes when he’s tired it gets a little scratchy.
"I can carry a tune. You can sing ." Jack offers the compliment easily and Eric's heart does its familiar two-step.
"But we'll just start with the chords first," Jack adds, tuning the guitar with his perfect pitch.
Eric watches Jack. Since the day in the restaurant, he's become fascinated by Jack's hands; the thickness of his fingers and the way his nails are always neatly clipped. A few times, Jack’s made Eric sit and listen to him play one of his arrangements so he can get feedback. Eric loves watching his fingers move over the guitar strings, even more so than he’s enchanted by the hair that falls down across Jack’s forehead as he leans over his guitar. It amazes Eric every time that Jack makes it look so effortless.
Eric finally remembers a song.
"'Halo'," Jack reads off Eric's phone. "Do I know this one?" He starts playing through the chords. "Sing the first line?" Jack asks Eric.
Eric obliges him.
"Oh yeah. Yeah," Jack says, smiling at Eric. "This one. Okay. We can do this."
Just After the Beginning
Eric is easy to spot in the small optometry practise with its open plan and low shelves.
“Jack!” Eric says, spotting him straight away. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to give you my number."
The man beside Eric chokes on air, then says, "Wicked game, man."
"Justin!" Eric hisses, pushing the other man’s side. "It's not like that. Jack's the guy from my dreams."
Justin runs his eyes over Jack who shifts uncomfortably beneath his gaze.
"Yeah, don't blame you," he says when he’s finished looking.
“What? What do you—” Eric puts a hand to his forehead. Jack watches his cheeks turn an embarrassed red. "Not my dreams. My dreams."
" Oh, ” Justin exclaims, eyes widening. “ Those dreams.” Justin looks back over to Jack, who stands, hands in his pockets.
"Don't you have an appointment to get ready for?" Eric suggests after a silence builds between them. He pushes at Justin while sending an apologetic look to Jack.
Justin lets Eric push him into one of the office rooms at the back of the store. Jack has his eyes on Eric so he catches the thumbs up Justin gives him over Eric’s shoulder when Eric turns his back. He chooses to ignore the gesture and whatever message Justin is trying to convey.
"Sorry, Jack,” Eric apologises immediately when it’s just them in the main store area. “Hope Justin didn't make you uncomfortable. He's very open, which I know is a bit much for some people upfront."
“It’s fine. Are you two friends?” Jack is curious as to the nature of their relationship. Justin obviously knows about Eric’s Gift but that hardly means anything without Jack knowing if Eric’s the kind of person to share that information readily.
“Yeah. We were actually in college at the same time, but not really close. Somehow we both ended up working here though and bonded pretty much straight away,” Eric tells him. “It’s good actually, working with a friend. I thought it might be a bit stressful, but it’s great. Anyway. Sorry.” Eric crosses his arms over the top of a shelf of glasses and smiles at Jack. “That was me talking way too much. You said you're here to give me your number?"
"Yes." Jack brings his thoughts back on track. "You mentioned how stressed having the dreams was making you."
Eric nods. "Yeah, they are. But I've made a tentative peace with it. I'd much prefer to have them and be able to save you than…" Eric trails off. "Well. You know."
"I do. Still, I had a thought of how I can make it less stressful.”
“I’m all ears,” Eric says, smiling at Jack.
“I thought if I give you my number, you could talk me through your dreams. I may be able to help you figure out locations or other details."
Eric blinks. "Jack, that's…incredibly smart. And generous. Thank you.”
Jack likes hearing the compliment, as does he like seeing the pleased smile Eric gives him at the same time. It’s much preferable to the tense worried frown from their first meeting.
"Here." Jack hands Eric a slip of paper on which he's already printed his contact details. “Let me know the next time you have one of your, uh, PPDs? Your premonitions? And I’ll do my best to help.”
“I will.” Eric takes the paper and stares at it a moment before slipping it into the pocket of his coat.
"So how did you find me here?" Eric asks after pocketing Jack's number.
"You were wearing the coat when we talked the other day."
Eric looks down at his white coat with the name of the optometry practice embroidered on the front pocket. "Right. Smart again. It's going to be good having you help with the dreams, I think."
"I hope so. I don't want you to be needlessly anxious on my account."
Eric tilts his head, sighing. "A little late for that. I mean, I'm normally an optimist but I'm moving through the dark with what my Gift’s doing here."
The furrow lines around Eric's eyes return, reminding Jack of the other day in the park. It feels wrong seeing them on Eric's face now when he knows a little of the man and knows he doesn't deserve the relentless responsibility for Jack's life his Gift has burdened him with.
“So you're an optimist optometrist,” Jack tries a joke. It garners an obviously unexpected laugh from Eric. Jack's glad to hear it.
“That’s terrible. Such a dad joke." Eric looks embarrassed on his behalf when he looks at Jack. "Maybe the universe is trying to kill you off for your sense of humour.”
“Me and every dad out there?” It pleases Jack that Eric can joke about it even through his self-confessed worry. Though Jack gets the sense it's a little forced for Eric.
Someone walks into the store then. Jack feels the interruption but really he's the intruder in Eric's place of work. Eric passes them on to Justin for an eye check while Jack waits, hands in his back pockets, wanting to say goodbye and not walk out while Eric's occupied.
Eric returns from the desk over to where Jack's positioned himself by the side wall cabinets filled with different glasses behind locked glass panels.
“So, you’re a dad then?” Eric asks him.
“Uh, no?” Jack turns to look at Eric, surprised by the content of the question and the fact Eric's asking him one in the first place. Jack assumed Eric would want him to leave so he could get back to work. He’s under no obligation to chat with a man he’s met properly only once before, a man who isn’t a customer. Jack doesn't mind spending more time if that's what Eric wants though. It's more appealing than working out his tutoring schedule for the next term.
“Oh, sorry. You referenced the dad joke thing and I assumed.”
“I didn't mean it in that way."
Eric apologises again.
"It’s fine," Jack assures him. "I do feel like one sometimes.”
Eric narrows his eyes at Jack.
“I run the music program at the local high school,” Jack explains. “I get called 'dad' more often than you might think."
"How embarrassing," Eric remarks.
Jack hums in agreement. "And I get involved in much more student drama than I’d like."
“I can imagine.” Eric says, laughing, possibly at the expression on Jack’s face.
The next person who walks in is there for an appointment with Eric. Jack says a quick goodbye and leaves with a promise from Eric to call him.
Present Day
The day passes without either of them bringing up the dream or the fact that the sun is setting and Eric is still at Jack’s place, though there are several times where Jack looks a certain way at Eric that brings goosebumps to the back of his neck. He never says anything though.
Leaving Jack’s place is harder each time with the dreams as frequent as they are and Eric’s feelings seeming to have an infinite capacity for deepening.
Eric is once again on a cushion on the floor by Jack’s coffee table, finishing off the sketch from yesterday now that he knows it’s meant to be his bedroom. The window was in the right place, at least.
Jack’s been clearing out his school inbox but the sound of typing petered off a few minutes back. “Eric?” Jack says his name softly.
Eric looks over his shoulder to Jack. His hair is disheveled and there’s that same curious expression on his face, lips pulling down slightly at the corners.
“I think I need to tell you something.”
Eric has no control over the way his palms grow clammy suddenly. “What is it?”
“Can you—Do you mind?” Jack gestures to the couch.
“Yes. Of course.” Eric drops the pencil and closes the sketchbook, sitting on the couch next to Jack, one leg tucked beneath him so he can face Jack.
Jack puts his laptop on the coffee table and then looks at Eric, frown still evident. He clenches his hands on his knees and takes a deep breath. Eric waits patiently. He doesn’t know what Jack feels he needs to tell him, but considering his tells, and that Eric’s certain he’s been sitting on it for most of the day, he knows it’s something serious.
After a minute, Jack opens his mouth and says, “Eric, I'm sorry. I think I saw one of your dreams.”
Eric freezes.
“It was just like you’ve described them, with the fog.” Jack moves his arms, crossing them over his chest. “It was a while ago now, and I didn’t say anything at the time because I had doubts that it was one of your PPDs. I thought, maybe—hoped—that it was just a regular dream.”
Jack’s gaze moves over Eric’s shoulder for a second before landing back on his face.
“Then it happened. The dream I saw. That you had about us. It happened exactly as you’d dreamed it and I’d seen it.”
Eric shifts on the couch, tucking his arms beneath his legs. "I didn't know you could use your Gift that way."
"Neither did I. I'm sorry," Jack apologises again.
"It's alright you saw it. You know I trust you."
Jack breathes out.
Eric swallows. “The dream. Was it you teaching me guitar this morning?” he asks, already aware of what the answer will be.
Jack nods.
“I remember that dream," Eric says softly. "The night after I first met your work friends. You drove me home and I fell asleep in the car."
Jack nods again.
The thing is, Eric’s been having dreams like that for a while. They’re dreams, but they’re not premonitions, or more specifically, not PPDs. He’s seen the graph on Justin’s spreadsheet. From the day he touched Jack, the dreams have been morphing. Less about death and more about something softer and infinitely more enjoyable to dream about.
For the longest time he thought they weren’t premonitions at all, then about two weeks ago the first one came true. It was almost nothing, so small Eric might have missed it if not for déjà vu hitting him like a thunderclap. The first thing he did was call his parents with a new theory about how his Gift was mutating. They’ve both been trying to help him confirm it, but it’s still just a theory. It sits right with him though. He thinks his Gift is finally settling into what it’s been trying to be his whole life.
He hasn’t told Jack about his suspicion. Eric knows it isn’t fair because it concerns them both and if Eric's theory is right, Jack is the catalyst. So Eric can’t lie now, not when Jack is bringing it up outright, not when it has consequences for both of them. Not when he’s known this conversation has to happen for weeks already.
The silence sits thick between them. Though he knows he has to, Eric is afraid to break it. They won’t be able to come back from this with the same dynamic that they have at this moment. He takes a deep breath, holds it in as long as he can. Then he looks at Jack.
“Do you remember about three months ago when you asked me again about my Gift mutating?”
Jack nods. His eyes are so blue. “I remember.”
“I told you no-one had any new theories, which was true at the time, but about two weeks ago, something happened and I realised what my Gift was trying to do. What I think it’s trying to do.”
Jack uncrosses his arms. He turns his torso slightly and lays his right arm along the back of the couch so his hand rests close to Eric's shoulder. “What’s it trying to do?”
“Have I ever told you what my dad’s Gift is?” Eric asks instead of answering Jack’s question. He needs to give Jack some backstory for his theory to make sense.
“No.”
“Right. Okay.” Eric can see the hairs on Jack’s arms where he’s pushed the sleeve of his henley up. He looks there instead of Jack's face as he speaks. “Well, we call him a matchmaker. He can see connections between people. Not everyday connections, only really strong ones.”
“Like what?”
“Like love.” Eric lets the word settle. He looks to see how Jack's reacting. Jack’s eyes tighten at the corners, it’s almost weariness.
“True, deep love," Eric whispers.
Out the corner of his eye, Eric sees Jack’s fingers curl into his palm. “Why are you telling me this now?”
“I’m trying to answer your question about what my Gift is doing. I think it’s somehow a mix of both my parents’. Jack, I-” Eric’s words catch in his throat. He’s conscious of how close he and Jack are sitting and somehow managing not to touch. The absence is more present than if they were touching.
Eric takes a deep breath and pulls him and Jack and their relationship over the edge of a cliff.
“I’m saying I think the dreams have been trying to connect us.”
Jack doesn’t say anything. This time, Eric can't pick a reaction at all, unless the careful absolute stillness is the reaction.
“I think my Gift has been changing with my feelings," Eric continues. "They started just with Mama’s Gift—the premonitions of your death—but then when I actually met you and we grew close…" Eric pulls his hands from beneath his thighs and starts twisting them together. He clasps them to still them, so tight the skin goes white around his knuckles. "I think it somehow sensed our connection, like my dad’s Gift could have. I think my Gift picked up on how I am—how I was-" Eric stops and sighs. He lifts his gaze from his hands to Jack's face. Now isn't the time for fudging the truth.
"How I do feel for you. I think the dreams have been changing to reflect that."
Eric's cheeks grow warmer with every word he says as Jack's listens with a literal unblinking focus. His eyes ghost over Eric's face. If it was possible for Eric to grip his hands together tighter he would.
Eric waits for Jack to call him out on his feelings.
“You said you didn’t know until two weeks ago," Jack says eventually, "but you must have been having the dreams before then.”
“Jack." Eric doesn't mean to put so much frustrated emotion into the word, like the lid on his feelings is coming loose. "I’ve been having dreams like that about you for months .”
Jack flattens his palm out and his fingers bump against Eric's shoulder. Eric holds still.
“I asked because I’m just trying to figure out...I mean. The Gift isn’t forcing them to happen? Forcing you to like me.” The pinched look at Jack's eyes takes on a new meaning.
Eric can't deny himself the urge to comfort. He unclasps his hands and drops a palm onto Jack's knee. “That’s not how the Gift works. It can’t see it if it’s not there.”
Jack's eyes flick between Eric's. "I...Sorry, I think I need you to spell this out. I don't want to assume. You're saying that you…"
"That I love you. Yes. For a while now and not because of the dreams," Eric reassures Jack.
Eric holds Jack’s gaze, though he feels too seen for comfort in the quiet that stretches second by second. Eric’s hand still rests on Jack’s knee, not wanting to cause discomfort with the physical intimacy now that Jack knows it comes from a place deeper than friendship, he goes to pull it away.
Jack’s hand lands on top of it and holds it in place.
“Would you—your Gift—be able to tell if I love you back?” Jack asks.
Eric swallows, shaking his head. “I don’t think so.”
Jack takes a deep breath and then says so gently it’s almost a whisper, “So I guess I need to spell it out for you too.”
Jack’s hand shifts over Eric’s. It takes Eric’s brain a moment to register he’s trying to link their fingers together, so caught up as it is in predicting where Jack’s going with his sentence. Eric moves his hand up and Jack’s fingers slip between his own and curl down over the back of his palm.
“I may not have your Gift,” Jack says softly, eyes on Eric, “but I’ve been having dreams about you too.”
Eric’s stomach flips and his heart jumps into his throat. He whispers Jack’s name.
“I haven’t said anything because I didn’t want to put pressure on you when you already do so much for me, but I love you too, Eric.”
The Beginning
Jack's ready for it the next time it happens. As his Guardian Angel makes to run away, he grabs his arm, being careful to wrap his hands over the sleeve of the man’s shirt.
The man pulls against it but Jack holds firm and eventually, the man turns and looks at Jack with wide brown eyes.
"I think we should talk," Jack says.
Jack's been thinking about it for the past few weeks. All these times this man has been in exactly the right place at exactly the right time to stop Jack falling, or choking, or some other variant of serious bodily harm, they can't all be a coincidence. Something is going on.
Surprisingly, the man doesn't try to argue with Jack.
He sighs out and his arm goes limp in Jack's hand. "Yeah. Suppose we should."
Jack buys them takeaway coffees from the cart in the park while the man makes a call to his work. Jack leads them to a bench looking out across a grassed oval backing onto a small forest area.
“I probably shouldn’t be away from work for too long,” the man says, taking his coffee from Jack’s hand. Their fingers bump but Jack has his gloves on so nothing happens.
Taking it as permission, Jack asks bluntly, "Why are you always around?"
"It's to do with my Gift," the man replies, then stops to take a sip of coffee.
He doesn’t make moves to expand on his statement, so Jack prompts, "Which is?"
The man clears his throat then takes another sip of his coffee. Jack feels nerves start to creep in. He gets the sense this man is stalling for time—time he admitted to not having.
After a moment, just when Jack is about to ask again, the man angles his body toward Jack and holds out a hand.
Jack looks at it, trying to work out how it could relate to this man's Gift. Is it related to touch, like Jack’s is?
"You’re meant to shake it," the man says eventually, though not unkindly.
"Right." Jack's glad it's cold enough that his gloves don't get a mention when he shakes the man's hand.
"My Gift is a little heavy, thematically speaking.” The man pulls his hand away. “Thought we should at least know each other's names before we get into it."
"Right," Jack repeats.
"I’m Eric," the man—Eric—tells him.
"I'm Jack."
“Nice to meet—Well, it’s not really meet, is it,” Eric says wryly. “Nice to talk to you. Even if the talking isn’t going to be...nice.” He frowns.
"Because of your Gift?" Jack tries to get them back on track.
“Yeah.” Eric sighs and drinks more of his coffee, turning to look out across the park. “Got it from my mother’s side. We call them ‘Premonitions of Premature Death’," Eric tells Jack, pushing his legs out in front of him and crossing them at the ankles. "P-P-Ds.”
Jack keeps his eyes on Eric while the other man's face is turned away. He sees the slight tightening around his eyes as he speaks.
“Sounds dramatic.” Jack can understand Eric's earlier 'heavy' comment. Somewhere in the back of his consciousness, his brain starts connecting dots and it doesn’t help to diminish his nerves.
Eric shrugs but the tension still shows around his eyes. “I guess it kind of is, but I grew up with it, so I’m used to it.”
“How do the premonitions work?”
Eric takes a deep breath like he’s preparing. “We have dreams of someone dying, basically. And then we-" he pushes the air out in a rush, "try and save them.”
“Try?” Jack asks, unease growing.
“Well, we do have a 100% success rate, according to the family records." Eric manages a glance at Jack but quickly goes back to staring ahead. "We think it’s part of the power, but it’s not like we want to test for sure by purposefully not taking steps to save someone.”
“Of course. That would be-”
“Horribly unethical,” Eric finishes for him. The way he says the words makes Jack wonder if it was part of a speech his parents had given him about his Gift.
“Is there anything in your family records about why you dream of certain situations or people?” Jack asks, trying to figure out why he may be featuring in Eric’s most recent dreams. “Is it always someone close to where you are? People of a certain age?”
“No pattern.” Eric shakes his head and twists the lid around his takeaway cup. “There’s not really enough of a sample size to figure anything out because-” He stops talking.
“Because?” Jack prompts after half a minute of silence in which Eric continues to twist the cap around his coffee cup. For someone who didn’t want to be away from work for long, he’s taking a lot of time to shape each sentence.
Eric takes another several seconds to speak. Jack’s very aware of the fact that Eric seems to be forcibly not looking at him.
“The thing about the dreams,” Eric begins slowly, “is you only get one.”
“You only have dreams about one person?” That would explain the lack of sample size and why Eric has been around him so much.
“No.” Eric pulls his legs back in and tucks then under the bench. “Only one premonition. Ever. It starts when you’re very young and they’re very unclear. They develop over time, like the world’s slowest Polaroid, my mum likes to say.”
“So multiple dreams, but they’re always the same… The same scene?” Jack tries to confirm he’s understanding what Eric is saying.
“Yes. That’s it.”
“Okay.” As Jack thinks it over, he realises something. "But you’ve saved me more than once.”
Jack’s starting to understand more of Eric’s worry, why his forehead is still creased.
Eric clears his throat. “Yeah. That’s the scary part.”
He turns his head to look at Jack finally. Jack can see the fear there.
“I’m still having dreams about you dying." He whispers it but Jack hears a faint tremble in the words. "New dreams. New scenarios.”
“Maybe the Gift has mutated?” Jack has heard of it happening, though it’s incredibly rare.
“Yeah. I’m not sure what else it could be, but knowing that doesn’t help. Mutated into what?”
Jack swallows. Eric’s gaze on him is like a weight. “Should I be worried?” It comes out hushed, a little of Eric’s worry bleeding across to Jack.
“Honestly?” Eric asks, and then actually waits for Jack to reply.
“Please,” Jack tells him.
“I have no idea.” Eric shakes his head and breaks their eye-contact again. “I have no idea,” Eric repeats, sounding hopeless and lost. “My parents don’t know anything about it. Mama’s been going through the family archives but there’s nothing in there about anything like this. This doesn’t—isn’t supposed to happen. It’s always been one dream, one person. You save them and then that’s it. No more premonitions. Your Gift has fulfilled its purpose and you live the rest of your life essentially Giftless.”
“It sounds like a very stressful situation to be in," Jack tries to sympathise.
“It is. And normally I’m an optimist. But it’s, you know, not pleasant to keep seeing someone dying in your dreams, even someone you don't know”
Jack hums. There’s not much he can say to that. It is a macabre situation. Jack lifts his coffee to his lips during the silence before he remembers he’s already finished his drink.
“So, you’re going to be around more," Jack surmises their discussion.
Eric lifts a shoulder. “The dreams haven’t stopped.”
Jack thinks it over for a moment and finds he won’t mind that. He’s been getting used to his Guardian Angel.
Present Day
There’s no question of Eric going home after their conversation. The evening is like a well-rehearsed routine with the lighting cues changed. Jack’s smiles mean more and his touches are more. A hand on Eric’s back there and a fingertip on his cheekbone there and lips on his temple there.
This time, Eric spends the night in Jack’s bed. They fall asleep with hands and legs entwined, hoping Jack will get another glimpse into Eric’s dream.
When Eric wakes up the next morning, Jack is leaning over him. His thumb is brushing slowly over Eric’s cheeks and his eyebrows are drawn down.
“Hey. What happened?” Jack asks softly.
Eric takes a breath but it catches and stalls in his throat. He realises he’s crying.
“Eric? Is everything alright? I saw your dream again, but you know I can’t hear the dreams when I’m in them,” Jack reminds him.
Eric nods, tilting his head to kiss Jack’s palm. “I’m good. It’s all good.”
Eric pulls Jack down by the shoulder so they’re lying face to face, moving his hand to rest on Jack’s cheek.
“They’re done,” he tells Jack. “The dreams.”
“What? Really?”
Eric nods, biting down on a smile.
Jack leans in and kisses Eric soundly. It’s still a new sensation and it overwhelms Eric in the best way.
“How do you know the premonitions are over? Tell me what we said in the dream,” Jack asks when he pulls back. He runs a hand down Eric’s side and pulls his leg up over Jack’s.
“Okay,” Eric complies, moving his hand around to thread through Jack’s hair. The touching between them is a lot, but it feels natural. The lid of Eric’s ‘do not open’ box is way off and he’s indulging every thought he’s ever had about Jack’s hair and lips and back and chest and hands and arms and bend of his knee.
“You asked if the dreams had come back and I—It’s crazy,” Eric shakes his head, recalling the surreal conversation. “I brought up this night . I said ‘not since the night we said we loved each other’, then you said...Then you said…”
“Eric. What did I say?”
“You said,” Eric whispers, looking into Jack’s eyes, “You said, ‘It’s been four years since that night. I forgot I was going to ask.’”
Jack’s hand slides up to Eric’s waist. “Four years?”
Eric nods, pressing his forehead against Jack’s. “Four years.”
He tilts his head to kiss Jack, sweet and slow, knowing there will be years of these morning moments to be shared between them.
“Do you think you’ll miss having the dreams?” Jack asks Eric several minutes later, having rolled them so Eric’s on top of him, one hand resting on Eric’s back beneath his shirt.
“Not sure yet. I was kind of liking the new ones,” Eric jokes, nipping Jack playfully on the lips. “But really, it's probably for the best."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. They were never meant to be a lifelong thing,” Eric reminds Jack, tracing a finger over Jack’s collarbone. “And I’m sick of worrying about the future.”
“I’m glad. I never liked seeing you get worked up about saving me from my next fatality. Even back before we were friends.”
Though Eric knows that Jack loves him, this confession is almost sweeter. He kisses Jack again because his lips are right there and there’s no need to fight the urge anymore.
“You know what though?” Eric asks, folding his hands over Jack’s chest to rest his chin on.
“What?” Jack asks, smiling.
“I’m sure I’ll still be having plenty of dreams about us that are completely from my own subconscious.”
Before the Beginning
Eric races down the corridors of the local school, cursing traffic and his phone’s GPS for making him later than he should be. He’s panting and sweaty and his shoes pinch because he didn’t think he’d have to be doing so much running. His hair must be showing beneath the cap he’d so carefully placed on his head that morning but there’s no time to fix it.
Classroom 08. Classroom 09. Classroom 10.
He has to turn down another corridor before, finally, he hears the sound that’s been haunting his dreams since childhood. The melody of a song playing, echoing down the empty hall of a school.
There’s one door open along the hallway and Eric rushes towards it.
He rounds the corner and there is his dream come to life before his eyes. A music room. Guitars on the wall and pianos lined up in a row at the back. A record player spinning a vinyl, the song one Eric could sing from memory since he was twelve.
He has no breath for singing now and no time.
Grateful he’s so familiar with the layout of the room, he darts through the maze of instruments and into the storeroom at the back of the classroom where the man he’s here to save is on a ladder, maneuvering the components of a drum kit off the top shelf to a pile at the foot of the ladder. Eric sees the man adjust the floor tom, ready to pull it down, and that’s his cue.
He leaps over a stack of music at the front of the storeroom, just as the man pulls the drum off the shelf and overbalances.
In Eric’s dreams, this is the part where the man topples backward off the ladder, the part where he hits his head on the edge of a metal box holding music stands, the part where he lies bleeding on the carpet in an empty school while the record comes to an end and the scratch-scratch-scratch of the needle plays out as he dies.
In reality, Eric gets the chance to stop that.
The man swears as he feels himself tipping. Eric steadies the ladder with a foot and with both his hands pushes against the man until he regains his balance. His arms almost buckle with the combined weight of the man and the drum, but Eric’s been preparing his whole life for this moment and nothing in the universe could stop him from saving this man’s life.
A few seconds and then they’re both still.
Eric’s blood rushes loudly in his ears but he can hear his own laboured breathing and the short shallow breaths from the man he’s still pressing to the ladder.
Five. Four. Three, Eric counts down.
The record comes to its end and the scratch-scratch-scratch starts up.
The man is alive.