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September
To say Jay's having a bad night was an understatement. He had spent hours cheating at poker tables, smirking at pretty girls across crowded, dingy bars and lingering in dark alleys, and all he had to show for it was a few extra dollars and a pocket watch. He could barely eat on these kind of spoils, and that was leaving out what his dad would do to him if he came home empty handed.
Jay knows that guys his age aren't supposed to worry about stealing enough so he would be allowed his next meal. They think about what colleges to get into, who to ask to prom. They get tattoos and it's rebellion against their parents - their dads didn't drive them to the dodgiest tattoo studios at age seventeen with strict instructions on what to get.
But whatever, this is Jay's life. He'll deal with it.
He shoves his hands in his pockets, and looks up at the only working face of the ancient clock that stands in the middle of the city centre. Quarter to four. Sighing, he resolves to just try one more bar before heading home.
Cruella's is probably Jay's least favourite bar on the Isle. With fur lined walls and bartenders with vicious teeth that leer at you as you walk by, the whole place reeks of sleaze, the kind Jay tries to avoid at all times. He may be a pickpocket and a liar, but he tries to be a reputable one, at least.
As always, Cruella's is full of what kids in his school frequently refer to as "the wrong sort". People with scars running across their faces and complexions worryingly unhealthy, men with a greedy glint in their eyes that remind Jay too much of his father. Outlines of guns press against waistbands, and heavily ringed fingers play with Swiss Army knives.
Another reason Jay never goes to Cruella's - harder to steal from people who are expected to be stolen from. That, and the music taste is abysmal.
He settles on a bar stool, facing the bar around him. Harry Hook in the corner he recognises, heavily eyelinered and drugged to the eyeballs. A girl sitting by a poker table looks like a likely target, looking clever but not smart, her bag lying on the floor by her feet. He nearly gets up to go sit next to her, when he spots him.
Bingo.
The guy couldn't look more out of place. Dressed in an expensive leather jacket and heavy boots, he sits on a stool by a corner, drumming his fingers anxiously on his knees. He's wearing fingerless leather gloves, and has bleach blonde hair, though his dark roots are showing. He doesnt look any older than Jay. His eyes keep darting to a door in the back, and more importantly, Jay can see his wallet hanging out of the pocket in his jacket.
Jay bites back a mischievous grin.
He orders a drink (that he won't pay for), and watches the kid out of the corner of his eye.
When he sees him raise to get up, Jay makes a beeline for the bathroom, but "accidentally" bumps into the guy. He holds his shoulders to steady him, and laughs, just as a new song rolls onto the stereo around them.
"Whoa, sorry about that, man," he says, flashing him a smile as he pulls his wallet out of his pocket. "Guess I had a little too much to drink,"
He darts away from him, and heads to the bathroom. He finds a window unlocked, and hoists himself through, laughing to himself once he jumps to the ground.
He's practically elated as he turns to finally go home, with something to show for his efforts. He slips the stolen wallet into the inside pocket of his jacket, and goes to count the cash in his own wallet. And then he freezes.
"Looking for something?" a voice behind him calls. Jay turns in time to see a boy shorter than him emerge from the shadows, bleach blonde hair falling in front of dark eyes. Jay's eyes widened as he recognised the 'easy-mark' he has picked earlier. In a leather-gloved hand, he brandishes Jay's wallet like a prize.
"How did you - ?"
"I could ask you the same question. That is my wallet in your pocket, right?"
Jay considers his losses if he left his wallet with the boy across from him. He never had much money anyway, and the worst he would leave with is injured pride.
"Don't know what you're talking about. I've never stolen anything in my life," he says, dropping a smirk that usually allowed him to manoeuvre his way between sheets. "I try to live a clean life,"
The unimpressed tilt of the blonde boy's eyebrows shows his disbelief in that statement.
"So, if you'll excuse me," Jay says, going to move past the first person in ten years to successfully mug him. He's stupid enough to assume someone who can sneak his wallet out of his pocket won't try too hard to get their own back.
He realises how stupid he is when he feels the sharp press of a pocket knife against his inner thigh.
The other boy smiles up at him, canines flashing in a challenge. "My wallet first, thanks," and
Jay blinks at him.
"Sorry, did I look stupid to you? Just hand over my wallet, I'll hand over yours, we can go our separate ways. Easy-peasy. Okay?" the kid's smiling, but he's definitely not joking. Jay hisses as he feels the tip of the knife pressing harder against his leg.
"Fine!" he says, not wanting to think about how close the knife could be to any essential blood vessels. His dad could be mad enough to raise hell when he came home empty handed, but he wants at least to come home.
"Good choice," the guy says, pulling the knife away. He flicks Jay's wallet open, his eyes darting to the ID stored there. "Jay." He tosses Jay's wallet to him, and Jay does the same. The guy winks.
"See you around, Jay," the blonde laughs, before strolling into the darkness, humming the song that had been playing when Jay snuck away his wallet.
-
December
It's not like, months later, Jay thinks his dad actually resents him coming home empty-handed enough to assign him the worst jobs, but it felt like it sometimes. Like now. Snow fell, soft and heavy, dusting Jay's beanie and coat, making the landscape look like a fuzzy television set. Jay clenches his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. Why he had jobs to do at four in the goddamn morning, his father neglected to tell him. He also neglected to tell him why he, of all people, had to meet with Cruella's son. The owner of the skeeviest bar in town's everything short of savoury, and Jay can't imagine any of her offspring being much better.
But as his father so loves to remind him, Jay's not the one calling the shots, so he does as he's told.
His thoughts wander to his toes, and he wonders how he'll last if one or two of them fall off due to the cold.
He has to wait in the corner of Queen's Park, next to a frozen water fountain. It's eerily quiet, as this corner of the park is a purposeful distance from the buzz of the city. No one passes him as he lurks in the shadows, and it's making him antsy. Usually he can watch strangers as he waits for clients and colleagues to meet him, wink and grin at girls that pass by. With no one around, it's impossible to pass the time.
That is until he's approached by a boy several inches shorter than him, wrapped in a black leather jacket lined with fur, that looks like red paint was spilled all over. It has to be de Vil's kid.
"Jay, right?" de Vil says, and Jay freezes. No way. He doesn't recognise that voice. He can't. There's no way he -
De Vil steps into the lamplight, the hazy yellow giving his bleach blonde hair a weird tinge, casting shadows on freckled cheeks.
He fucking pickpocketed Cruella de Vil's son. And he got caught.
"You're -" Jay starts. Subconsciously, he goes to run his hand through his hair, before realising he's wearing a hat.
"Carlos. Carlos de Vil." de Vil grins, obviously proud at getting the drop on him. "We've already met, right?"
Jay can't help but laugh.
-
February
The wooden bench is cold at Jay's back, even through the hoodie and jacket. He pulls his beanie further over his ears before reaching into his pocket to finger the night's spoils again. The cool press of metal against his finger tips is like a lullaby, and he feels the crawling beckon of sleep tugging at his eyelids.
His sleeves are comfortably heavy, and a quick peek shows him the wallets he pilfered from drunken strangers who staggered alongside him down dark alleys. he can still hear the sounds of the Isle's nightlife, far from over. Drunken singing, cat-calls, the familiar pounding techno music that oozes from grimy, neon-lit buildings.
As Jay sits in the sleepy park, a cool, green reprieve from the gritty city around him, these sounds filter past him like a nameless songbird. He fights against a yawn, and his eyes dart to the (stolen) watch on his wrist. He barely has a second to worry before he hears the crunching sound of boots on gravel.
"Hey, loser,"
Carlos.
Since their first official meeting a few months ago, Jay and Carlos have been on the road to - well, if not friends, than something close to it. Knowing Carlos was like learning a new word - you'd never heard of it before, and suddenly it's everywhere you look. Jay had always thought of Mal as his best friend - and then it turns out she's known Carlos for years. Carlos apparently frequents the same gambling dens as Jay.
Jay learns that Carlos is often out as late as he is, and they start waiting for each other, to compare hauls. It's fun in a way stealing has never been fun before - and he knows it's because he's never had anyone to share the experience with before.
His father always says habits are dangerous, but the warmth of Carlos' arm against his as he collapses onto the bench next to him is too comforting to feel like a bad idea. He's come to expect Carlos' voice around corners and in the park now, and it's not something he could see himself doing without.
"So what you got?"
-
May
Jay's not sure which registers first - the unmistakable, almost alcoholic scent of spray cans, or the hiss of paint leaving the cans. And then, like thunder after lightning, he spots a familiar figure in a red leather jacket and black gloves. Carlos is balanced precariously on the edge of a dumpster, adding finishing touches to a messy, black and red tag that just says 101. It wouldn't be impressive if the 1 wasn't taller than Carlos was.
"You been working on this all night?" Jay asks, using empty crates to swing himself onto the dumpster next to Carlos. He leans across the distance from wall to the dumpster, using his forearm to balance himself. If he leans slightly closer to Carlos than he needs to, well, that's his business.
"'Not all night. I had to -" he pauses, glancing over at Jay, as if he's trying to figure something out. "My mom had some jobs for me to do."
Before Jay can comment on that, Carlos reaches around and pulls another spray can from his bag.
"You want a go?" he asks. His eyes are glinting as he holds the can put to Jay. Jay grins back.
They jostle and joke with each other as they go on, and Jay knows his eyes flick to Carlos more times than necessary, but he can't actually bring himself to care.
Jay loves Mal and Evie like sisters, he does. They're his best friends, raised him in a way he never had experienced, just growing up with his dad. But he's never the kind of happy he is with Carlos when he's with the girls. Carefree, the kind of happy that settles in his bones and makes the hours around his father bearable. So Mal and Evie are sisters and Carlos is -, well, honestly, Jay doesn't know what Carlos is. Important. Something else. His best friend, sure, but more than that, too.
Carlos' laughs were plentiful, but every single one Jay startled out of him felt like a victory.
There's something else, too. He's pretty sure he hasn't imagined the few times he's seen Carlos' eyes lingering on his biceps, or the way his ears pink up when Jay gets too close.
Jay's spent enough time creeping through alleys to not be surprised by guys being attracted to other guys. If Carlos pays attention to guys the way Jay pays attention to girls - whatever. But he's not sure what to do when that attention is turned on him.
So he'll just keep that information in his back pocket for now.
He looks back at Carlos one last time, and the lamplight behind him gives him a weird flow around his head, making him look almost out of the world.
"What you staring at?" Carlos asks, and Jay just elbows him.
-
June
The first time Jay meets Cruella de Vil is down as one of his least favourite encounters of all time. Which is saying something.
He's been to Carlos' a few times - to drop off comic books or just to check in on him. Finding out your best friend lives in a closet is never good news, but Carlos didn't want to deal with it, so they didn't.
He's halfway through Carlos' window when he realises he's not alone.
Cruella de Vil is the kind of woman who holds herself like she used to be pretty, like she used to be a big deal. She'll criticise younger girls for not knowing how to dress, or style themselves. She looks at Jay with a positive hatred as he falls to the floor with a crash.
"Jay," Carlos whispers, from where he's standing in the corner. From where he's cowering in the corner. His mother gives him a caustic look,and he flinches.
Carlos has always been softer than Jay. And not - okay, yeah, he's smaller and shorter, but Jay's seen him pull a knife on someone with faster reflexes than Jay had ever seen before, seen his smirk that glints in dim lamplight as he runs alongside Jay, up fire escapes and down alleyways. Carlos' stature has never hindered him in the streets, Jay knows that. But he's seen him flinch when Mal raises her voice, has felt him freeze under his hand when it comes down too heavy on his shoulder, has watched as he pulls his sleeves down over his arms when they ride up by accident. He might be failing most of his classes - but Jay's not an idiot, okay? He hasn't said anything to Carlos, because they're not like that, but he's not going to pretend he doesn't know.
And seeing Cruella de Vil and her son standing side by side, he knows why.
"Bad time, man," Carlos says, trying to ease out a laugh.
"Sorry, Madame de Vil," Jay says, ignoring him. "Could I borrow Carlos for a moment? My father has a job for me to do, but it really needs a second man, and Carlos is the guy for the job. You mind?"
He's already halfway across the room when she huffs approval, and Jay wastes no time grabbing Carlos by the hand and pulling him out the window.
Halfway down the fire escape, Carlos pulls free.
"Jay." he says, eyes pleading, but Jay doesn't know what he's asking.
"What did she do to you?" he asks, gruffly, refusing to look him in the eye.
"Nothing," Carlos says. Nothing yet. "Nothing, Jay! You should have just left. Now when I get back -"
"Now what? What will she do?" Jay asks, trying to keep his fury in check.
"It's none of your business!" Carlos counters. "I'll be fine! I would have been fine!"
"You wouldn't have been fine -"
"Don't pretend to know what's going on, Jay. I know your father sucks, but don't even try and pretend you get what I'm going through with her."
Carlos chest heaves, anger in his eyes. Jay can feel the need to retaliate burning in his chest, but the fearful look in Carlos' eyes earlier comes to mind. He sighs.
"I don't want you hurt, alright? Tell her who my father is. She'll believe why you had to leave then. Why you had to stay out all night."
Carlos' mouth hangs open, like he never finished arguments he meant to start halfway through Jay's rant.
"Stay at mine tonight, okay?" Jay says, not looking him in the eye. "Just til she cools down."
Carlos doesn't say anything, only nods.
"Come on,"
-
August
In retrospect, it makes sense that bringing Carlos to a club is a terrible idea. And not even for the reasons Jay would have come up with, if asked.
Evie, enthusiasm spilling out of every pore, had suggested it, and Mal, with a glint in her eye and a smirk that spelled danger, agreed. If the girls were in, Carlos was in, and if Carlos was in ... well. Jay had to go.
First reason it was a bad idea - getting in. Jay's looked of age for years, all broad shoulders and long hair, the kind of guy old ladies cross the road to avoid. The girls, too, when dressed up, can pass for ten years older than they were. Carlos though, a lean ball of nervous energy, a youthful face that despite any of Carlos' own crimes makes you want to trust him.
Despite that, the bouncer had taken one look at Mal and waved the four of them in.
Second reason - alcohol. Jay wasn't inexperienced - he spent most of his nights in bars after all. But for as long as he's known Carlos, he's never seen him touch a drink. He didn't want to make any presumptions, but the last thing he wanted to deal with was a drunk Carlos de Vil.
But Carlos is relaxed when they get inside, and goes with just water.
So instead of a disaster, like Jay would have predicted, it turns out to be a pretty good night.
Well, that's a lie. What it actually is, is torture.
It's Carlos, sweat clinging to his skin as he bounces erratically to the music. Its him mouthing the words to songs, innocent, dirty or otherwise at Jay as they make their way through the crowd. It's his million watt smile, aimed at Jay as he demonstrates his (shocking) dance moves. It's Carlos lifting his shirt up to wipe sweat from his face, giving Jay an unexpected view of his abdomen. It's him grabbing Jay's wrist to drag him amidst the throng of dancers, bodies around them pushing them closer and closer together, until the two of them are basically dancing up against each other. It's electricity running through Jay's veins every time their skin brushes against each other's.
Jay's been fond of Carlos for a long time, nearly since the first time they met. Warm feelings that sweep over him when in the other boy's company have become normal, almost expected.
But that fondness coupled with a sudden raw attraction - that he wasn't prepared for.
The worst part is when the clock reaches four am, and the four of them start fading. Evie tugs them to sofas in a dark corner of the club, practically pulling Mal into her lap. Jay collapses into the other side of the sofa, and Carlos manages to squeeze himself between them. His skin is uncomfortably warm against Jay's, but he doesn't want to break contact, so he says nothing.
Carlos rests his head against Jay's shoulder and he wants, in a way that nearly bowls him over.
Yeah. The worst idea ever.
-
September
Buskers aren't common in the Isle. Too much grime doesn't harmonise well with hopeful voices echoing down streets. But sometimes, one will arrive, and Jay will spend hours listening.
Why this guy is still performing so late is beyond Jay. He's got bright eyes, and a mop of brown hair that culminates to give him an overall boyband vibe - not the character to be singing on the streets at four a.m.
But Jay's not complaining. He doesn't have a bad voice, even if he is singing love songs. Not a concept he's ever really been able to relate to. Until -
Oh. The line is sang before he realises the twinge in his heart. He can barely remember what it was, something about eyes or hair or even laughter, but all he can feel is the deep recognition in his chest.
Jay thinks about Carlos - his bright grin, his eyes that light up when one of his self-designed trinkets whirs to life, the soft press of his shoulder against Jay's when they sit side by side. He looks up at the moon, its brightness fading rapidly as the horizon fades from black to navy to purple, and he remembers the glow of lamplight behind Carlos' head, how it made him look unearthly.
Oh, he thinks.That's it.
-
October
Jay likes poker. He's good at poker even, or good at cheating. But here's the thing - Carlos, like with nearly everything Carlos did, is excellent at poker.
He's seated at a table in one of the more dingier poker dens in the city, across from a few faces Jay doesn't recognise. The only two that matter, of course, are Harry and Gil. Evie and Jay sit in the shadows, watching how the game plays out, should Carlos need back up.
"You cheated, de Vil!" Gil cries, eyeing Carlos' hand.
Carlos blinks at him, his face absent of any concern of being caught out.
"Does it look like I care?" he asks, his voice bored. "Hand over your money, Gillikins. I won."
Jay fights back a smile.
"You're not even going to deny it?" Harry leaps to his feet, ready to swing at Carlos. Carlos looks up at him, and couldn't have looked less impressed if he tried.
"Jay," Evie whispers at his side. "Is he gonna be okay?"
Jay bats her worry away with the flick of a hand. "Don't underestimate Carlos. He's got this."
"Is this a joke to you, de Vil?" Gil jumps up too, infuriated with Carlos smirking up at him. He barely pulls the knife out of his pocket before Carlos hurtles out of his seat, over the table and to the gang members' sides, knives pulled from nearly nowhere, pressed up against their necks.
"Now, boys," Carlos says, with a kind of condescension difficult to believe from someone so much smaller than his opponents. "Let's not overreact, okay? I'm going to take my money, and you're going to walk away without any stab wounds, right?"
When the two bristle, Jay and Evie step forward from the shadows where they had been hiding. Carlos flashes them a smile, and Evie responds with a girly wave, Jay with a similar smirk. Gil and Harry stand down at the sight of reinforcements, and Carlos grins as he grabs the money from the table.
"Bye boys!" Carlos calls over his shoulder, pocketing his money.
When they get outside, Evie turns to him like she was his mother. "Were you not thinking or something? Do those guys not scare you?"
Jay and Carlos exchange a look. "Please," Carlos scoffs. "I'm afraid of a lot of things, E, but thugs like Gil and Harry aren't one of them."
Jay throws his arm around Carlos' shoulders, letting himself indulge in the warmth of the contact. "Lets go celebrate your win, huh?"
Jay's accepted for a while that he's in love with Carlos. And he's dealing with it, really. But he's still washed in a warmth to the tips of his toes when Carlos wraps an arm around his waist and throws him a smile.
-
November
The heart-shattering sounds of sobs echoing down an alleyway lead Jay to Carlos. He swings up the fire-escape, nearly tumbling over his own feet in a rush. But when he reaches Carlos, he freezes. The smaller boy is folded around himself, sobs shaking his entire body. A cut on his eyebrow is bleeding, the blood falling down his face. Jay can't process the feelings that go through his head, they come so fast. Anger. Fear. Worry. Distress.
"Carlos," he falls to his knees, posed gently in front of his friend. He can see Carlos, can hear him trying to stop crying, making spluttering sounds before he starts wiping furiously at his eyes.
Jay carefully scoots to sit next to him. Hesitantly, he wraps his arm around Carlos' shoulders, trying to let him know that he's there, that Carlos isn't alone.
A wave of relief surges through him when Carlos adjusts himself to lean against his shoulder, his sobs quieter now. A quick glance down tells him that the tears are still pricking at Carlos' eyes. He decides to turn to face him, taking the hand that wasn't wrapped around Carlos' shoulders to wipe stray tears from his face. If Carlos notices the way his hand is shaking, he doesn't comment.
"Hey, hey, stop crying, alright? You're okay. you're going to be okay,"
And here's the thing - this way of talking - it doesn't come easily to Jay. His dad's as fast with a fist as Carlos' mom, but his dad never looked him in the eye as he pressed a lit cigarette into his skin. Jay never heard anyone tell them they loved him, but no one ever told him he was a waste of space. No one important, anyway. And it's not like Jay had anyone looking out for his wellbeing for most of his life - but neither had Carlos. And if no one was going to look out for them, they could probably look out for each other.
"It's just you and me here, okay? She's not here," he said, softer than he knew he could be, remembering Carlos' voice, lost in the dark, one night in September, saying that sometimes all he could hear was his mothers voice screeching in his head. "It's just us, there isn't anything to hurt you here, okay? You're safe. Okay?"
-
December
The wind makes Jay's whip around his face as he sprints alongside Carlos. The pounding of their feet against the pavement mixes with heavy breathing is chased by the screech of sirens behind them, joined by swears muttered by both of them.
The street's too wide. Without warning, Jay grabs Carlos' wrist and pulls him down an alley barely wide enough for two people to walk down side by side. In the dark, with barely a lamp to light their way, Jay had to rely mostly on instinct to stop him hurtling over discarded boxes, or worse.
It's Carlos who tugs him downward, and at first Jay panics, thinking he fell and pulled him along, but in seconds he realised they're climbing down stairs.
"It's the back of a restaurant," Carlos explains, still panting. "They have storage downstairs, but the stairs are out here,"
Jay feels Carlos' hand on his forearm. He blinks, his eyes adjusting to the dark. They're leaning against a wall, the short set of stairs from the alley in front of them, a dark door to their left.
The two of them stand for a moment, pressed against the wall, trying to catch their breath.
"I thought you said you've never been caught before," Carlos says, breathing less heavily now.
"Before tonight, I hadn't been," Jay grunts in response. "What police are so active at four in the morning anyway? Shouldn't they be asleep or something?"
"Most crimes happen at night," Carlos offers, and Jay rolls his eyes. "Listen, we can just stay down here until the sirens stop, and we can go home,"
Jay strains his ears, and he can still make out the screech of sirens in the far-distance.
Or not-so-far distance. Shit.
"Shit," Jay mutters as the sirens die, replaced by the hum of an engine, before it cuts out.
"They went down here!" a gruff voice calls, and Jay knows that the alley will be lit up by torchlight in seconds.
Before he has time to think about it, Jay pushes Carlos into the shadows, up against the wall. He braces his forearm on the wall and leans his head dangerously close to Carlos'.
With his free hand, he draws a finger to his lips. Carlos glances down, and nods slowly.
They're frozen in fear as the footsteps of police officers draw closer, as the beam from torches slide up walls. He can feel his heart racing in his chest, and some distant part of him is aware that he's supposed to be afraid.
Which, well, is pretty unlikely. Jay can't actually remember the last time he's been afraid, really afraid, of anything. And it's so difficult to feel afraid of anything when Carlos is there, his knee warm against Jay's, hair falling in front of his eyes, pupils wide on the dark.
The sounds of footsteps and cops calling to each other fade away. Jay flicks his eyes up, scanning the walls of the alley for any remaining brightness of torches. Satisfied, he looks back down, and finds Carlos' eyes lingering on his lips. His heart stutters.
"Carlos," he says softly. He sees him gulp, and drop his eyes to the ground. It's too dark to tell, but Jay can guess his ears are turning pink. Slowly, before he loses his nerve, he draws his hand that's not against the wall to rest gently on Carlos' elbow, to steady him. He's not losing this opportunity.
He readjusts his arm on the wall, and leans his face closer to Carlos'. Carlos is looking him in the eyes now, his expression one of disbelief.
"Jay," he breathes, and that's all he needs. He leans down and kiss the boy he's been in love with for months.
It's soft, a simple press of lips on lips. Something too gentle for two boys who lived as violently as they did. Carlos' hand comes up to rest on his jaw, holding him close, and when Jay pulls back, cautious, Carlos follows him. So they kiss again, and again, and again.
Carlos is gripping Jay's shirt in his fist and Jay's hair keeps falling in front of their faces and his hand is resting on Carlos' waist and he's still crowding him against the wall. Carlos' lips are chapped, and the way he's holding Jay's neck hurts a little, but when his tongue pushes against Jay's own, it hardly matters.
Their kiss grows hungrier, gripping and holding each other frantically, and Jay can't believe he ever spent any time not kissing Carlos de Vil. Can hardly believe he waited this long.
He pulls back, looks Carlos in the eyes and grins, wider than he ever has. Carlos' breaths are coming in heavy, and his eyes are shining.
"Do we have to go home?" Jay asks, giving him a smile that was only ever meant for him.
Carlos blinks, and nods, slowly.
-
March
Noises in the bed next to him wake Jay up. He blinks his eyes open to see Carlos tossing and turning in his sleep, hands in fists at his side. He's not making much noise, just vague grunts.
Jay places his hand on his boyfriend's shoulder, shaking him softly. "Carlos, hey, hey,"
He continues to jostle him, and soon Carlos is startled out of his nightmare. Jay watches a sea of emotions war on Carlos' face, and his heart lifts when relief washes over Carlos' face when his eyes settle on Jay's.
"Did I wake you up?" he asks, his voice low, guilty.
"Don't be an idiot," Jay murmurs, bringing his hand to Carlos' face. "You okay?"
Carlos bites his lip. "Yeah, it's just..." he pauses. "My mom, again. It's hard to remember she can't get me when I'm asleep,"
Jay has a list of people he wants to get revenge against. Revenge isn't necessarily his forte, but living like he does, you make a lot of enemies. But Carlos' mom is at the top of that list. Every single one of Jay's fantasies involve making her pay.
Carlos shifts to lean against Jay's side, wrapping his arm around Jay's waist and okay - maybe not all of his fantasies.
"You're safe, Carlos," he says, resting his head on his boyfriend's.
Carlos' fingers brush up and down Jay's chest, before he says "So are you, Jay."
And god, Jay loves him more every second.