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The hardest part about going straight is the money. Lack of money, specifically. Sure, Jason liked to think that he’s moved on from the whole severed heads in a duffel bag thing. He rarely kills at all, these days, and when he does it’s because some monster genuinely deserves it, and not just for a power play. And running a drug cartel had been stressful. Really stressful, okay? Not to mention the whole moral dilemma thing. Jay’s comfortable operating in a grey area, really, but ultimately he’d realized that his little rules about not selling directly to minors might make Jason feel better, but maybe he had a point when he’d said. . . .
No. Don’t think about him . That’ll just make a sucky day even harder.
Jason pulls the hood of his sweatshirt lower over his eyes and checks that the little box in his pocket is still there.
Two years after the day he walked out and Jason is finally ready to sell it - though Jason wasn’t sure if he was truly moving on or just looking at the practicalities of his bank balance, but the apartment block he owns needs a new boiler, and he’s not going to let his tenants freeze because of his own stupid heartbreak, and if he thinks about it like that, then maybe it’ll make this a little easier.
Besides, the ring had been purchased during his high-rolling, drug-lord days. Ridiculous, really, to think that anyone would ever be comfortable wearing it. It was gaudy and ostentatious, and not at all practical for anyone, much less an acrobat . . .
The self-loathing twists a little bit more. Just as well he’d never actually gotten down on one knee. The other would have taken one look at the monstrosity of a ring and laughed.
He’d kept the ring hiding in his personal safe, purchased on a whim, during the initial rush of connection, when even Jason’s pessimism had receded and the world seemed full of golden possibilities. He knew it was too early in the relationship, but the possibility of asking later was delicious and hopeful and full of anticipation. Jason had been effervescent during those first heady months, moving to cautiously optimistic when they’d first started fighting. He thought it was maybe just a rough patch and they could work it out. But soon the clashes over morals and idealism grew increasingly bitter. Fights like thunderstorms, rage and slammed doors. Fights like cold snaps, icy and silent. One morning he had walked out, and Jason hadn’t stopped him.
Jason kept the ring though, as a relic to a better time, like a flicker of a candle in the window, beckoning on a snowy night, warm and delicate against the darkness. Jason knew it was over, that the man he wished had been his fiancee was never coming back, but he’d kept the ring because on some level, the hope still flickered. Keeping the ring helped keep him sane.
The rain that had been threatening all day finally arrives, with a burst of icy wet and a rumble. Jason hunched into himself a bit more and sped up, hurrying towards the jewelry store.
The ring had done a yeoman’s job of keeping his hope alive. It’d been a truly valiant effort, to maintain a bit of warmth in his heart, but Jason needed the money. Maybe the ring would bring better luck to another couple, and the proceeds of the sale would bring warmth in a much more literal way to a couple dozen families this winter.
Another crack of thunder and the rain quickens again, splattering against the sidewalk hard enough that droplets spray up, soaking Jason’s jeans and pelting him in all directions with water.
“Fuck me.”
Just another couple of hundred feet to the jeweler’s.
Jason fumbles the box out of his pocket, curls his fist around it, crosses his arms. He can enter the store and hand it to the nearest salesperson the minute he arrives. Get rid of it as fast as he can.
Jay’s shoulder slams into the body of another person, hard enough for Jason to stumble back. He hadn’t been paying attention at all, head bowed from the rain, but he had a sense of someone else, shorter than Jason but surprisingly solid. They’d bounced against each other, like a ricochet between a bullet and a brick wall.
Jason doesn’t know if the accident was his fault or not, but he holds out his unoccupied hand to offer it to the other person anyway.
The other recovers his balance easily, looks up, pushes soaked jet black hair out of his eyes, and it’s Dick.
Dick in a $2,000 British trench coat, over a tailored navy suit.
Dick in sodden Bally handmade shoes.
Dick who looks like a million bucks except he’d clearly forgotten an umbrella.
Jason’s hand clenches around the box.
“Jason. Hi,” Dick breathes.
Jason doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He lets his arm drop.
“Um, you’re looking good. Doing okay?” Dick says.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just, you know, in a hurry. Sorry for bumping into you or whatever.”
“Want to grab a coffee? I could do with warming up a bit.”
Jason’s hand spasms as he’s trying to shove the little black box back into his pocket, and it falls to the puddled pavement. Dick bends to grab it, looking up a Jason, and Jason sees the moment of realization when Dick puts the pieces together. Dick glances at the entrance to the jewelry store, brilliant blue eyes darkening.
“Oh, Jay . . .” he whispers.
“Just forget about it, okay? Forget you ever saw me today.” Jason snatches the box out of Dick’s hand and pushes past him towards the door.
“Jason, come back. Let’s talk.”
“I think you said enough, two years ago,” Jason snarls and enters the store.
He ignores the thud the door makes as it closes shut.