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I do my thing and you do your thing. You are you and I am I.
And if in the end we end up together, it's beautiful.
-Topanga Lawrence
They're older now and have a few life lessons up their sleeves. Jack's outweighs Eric's by a third but he only feels the crushing weight of them when he's alone. Three a.m. curled up on an imported couch with reruns on for the sake of noise, the ghost of who he once was lecturing him on the inside.
'You blew it,' younger Jack rants. 'How could you do this, man? How could you leave him again?'
'I don't know,' he whispers helplessly. 'He looked happy without me...'
He has a closet of tailored suits and ties, polished shoes, fifteen types of hair gel, an upscale apartment with an empty bedroom down the hall from his. Younger Jack says it's all worthless junk and he must not know his own best friend if he thinks Eric is fine without him.
'Go home,' he orders.
Go home.
Its been two weeks since the dance and it takes less than an hour to pack up what's important.
Eric doesn't ask why he's at his door at two in the morning with bags in hand. They thump against the floor as he collapses in his best friend's arms and begs forgiveness with nothing more than his arms and hands, his cheek against Eric's neck. They used to hold one another like this often; back when the world was more colorful and less frightening.
Its been fifteen years and two weeks and Eric still puts his whole body into the embrace. Of everything Jack screwed up, this was the most damaging. He'd dreamed of Eric, during his time with Peace Corps he'd told the local children about his best friend who once paid for a monkey's passage to America, told Rachel he couldn't be there anymore, told himself running away wasn't a classic Hunter move.
Eric reaches behind him and closes the door, turns the lock.
You're staying, the gesture says. And, we have time now.
He's had his share of life lessons as well. The first two years after graduation was covered in them and he hadn't made the best of decisions on his own. Nothing illegal or life altering but poor choices nevertheless. He'd always hoped Jack would saunter in and rescue him, groaning about why moving to New York was a stupid decision.
He hadn't and Eric had to survive the heartbreak, had to live through it.
But life knows what it's doing, right?
Life has placed a snow damp Jack in his arms and he's sure they both lost feeling in their arms roughly five minutes ago but he's in Eric's apartment and it matters. He'd stay upright even if his legs fell asleep and his knees threatened to buckle if he had to.
Maybe.
Kinda sounds painful.
"I'm cold," Jack mumbles.
"No," Eric disagrees. "You're not cold, Jacky. You're a good person. You could use some dry clothes though."
Still an idiot genius.
Still the only love of Jack's life.
Still his college boyfriend and best friend.
"I brought clothes. I-"
"I don't like your ugly executive clothes," Eric interjects.
Jack nearly defends his wardrobe because it was very expensive, thank you, but he's right. They're stuffy.
Jack initiates the kiss.
Eric is babbling about towels and idly piling them up in his arms, going on about how much he loves Ikea but only buys towels there because everything else is like a cornfield or a map with no labels. He says he had to call Cory to Marco Polo him on at least six separate occasions.
He's every ounce of goodness Jack has never had.
"And that's how I found my lost meatballs in the As-Is section. They were fuzzy though."
"Uh-huh," Jack says, hushed. He lost track of the topic three subjects ago.
Eric is babbling about Ikea and smiling with dimples and Jack thinks, there's my soulmate. That one with the tragic lost meatballs.
He waits until the towels are neatly folded on the counter-top and takes three steps to close the distance between them. Nerves jangling and stomach full of butterflies, he tips his chin up and Eric arches a brow, reminiscent of their first kiss.
He should never have to wonder if he is what Jack wants.
Jack's eyes slowly trail over his face and neck and Eric has suddenly lost the ability to form words.
The first kiss is gentle and apologetic, his mouth lightly brushing against a cheek. Eric doesn't swear that what they had back then was puppy love and not worth pursuing now, or tell him it was innocent experimentation and nothing more than a means to an end.
He doesn't shove him away and claim to have moved on.
Instead, he chases after it and drapes Jack's arms around his neck. They kiss slow and soft, comforting in a way no one else could be.
Somewhere between the towels and kissing up against the wall, they've lost shirts and pants. They blindly stumble into the steam of the shower, only separating to tug off socks and a belt.
Every caress and kiss upon the nape of his neck feels like time has given them a break for once. Like they've earned the right to take their time without feeling as if they're competing against a calendar. There are no term papers or a looming graduation to race against.
Just Jack.
Just Eric.
When his hand drifts lower and Eric's head thumps against the shower wall, it's 1999 again and Jack's life revolves around hazel eyes and dimples. It always has, even during the absent years.
"I love you," he breathes, trailing slick kisses from jaw to collarbone.
Everything you.
He gets a moan in response and decides they should always say I love you like this.
He wears Eric's t-shirt to bed that night in a home dotted with framed photographs and his best friend curled up around him.
It took fifteen years but Jack Hunter is home.