Chapter Text
A Little While Ago
Eric is asleep by the time Jack pulls up outside his house. Jack turns off the engine and sits and stares at him. Eric’s head is turned toward Jack, lips parted slightly, chest rising and falling as he breathes. Jack sometimes looks at Eric and feels a pang in his chest that he gets to know someone who is so beautiful inside and out. It happens again now.
He reaches out a hand and brushes his fingers over Eric’s wrist.
His Gift kicks in, but instead of the blackness he should see—the back of Eric’s eyelids—he sees something else entirely.
Jack sucks in a breath. Against all rational reasoning and past experience, Jack sees the layer of fog blanketing the scene and knows from Eric’s explanations that he’s seeing one of Eric’s premonitions.
Jack closes his eyes and tunes in on the dream, helpless against what he’s seeing.
He recognises the music room in his apartment. He and Eric are sitting together on the pull-out lounge and Jack’s teaching Eric something on the guitar. With his Gift, the dream has no sound, but he overlays the image with his own memories of Eric’s laughter.
Jack watches for a few minutes, seeing himself move Eric’s fingers into position on the guitar strings, wishing he could hear whatever song he’s singing. There’s nothing overtly romantic about it, but Jack knows himself, and sharing music like this with Eric would be that for him.
The fog starts rising up over the scene and Jack pulls himself out. His hand has wrapped itself around Eric’s while he was in the dream. He pulls it back to his own side of the car as Eric clears his throat and shuffles in his seat, waking slowly.
“Nice dream?” Jack can’t help but ask.
Eric looks over to Jack. “Yeah.”
“A dream or a dream ?”
“Um, I don’t know.” Eric drops his gaze to his lap. “It felt strange.”
“Have you heard anything new from your parents?” Jack asks while Eric stifles a yawn in the crook of his arm.
“About what the mutation might be?” Jack nods. Eric exhales and shakes his head. “No. Nothing. I’ve been calling every other day to run through theories with them. They've even brought my Moo-maw in now."
"I’m sorry."
Eric rubs his hands over his face. "It's fine, Jack. I don't mind. You're a pretty great guy to have to spend time with."
It's the lateness and the quiet of the night that has Jack asking with seriousness, "Have to?"
Eric turns to Jack. Jack expects a joking reply, but the vulnerability behind the question must show to Eric somehow. He reaches across the console to wrap his fingers around Jack's arm.
"It may have been that way at the start," Eric says, eyes wide and boring into Jack's, "but that changed very quickly."
Jack jerks a nod as a wave of relief rushes through him.
Eric smiles and leans across the console to hug Jack. He’s tuned his Gift out by now, so all Jack sees is the bright of Eric’s hair as he leans into the hug.
Eric pulls his key ring from his bag. A key to Jack's apartment shines among the set, still appearing new though it’s been used several times already.
Watching Eric let himself into his house, pausing to wave cheerily at Jack from the stoop, Jack realises something odd about the dream, something that Eric must have already noticed that made him reluctant to class it as a dream.
There was no death.
Something deflates inside Jack as he realises it must not have been a premonition. Jack would love to know the scene he saw is in his future, but even with his feelings being as strong as they are, he can’t put that on Eric on top of everything else.
Present Day
"Butter?" Jack calls from the kitchen.
"Of course," Eric yells back from the floor of Jack's living room.
Eric looks over his sketch and swears, flipping the page over to start again. Take three.
"Still going?" Jack drops the popcorn bowl by Eric's sketchpad on the coffee table.
"I keep putting the window—what I think is a window, anyway—in the wrong place," Eric grouses.
Eric grabs a handful of popcorn and shoves it into his mouth. "Thanks," he tells Jack with his mouth full.
"Don't mention it."
Eric fills in another few lines of a shadow that could be a couch or a bed or a very large beanbag. He's only had two dreams so far. There isn't much clarity yet. Plus, there’s been something off about his last few dreams. Something in the way the shapes form out of the fog. It’s different than normal, like instead of the fog dissipating to reveal the scene, it’s shaping itself into the scene.
While Eric draws, Jack takes his guitar off its hanger on the wall and settles onto the couch behind Eric, tuning the instrument.
Eric grabs another handful of popcorn and thinks very hard before drawing the possibly-a-window on the page. Satisfied it's finally in the right place—it would be easier if he had a photographic memory to go along with his Gift—he rewards himself with more popcorn and a break from sketching.
He grabs the bowl and pivots on the cushion he’s been sitting on. He holds out the bowl to Jack, who pauses his tuning to take one single popcorn kernel and bothers to chew it before swallowing. Eric raises an eyebrow.
"I had three helpings of your dinner," Jack defends his popcorn consumption.
Eric grins. "Yeah, you did. Even though the last time you did that you made me swear not to let it happen again."
“Why are you bringing that up? Makes you look bad that you didn’t remember to tell me not to grab that third plate.” Jack takes two kernels this time but still chews them.
“To show the power of my cooking,” Eric replies, overcome with a familiar rush of fondness toward Jack.
Eric watches Jack’s long fingers on the guitar strings, biting down on his lip to quell the urge to open his mouth and say any of the thoughts crammed in that box in his head, the one labelled ‘do not open’.
He pulls himself out of the thought with a shake of his head. “Besides, I did tell you not to go for thirds tonight,” he reminds Jack, “or have you conveniently blocked that memory?”
Jack narrows his eyes at Eric. Eric grins and eats more popcorn, wishing—again—that their situation was less complicated and he didn’t have to keep shoving his feelings into that box in his mind.
Just After the Middle
"Thanks for meeting up so quickly," Eric says as Jack settles on the seat opposite him at the restaurant table. "I just got the sense this thing was going to happen soon, so I thought it best to jump on it."
"All good," Jack reassures, sensing the frenetic worry in Eric. He’s a nervous tapper. "It's school holidays so I'm surprisingly free and bored."
"So to get it out the way," Eric asks after they've ordered, "do you know this place? Have plans to come here in the near future so I can make sure I'm here too?"
"Actually, I come here every month with some of the other staff for a dinner thing. The next one is Friday week."
"Okay. I'll invite myself along then, if that's alright?"
"No problem," Jack agrees easily. He's thought about inviting Eric along to something soon anyway so he can meet Jack’s friends. "I think you'll get on well with everyone, actually. Most of them know about you already "
"You been talkin' about me?" Eric affects an exaggerated Southern drawl and leans across the table, fluttering his lashes. It affects Jack's ability to breathe for a second.
"A little bit." A lot. But Jack thinks it's best to keep that undisclosed for now.
Eric stops the eyelash fluttering and settles back in his seat. "All good. You know I've been talking to Justin about our situation too."
The food arrives which gives Jack a good excuse not to address the surprising stab of jealousy in his gut, even with his knowledge that Justin and Eric are just friends.
"So. Kind of related to talking about you." Eric reaches across the table with his fork and helps himself, unasked, to a bite of Jack's quiche. "I have been doing some thinking about you."
Jack's heart tries to soar out of his body. He smiles. "I swear every other conversation we have starts with 'I've been thinking about you'."
"You're on my mind!" Eric defends, swallowing his bite of stolen quiche. "I think about you a lot!"
Jack tries not to feel too pleased by it. He's been experiencing a similar thing, though probably not the way Eric means. The dreams he has about the two of them must be miles away from the ones Eric has.
"I mean-" Eric clears his throat. "Wow, this is turning into a terrible segue." Eric puts his fork down and crosses his arms on the table. "I want to talk about your Gift."
"Go ahead."
Eric looks to Jack's hands. "You don't like wearing the gloves all the time, do you." He doesn't say it like a question.
Jack stretches his fingers out, feeling the leather pull against them. "Not really. But it helps minimise accidental skin contact with strangers."
Eric nods. "But the thing is, we're not strangers anymore. We're…"
"Friends?" Jack offers.
"Yeah." Eric smiles. "I think so. I didn't want to assume. But good to hear we're on the same page."
The same page is an approximation. Jack knows his own feelings are probably a few pages ahead of where Eric’s are. In an ideal world, 'friend' would not be the word he’d choose to define their relationship. He'd want to prefix it with something else.
"What about my gloves?" Jack prompts.
"I don't know if this is overstepping, or actually going to make things better for you in any way, but I was thinking since we're friends ," Eric smiles at Jack again and Jack's fingers tingle pleasantly, “and I trust you.”
Eric holds his hands out across the table toward Jack. Jack is confused until Eric points to Jack's hands. Jack lifts one up and Eric reaches for his glove.
Jack's breath catches. He didn't think his hands were connected to his ears, but there's a roaring in them as Eric pulls the first glove off.
Jack switches hands and Eric takes his time easing the second glove off, careful not to touch Jack's skin. Jack's nerves prick below his skin. Time feels a little slow as he watches Eric's capable fingers fold his gloves together on the table by his elbow.
Eric hovers his hands over Jack's bare palms and waits until Jack nods at him before he drops his hands into Jack's.
The warmth hits Jack first, and he registers how smooth Eric's skin is against his own guitar-calloused fingers. Then there's a disconcerting few seconds of seeing his own face overlaying Eric's. It's insight he didn't want, but perhaps needed, about how obvious his feelings show on his face.
Jack swallows, needing to break through the crest of feeling rolling up his spine.
"Are your hands always this warm?" Jack asks, pleased his voice comes out steady, tuning the vision out like an old TV so he's just seeing from his own eyes.
"Yes. It's havoc for my pie dough."
Jack drops his gaze to their hands. "You're going to have to explain that to me later."
Jack runs his fingers along the veins in Eric’s hands and wrists before Eric shivers and pulls them away.
"Ticklish," he explains.
Jack grins. "Noted."
Eric narrows his eyes. "I don't like that look on your face."
Jack hopes it’s not the love he saw reflected there earlier. He can't push that on Eric when he's already weighed down by being Jack’s Guardian Angel.
"I have only honourable intentions with this new information," Jack mock-pledges, a hand over his heart.
Eric sighs. "Tickling aside, I do trust you. You don't have to wear the gloves, or long sleeves, or scarves around me if you don't want."
Jack would thank him but his throat is a little busy preparing to cry. The reaction surprises him. He didn’t realise it had been bothering him so much not to be able to touch Eric properly if he wanted to.
Jack lays his hands palm-up on the table and Eric puts his own back into them. Jack acknowledges it's not quite a traditional contact between friends, especially across the table of a restaurant, but a little bit of the unconventional is par for the course with him and Eric.
Jack is embracing the extended moment of contact when Eric's expression suddenly flips from what Jack was optimistically reading as fondness. He sits straight up in his chair, eyes alert. Jack's about to ask what's going on when Eric pushes up from his chair, grabs the front of Jack's shirt, and pulls him roughly across the table toward him.
There's a crazy half-second where Jack thinks he's about to receive the most abrupt kiss of his life—their faces are so close, he can see the flecks of lighter brown in Eric's eyes—when the shocked yell of a server from behind him breaks the fantasy.
There’s a moment of absolute silence. Jack has the fleeting thought to use his Gift to see what’s happened behind him, but he can’t break Eric’s trust like that.
Eric's eyes are wide on his. "You're fine. You're safe," Eric tells him in a whisper. "You're good. It's good. Okay. All good."
One of Eric's hands finds its way to Jack's cheek. It's a lot of skin contact so soon after Eric's concession to Jack's Gift. Jack doesn't think that's why the touch feels electric as Eric’s fingers dance down his neck to rest over his pulse point.
Present Day
"Oh, hey." Eric pivots on the cushion again and taps Jack on the thigh.
Jack takes an earbud out and looks to Eric.
"Do I know that song?" Eric asks.
There is some crossover in their musical tastes, but it's very minimal.
"Yeah. It's on your work playlist," Jack tells Eric.
"Play some more. I want to guess," Eric requests, tapping Jack’s thigh again, feeling the hard muscles beneath his fingers.
"Okay,” Jack agrees easily. “But I'm still transcribing it."
Jack adjusts the guitar on his lap and starts a chord progression that's not enough for Eric to identify. Then he repeats it and adds bits and pieces of melody on top.
"Is that—Are you playing Lizzo?" Eric asks incredulously.
Jack grins. "Yeah. It's good you can tell. I don't think I've got the riff quite right yet. Should it be more like-" Jack plays it again. "Or is it this." He plays another line.
"First one," Eric tells him.
Jack nods and leans over his guitar to type something on his laptop. Eric can see he's got his music writing program open. He waits until Jack's finished, then asks, "So what's this for?"
"I'm trying to arrange something for the big band. They keep hinting they want to do more modern stuff."
“Wow. I’m impressed. Modern for you usually means stuff from the 90s,” Eric lands his tease with a poke to Jack’s leg.
Jack shoves Eric with a socked foot, mindful not to disturb the popcorn bowl.
“How’s the sketch going,” Jack asks. “Ready to show me yet?”
Eric finishes a handful of popcorn then swaps the bowl for his drawing pad and sits on the other end of the couch from Jack. Jack shuts his laptop and moves it onto the coffee table, leaving the cushion between them free.
"Okay. So." Eric has the sketchpad turned toward him still. "I've only had two dreams now, so this is very vague.”
Jack nods. "I know the process."
"Just making sure. Here." Eric flips the drawing pad around so Jack can see it.
Jack squints and leans in. “Can I?” He reaches a hand out.
Eric passes the pad over. Hands free, he reaches for the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table and brings it to his lap. He almost chokes on his mouthful and tries valiantly to hide it from Jack, but even though Jack’s attention is on the sketchpad when it happens, Eric is unsuccessful.
Jack picks the guitar off his lap when Eric’s choking progresses to coughing and disappears into the kitchen, coming back with a glass of water.
Eric’s face is hot from both choking and embarrassment. For all that he’s close to Jack and comfortable in his presence, there are some things you don’t want the person you're in love with to see.
Eric clears his throat and takes a sip of the water. "Thanks," Eric says after his airway feels clear again.
"Maybe you should start using my technique instead of mocking me every time," Jack suggest loftily, moving the bowl away from Eric.
Eric picks one solitary piece of popcorn from the bowl in Jack’s hands and places it delicately in his mouth. Then he pretends to choke on it.
Jack laughs. He pushes the popcorn out of reach of Eric and picks up the drawing pad again, moving onto the middle couch cushion next to Eric.
"I don't think I know this place," Jack tells him. "Sorry."
Eric frowns.
"Hey, it's only two dreams in. We'll get it," Jack reassures him.
"I know. There’s just…" Eric tries to put the feeling into words. "There's something different about this one."
Not quite a success with the word choice.
"Different how?" Jack prompts, moving the pad onto the table by the popcorn.
Eric looks at it again, wishing he knew. "No idea. We're sailing further and further into uncharted territory here."
"Good thing I'm a fabulous sailor then."
Eric huffs and rolls his eyes, knowing full well that Jack has never sailed a day in his life.
Jack lifts his arm and Eric shuffles over to lean into him and rest his head on his shoulders. Jack smells like his usual soap and a little buttery from the popcorn he made. Eric lifts his hand to the side of Jack's neck, fingers landing on the pulse point below his ear.
"The last premonition... I only had five dreams before it happened," Eric finally whispers his fear to Jack.
Jack squeezes him tighter against his side.
The Middle of Things
Jack pays more attention to the process of cleaning up than he usually does, which, as the neatest of his friends, really reveals to him his feelings toward having Eric at his place.
Eric rings the bell twenty minutes later than they'd originally planned but ten minutes earlier than his text said he’d be.
Jack finds himself pausing by the front door to catch a breath, unsure of what impulse has driven him to do that and many of the things he's done this morning, like finally venturing into the homewares store down the street to buy a coat rack for his entryway.
Jack opens the door and Eric is standing with a Tupperware container in his hands and a big smile on his face.
Jack feels himself smiling to match.
"Hi, Jack," Eric greets.
"Hi, Eric. Come in."
Jack steps aside and Eric brushes past him.
"Did you get a haircut?" Jack asks, shutting the door behind him and taking the container from Eric so he can divest himself of his coat and hang it on Jack’s brand new rack.
"Yeah." Eric brushes his fingers through the shaved hair at the back of his head. "It was getting a little long at the back."
"It looks good," Jack tells him honestly.
"Thanks." Eric takes the container back from him. "Took longer than I thought it was going to though. It's why I'm late. Hope I didn't get in the way of any other plans?"
Jack shakes his head. "I don't have anything else today."
"Well, I don't need to be here long anyway. This is just to get a visual of your place, then I'll get out of your hair."
"Sure. Okay." Jack swallows down the sudden disappointment. He knows they’re more acquaintances than anything, but Eric isn’t someone he wants to have a business-only relationship with. He ticks far too many of Jack’s boxes for that.
Jack takes Eric to the kitchen first so he can put his container of food down.
"You didn't have to bake," he tells Eric.
"Yes I did. You'll learn that about me."
Jack hopes he will get the chance to learn about Eric, and that Eric isn’t just saying that out of politeness. Even though they're connected in a strangely deep way, they don't really know each other. Jack wants to know Eric.
Eric has made a batch of choc-chip oatmeal cookies. The smell when he takes the lid off the container is amazing. They take one each on the tour. Jack's place is small; there's one central hallway with a bathroom at the end, the kitchen and spare-room-cum-music-room are on the right-hand side, and the living room and his bedroom are on the left. He doesn't expect the tour to take long, except that Eric wants to spend several minutes in each room trying to memorise their layouts. Jack is incredibly glad he cleaned each room this morning. It gives him a chance to look at Eric as he occupies himself walking the length of Jack’s room and noting all the main items of furniture. Jack’s mostly seen Eric in his work clothes previous to this, but the casual tan chinos and button-up shirt suit him just as much as the white coat. Jack hadn’t realised his legs were so long, or his shoulders so wide. Jack almost gets caught staring a number of times.
"We've already done this room," Eric says as Jack leads him from the living room across the hall back to the kitchen.
"Uh, I know. I was going for another cookie," Jack says sheepishly.
Eric laughs, delighted. "Can't fault that."
"So, is that everything you need?" Jack asks when they’re back in the kitchen again.
"It's a really good start but...I should probably spend some more time here? If that's alright with you?” Eric rubs at the back of his head again. Jack can hear the scritch of his palm against the short hairs. “The thing is, the dreams don't always start with the room, you know? Sometimes it's a random little detail that I'll get, like..." Eric looks around. "Like maybe I'll see this first."
He points to a fridge magnet one of Jack's pupils gifted him for Christmas last year.
"Those kinds of details are hard to get from just one viewing. I wouldn't ask, but since the dreams are getting more frequent and I get less time to parse them out-”
"Of course you can come over again," Jack interrupts.
Eric sighs, dropping his shoulders. "Thanks, Jack. I feel bad for asking but I told myself, better that than missing something important in a dream because of my embarrassment."
Jack nods, finishing off his cookie and wondering if it's a sensible decision to go straight for a third cookie.
"What are you doing now? Did you want to stay over for a bit?" Jack didn’t realise he was going to ask until the words are leaving his mouth, but it’s as good a way as any to start to take them to a more personal relationship.
"Well, I don't have anything on," Eric half-answers.
“Is that a yes?” Jack checks.
Eric smiles and shrugs his shoulders. “Sure. Why not.”
"Great. I can make tea or coffee or something. Then I'll feel less bad for having another cookie."
Eric laughs. "You should never feel guilty for baked goods."
Jack smiles. "I'll keep that in mind."
Eric stays and Jack smiles his whole way through making them a pot of tea, feeling nervous and excited and a little short of breath.
They settle in the living room with tea and Eric's tupperware of cookies open on the coffee table. Jack puts one of his records on and Eric walks around the room again, spending time looking at everything from Jack’s power sockets to the cracks in the paint on his ceiling.
Jack sits on his couch and watches Eric for the next 10 or so minutes until Eric settles into the single lounge chair at one end of the coffee table to Jack’s left. He reaches for a cookie and breaks half off, leaving the other half in the container.
"If I look much longer I'm not going to be taking anything in anyway," Eric explains.
Jack accepts the explanation, though he honestly wouldn’t mind if Eric spent another 10 minutes, and then another 10, going from room to room. The record he put on plays itself out. When he returns from flipping it onto side B, Eric fixes his gaze on Jack.
"Can I ask you a question?"
"Yeah. Sure."
"I was thinking about you the other night."
Jack's stomach does a strange manoeuvre which seems to involve a tuck and roll; it's off-putting.
"I realised I don't know what your Gift is," Eric continues. Jack focuses back on Eric. "I know people don't normally ask outright but I kept thinking, what if ours are compatible. Like yours can help me help you. Help me save you."
Eric looks hopefully to Jack.
"I don't think there was a question in there," Jack points out.
Eric huffs. "Sure you teach music and not English?"
Jack laughs. "I'm sure."
Eric crosses a leg beneath him on the lounge chair and leans an arm along the armrest so he can lean closer to the couch Jack is on.
"Here's the question. What is your Gift?"
Jack shakes his head. "It's not going to help us, unfortunately."
"Ah." Eric puts his chin on his outstretched arm so he's almost looking at Jack from beneath his lashes. "Will you tell me anyway? I'm incredibly curious. I've been trying to figure it out but it's not anything obvious."
"It's not," Jack agrees.
Eric sighs. "You're not going to give me a straight answer, are you?"
"I don't mind telling you," Jack says with honesty, "I'm just really enjoying hearing you try to figure it out."
Eric's expression turns determined. "Alright then. 20 questions?"
Jack laughs. "Why not." Anything that keeps him in Eric’s company longer sounds good to him.
Eric toes his shoes off and rearranges himself to sit cross-legged on the couch. Jack loves how comfortable he’s become here after only an hour.
Eric folds his hands together and stares at Jack. Jack feels no pressure beneath Eric's stare, but his stomach does a tuck and roll again and he finds himself straightening his posture.
"Is it one of the Big 20 Gifts?"
Jack shakes his head and holds up one finger.
"If I look around this room will I find a clue as to what it is?"
Jack shakes his head and raises a second finger.
He's holding up eight fingers by the time Eric gets a question in the ballpark.
"Is it to do with the senses?"
Jack grins. "Yep."
Eric throws his head back. "Finally. Oh my goodness. Alright. Oh! Is it about touch?"
Jack hesitates over his answer. Touch is a catalyst but it's not the main component.
"Yes."
"Thought so, with the gloves and scarves."
"And no," Jack adds, though he's impressed by Eric's reasoning. He hadn’t realised Eric had picked up on that.
Eric’s jaw drops. "What?"
Jack breaks the rules to give him some more information. "Yes, it's to do with touch, but it's not just touch."
Eric bites his lip. "Is the other thing a sense as well?"
Jack nods.
Eric sighs. "Thank fuck. Don't know where I would have gone after that."
Jack wiggles his fingers. "You're on eleven now."
"Hearing?" Eric guesses.
"No. Twelve."
"Sight?"
"Yes. That's the other one."
Eric uncrosses his legs, putting his feet flat on the floor. "Okay. That’s enough questions for me. I'm calling that a win. Wanna fill me in on the details?"
"Yes." Jack goes silent and raises another finger.
It takes a second for the joke to land, then Eric laughs. "Dad humour going strong, I see."
Jack shrugs and drops his hands finally. "I try."
Eric rolls his eyes at Jack's grin.
"So. Touch and sight," Eric says. "How do they go together?"
Jack’s learnt it’s better to explain as simply as possible. He catches Eric’s eye before saying, "When I touch someone, I can see through their eyes for the next hour."
Eric freezes for a moment and Jack awaits his reaction with a sudden rush of nerves.
"That's…" Eric frowns for a moment. "Different. You can see through their eyes?"
Jack nods. "Yeah. Whatever they're looking at—seeing—I can too."
Eric opens and shuts his mouth a few times, composing his thoughts. Jack watches him doing it. The sudden nerves are unfortunate but expected with the way he wants things to go between Eric and himself. There's always hesitation when he explains his Gift. He knows it's on the intrusive side of the scale. He hadn’t thought to worry about that with Eric. He hopes his gut is right.
"I'm trying to picture it, but I can't," Eric says after a minute of staring off into the middle distance, giving Jack a chance to really notice how Eric's new haircut makes the angles of his face more pronounced.
Eric leans forward in his chair. “How does it work? What do you see when your Gift is working?"
Jack can’t see any fear or disgust in Eric’s eyes—all reactions he’s been a recipient of in the past. He starts to let his nerves go.
“It’s like…” Jack looks around for a way to describe it. He shifts along the couch until he's at the end closest to Eric. “Here. Look at the window.”
Jack gestures to the living room window that faces onto the street. He waits until Eric is facing it. “What do you see?” he asks Eric.
“Um. I see the road and the apartments across the street.”
Jack shakes his head. “No. You’re looking out the window. You need to look at the window.”
Eric turns back to him. “At the window?”
Jack nods.
“Well, okay.” Eric turns his head again. “I’m looking at the window.”
“And what do you see?” Jack prompts, eyes tracing over Eric’s face; the gentle slope of his nose and the almost invisible freckles along his cheekbones.
Eric’s mouth pulls down at the corners as he looks, until his mouth opens with a quiet, “Oh!”
He turns to look at Jack. Jack realises he’s been leaning in closer to Eric when he feels his exhale across his cheeks.
“You see it?” Jack asks, slowly pushing himself back an inch on the couch.
Eric nods. “It’s like the inside and the outside are overlaid. Like those slide projectors they used to use in school."
“Yeah.” Jack smiles. “That’s exactly it.”
“Wow,” Eric breathes out. “Doesn’t that get extremely confusing for you?” he asks, tilting his head.
“My mum taught me early on to tune the vision, kind of like a radio or an old TV set,” Jack explains. “So I can choose to focus on one or the other, or both at once. Though you’re right, it was confusing. Still can be.”
Eric nods. “So…”
Jack knows the question that’s coming, but he doesn’t push Eric as his fingers tap on the armrest of his chair.
“So, all those times I saved you...Have you been seeing through my eyes?”
“Not all the times.”
Eric lets out a little sigh. “Wait. Not all the times? So some of the times?”
Jack shrugs. “My Gift only kicks in if there’s been skin-to-skin contact.”
“Ah. The gloves and scarves make sense now.” Eric nods slowly. “Wait, doesn’t that make it strange with-” Eric slaps his mouth shut.
Jack has an idea of where the thought was going and the blush on Eric’s cheeks would seem to confirm it.
“It’s actually only happened three times, me seeing through your eyes,” Jack informs Eric, then adds on in a whispered tease, "Not the sex thing."
"Right. Ah." Eric presses his hands quickly to his face then drops them. "Sorry for crossing wildly over the line there," he apologises, avoiding Jack's gaze.
"It's fine. I've heard it all before," he reassures.
Eric smiles gratefully at him. He takes a deep breath then claps his hands together.
"So, only three times?" Eric checks.
Jack nods.
"But I-" Eric's mouth moves as he silently counts. “I’ve saved you seven times now, including that first one.”
“We've only had skin contact three times though.”
“Huh.” Eric falls silent. He looks to the window again, fingers resuming their tapping on the armrest of his chair.
"Wondering if I looked through your eyes and what I saw?" Jack interrupts Eric’s moment.
Eric turns, eyebrows raised. "I was, actually. How'd you know?"
"Like I said, I've heard it all before. I took a guess in case you were holding back after almost asking me what happens when I have sex with someone."
Eric groans. "You're going to keep bringing that up, aren't you?"
Jack grins. "You blush so easily."
"Who is the one saving whose life?" Eric reminds Jack, but Jack can tell he’s only teasing.
Jack holds his palms up in surrender.
"I've never looked, by the way. Just the few seconds it takes for me to tune it out. That's it."
Eric nods. "Thanks for being honest."
Present Day
Eric wakes up with a pounding heart and tingling palms, not a usual component of his dreams. He stares at the ceiling in Jack's music room and waits until his heart rate is somewhat normal. Then he goes to find Jack.
He knows that there’s a conversation looming between them, one about feelings and his Gift and how it’s developing. He really thought he’d have more time to prepare, but his latest dream is bringing him right up to the deadline.
Eric follows his ear and the quiet plucking of strings leads him back to the living room. He watches Jack for a few seconds, heart blooming in his chest.
"Hey," Jack greets him from the couch. He's still in loose pyjamas, plain blue top and checkered pants, but it looks like he's been up for a while; a coffee in front of him and a plate with toast crumbs. "Sleep well?"
"I know where it's going to happen," Eric tells Jack.
Jack straightens up. "Where."
Eric grabs his phone from where it's been charging overnight and brings up his photos, scrolling until he finds the one. He passes the phone to Jack.
The calluses on Jack's fingers catch Eric as he takes the phone. Eric never has gotten used to the feel of Jack’s skin against his own, it thrills every time. Eric's skin echoes with it.
Jack frowns at the screen. "I don't recognise this room at all."
Eric was expecting that. After his first few times visiting Jack's house they'd settled into the rhythm of it. Jack's barely seen Eric's front door, let alone been inside. Only in Eric's dreams. And now, apparently, in Eric's dreams .
He swallows and tries to sound normal when he tells Jack, "It's my bedroom."
Jack looks up at him, gaze heavy. "What are we doing in your bedroom?"
Eric focuses on breathing normally with Jack’s focus on him. "Haven't seen yet. I only picked the location because I recognised some of the things on my desk."
Jack takes another look at the picture, then passes the phone back.
"What could we be doing in your bedroom?"
A pulse stretches from Jack's fingertips into Eric and his brain goes there . He tries not to show it on his face.
"I haven't seen yet," Eric repeats, wrapping his fingers tightly around the phone.
"We'll figure it out," Jack says, standing up. "We're ahead of schedule now at least."
"That is true," Eric concedes.
Jack wraps an arm around Eric in a one-armed hug. The tension and frustration are still there, but with Jack’s touch, it fades away into the background.
"Come on,” Jack says gently, his breath tickling the top of Eric’s head. “I think it's my turn to make you breakfast."