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Spot is the first one of them to turn eighteen, in late September. They all gather around him excitedly, clamouring for him to show them. He displays a tiny red rectangle, on his bicep - which they can all tell he loves, because it gives him an excuse to flex his arms all day, showing it off proudly.
Two weeks later, Elmer walks straight into their first-period history class, and, without a word, pulls up his jeans to show Spot the identical red rectangle imprinted on his ankle.
Davey never thought it could be that easy. But perhaps it is, if you get lucky. And Spot and Elmer do.
The rest of them in first-period history class get lucky as well - their teacher is so overjoyed for the newfound soulmates that he allows them all to take a free period in celebration.
Davey spends that free period doing his history work anyway, sitting in the corner of the library while Spot and Elmer make out behind a nearby bookcase.
It’s Jack who saves him from a lifetime of being haunted by Spot Conlon’s mouth noises. Jack creeps up behind him, hiding behind bookshelves, and making him jump out of his skin. Jack collapses with laughter at that, and Davey shushes him angrily.
‘Where are they?’ Jack says, in a dramatised whisper.
Davey points to the bookcase that conceals Spot and Elmer from view. Jack stands on tiptoes to peer over it, desperately trying to make himself taller. The top bookcase still comes up to his eyes, blocking his view.
Davey watches on, half-amused, as Jack ends up balancing on the very tips of his trainers, wobbling precariously, so that he can finally see over. Davey fights hard to push down the urge to laugh.
He fights even harder to push down the warmth blossoming in his chest, a fondness that he can’t quite explain, and that he certainly doesn’t want to indulge in.
Jack teeters and finally slips, coming crashing down to the floor. He looks mildly disgusted.
‘The things I’ve seen in the last thirty seconds will take thirty years to forget.’ He says miserably, voice still a whisper. ‘If I’m like that with my soulmate, you have permission to throw me out the window.’
‘I’ll hold you to that.’ Davey whispers back, giggling.
They laugh so much that Spot and Elmer unglue themselves to check if they’re alright. They find Jack and Davey lying on the floor, holding their sides and gasping for breath.
Davey convinces himself the dull ache in his chest is just a stitch from laughing so hard.
*
When, on October nineteenth, Specs gets his mark, it isn’t the same as his boyfriend’s. It doesn’t even come close - Specs is sporting a blue crescent moon-shape on the palm of his hand. His boyfriend, a blond boy with a pair of grey parallel lines imprinted on his knee, says there isn’t much point in them carrying on the relationship any more.
A subdued hush falls over their group in the following days. Specs looks miserable all the time, and spends most lessons rubbing the blue mark on his palm, as though he will be able to wear it away. His blond ex-boyfriend can hardly look at him.
Spot and Elmer stop holding hands in the hallways. Spot wears long-sleeved shirts and Elmer uncuffs his jeans.
‘I don’t know why they think covering their marks is going to help.’ Jack says, matter-of-fact, to Davey. They are sitting on the front porch of Katherine Plumber’s house, underscored by the soft, thudding bass of the party inside. They are passing a small bottle of some stolen liquor between them.
Every time Davey drinks from it, he is crushed by the knowledge that, mere moments before, Jack’s lips were wrapped around the same cylindrical glass neck. In the distance, cicadas are humming, making the air feel alive with noise.
‘To make Specs feel better, I guess.’ Davey shrugs, not looking at Jack. ‘They think by not flaunting their marks, they’re helping.’
‘I understand why they’re doing it. I just think it’s stupid.’
Davey laughs. ‘So do I.’
He loves that about Jack, the way he says what he thinks. He wouldn’t say this in front of Spot and Elmer - or at least, he wouldn’t say it as bluntly. Sometimes, though, Davey wonders if Jack ever talks about him like that. In such black-and-white terms, disapproving, sceptical, sharply critical of his words, and his actions.
‘Specs can’t even cover his.’ Jack says, plainly, but Davey can tell that he feels for Specs.
‘Pretty bad place to have a mark. On show like that.’ Davey remarks. ‘Couldn’t keep it a secret, even if you wanted to.’
‘He could wear gloves.’ Jack suggests.
‘What, like a Victorian widow?’ Davey says, imagining Specs in black satin gloves up to his elbows, like Miss Havisham, forever mourning his blond ex-boyfriend.
Jack laughs at that, properly, tilting his head back. ‘I love the way your mind works.’
Davey looks at him, just for a second. Jack is smiling at him, eyes glowing with something Davey can’t quite name.
‘His boyfriend isn’t worth it anyway.’ Davey adds. ‘I never liked him.’
‘Oh, come off it.’ Jack scoffs. ‘We couldn’t tell he was a dick.’
‘I could.’ Davey says, lowering his voice conspiratorially. ‘He once told me his favourite TV show is Friends.’
He stares at Jack, eyebrows raised solemnly. For a split second, Jack stares back, face equally severe. Then, they burst into laughter, giddy from the drink and from each other.
Davey convinces himself the glowing feeling in his chest is just the alcohol settling in.
*
After that, everyone stops showing off their marks so much. There is less of a fuss surrounding the few birthdays that pass. For some of them, it happens out of convenience - marks appearing in places hidden by clothes, that couldn’t be shown in school anyway.
Race describes their mark to their friends on their eighteenth birthday, when it appears on their upper thigh. It looks like two figure-eights, they say, joined together.
Albert, three weeks later, tells a select few about the pair of insect-wings that have appeared in the centre of his chest.
*
Davey gets his mark when he turns eighteen on March fifteenth, slim black lines on the side of his neck, two inches down from his right ear. A semi-circle with three lines radiating from it, like a cartoon sunrise. He rather likes it - which is a relief, he finds, from a worry he had never realised he had.
Sarah bursts straight into his room to show off the interlocking green circles that occupy the skin between her right thumb and forefinger. They jump up and down on the spot together, holding hands, both yelling Katherine’s name over and over, breathless with excitement.
Davey manages to forget all about the black mark on his neck. He drives her to school that morning, both of them buzzing with excitement.
They don’t see Katherine until after the school day has ended - what with their schedules not quite overlapping. Davey asks Sarah why she doesn’t just text Katherine to tell her, to which Sarah just shakes her head in disbelief.
That doesn’t stop Sarah from begging Davey to go with her to meet Katherine after school.
Katherine is waiting round the back of the school, talking animatedly with Jack. When she sees them approaching, she stops talking suddenly, as though she already knows why they’re here.
Davey leans against the wall next to Jack as Sarah shows Katherine her hand, and they both stare, dumbfounded, love-struck, into each others’ eyes.
He’s seen it happen before, soulmates realising that they’re - well, soulmates. This is different, though, watching his twin sister fall in love right in front of him. It’s like her and Katherine are encased in a bubble, completely shielded from the outside.
‘Did Sarah like her? Before?’ Jack asks.
It’s not the question Davey expects. Although, he has learned that Jack rarely says anything predictable.
‘Yeah, she did.’ Davey replies, recalling the hours he has spent half-listening to Sarah describing Katherine’s eyes, her hair, the way her laugh lights up a room. ‘She liked her a lot.’
Jack nods, thoughtfully. ‘I’ve always thought it would be better if you liked them beforehand.’
‘Really? You wouldn’t want the surprise?’
‘Nah. Then you’d know that you really liked them, y’know? That you didn’t just fall for someone because a bunch of lines told you that you should.’
‘But you’re still soulmates, even before you get the mark.’ Davey counters. ‘Even if you do fall for someone beforehand, you like them because they’re your soulmate.’
‘Do you really think that?’
He’s done it again. Said something unexpected, knocked Davey off-balance.
‘Maybe.’ Davey shrugs. ‘I’ve always felt like, when it comes to it, I don’t get a say.’
‘I don’t believe that.’ Jack says bluntly. ‘If my soulmate turns out to be a girl, that doesn’t make me straight. I’m stil bi. Y’know? Your mark doesn’t change your ability to fall in love with people. It’s just...’ he gestures, searching for the right word ‘…a suggestion.’
‘A suggestion.’ Davey echoes. He understands what Jack means. ‘Who knows, anyway? I’ve probably got years until I meet mine. Might never meet them.’
Davey follows Jack’s line of sight to where he is staring at Kath and Sarah, who are half-twined together, foreheads touching.
‘Wanna get out of here?’ Jack asks.
‘God, yes.’ Davey laughs.
They go in Davey’s car, to the diner just out of town. Jack shoos Davey off to find a booth, insisting that he’ll pay, as a birthday treat. Davey tries to protest, but Jack won’t have it, telling him he won’t get him anything if he doesn’t get them a booth and they have to sit at a normal table. There’s an uncomfortable knot forming in the pit of Davey’s stomach.
He lets Jack order him fries and a milkshake. He lets Jack tease him for choosing a vanilla shake.
He teases Jack straight back about having his gross mustard-mayonnaise mix on his chips, instead of ketchup like a normal person.
He steals Jack’s chips anyway, gagging when he gets a particularly large glob of mustard-mayo.
He watches the line of Jack’s throat as he tilts his head back and laughs.
‘Can I see it?’ Jack asks, suddenly.
Davey’s hand jerks subconsciously to his neck. He’d intentionally worn a collared shirt this morning, but he knows the top of his mark is still peering out over the collar. He hesitates for a moment, unsure if he wants him to see it. He then realises that, unless he wants to spend the rest of his life wearing turtlenecks, he’ll have to show it to Jack some time.
He undoes his top button, and unfolds his collar, pulling it down and showing Jack his mark in its entirety.
Jack instinctively reaches out like he wants to touch it, but quickly recoils his hand.
‘You can if you want.’
Jack hesitantly traces the pad of his finger across it.
‘Feels normal.’ He says, quietly.
‘I know. I kind of expected it to be - I don’t know. Like, a different texture or something.’
‘Do you like it?’
‘Yeah. Yeah, I do. I wish it wasn’t so -‘ Davey stops himself.
‘Obvious?’ Jack fills in.
‘Yeah.’ Davey breathes. Jack’s face is very close to his, his hand curled around the back of his neck as he examines Davey’s mark.
Suddenly, he pulls back, leaning against the back of his chair again.
‘I think it’s nice.’ He says. And then, after a pause: ‘It’s like you said at Katherine’s that night.’
‘I can hardly remember that night.’ Davey says.
(That’s a lie. He remembers every word of their conversation on the front porch, every move they made. Every tilt of Jack’s head, every lazy half-smile that Jack had sent in his direction, and the way that every single one had made him feel. Every clench of his chest, every catch in his breath, every beat that his heart had skipped.)
‘You said it must be pretty bad to have a mark on show like that. That you wouldn’t be able to keep it a secret, even if you wanted to.’
Jack’s right, Davey thinks. It’s odd, to hear his own words coming from someone else’s mouth.
‘It’s true.’ Davey laughs, a little hollow. ‘All day, people have been slowing down next to me in the hall, staring, trying to get a glimpse of it. It’s a bit weird, having a hundred strangers trying to look down your shirt.’
‘I’ll bet.’
(It’s the best birthday Davey’s ever had.)
*
Now that his mark is here, Davey can hardly think of anything but his soulmate. More often than he would like to admit, he finds himself wondering if, on June twenty-fourth, he will see the same mark echoed on Jack’s skin. He tries to convince himself that it’s just speculation, and not a wish.
At lunch on April fourth, they surprise Crutchie with cake and presents. There’s at least ten of them, all squeezed in round the same table, Crutchie at the head in their wheelchair. Davey ends up next to Jack, pressed uncomfortably close, their sides lined up from shoulder to ankle.
Crutchie is beside themself, surprised and smiling. It makes Davey happy to be able to celebrate a birthday without walking on tiptoes around mentioning a mark. Crutchie has dressed normally, jeans and a t-shirt, meaning everyone can see the three orange lines across their left wrist. They hold it up with a grin, and show the mark to everyone when presents are done.
‘It’s cool, isn’t it?’ Crutchie asks the group at large. ‘I love it.’
Davey admires Crutchie. They don’t give a fuck about anyone else, as long as they’re happy, and the people around them are happy. No-nonsense, as Specs used to describe them. Davey thinks he truly understands what Specs had meant by that, listening as Crutchie talks about their mark.
‘It makes me excited.’ They say, eyes bright and hopeful. ‘Knowing that some day someone’s gonna have one just like this. And that I’ve got an entire lifetime to find them.’
Jack glances sideways at Davey when Crutchie says that. Davey wonders if Jack can read his mind - before realising that he’s tensed up, fingers holding tightly onto his leg. Jack rubs Davey’s hand gently, prising his fingers away. He doesn’t quite hold his hand, but he doesn’t move his fingers away either. Their hands lie there, overlapping, comforting.
He’s jealous of Crutchie, more than anything. For Davey, the worst thing is the uncertainty, the fact that his soulmate could be around any corner, or could be decades away, and he would never know. The thought makes him feel sick with worry.
*
Summer rolls around, languid and hot, and there are few birthdays left within their circle of friends.
Davey watches as his classmates discover their marks, and some their soulmates. He watches people sway in and out of love based on what their marks tell them, watches a square inch of skin set out the paths for entire lives.
Often, he wishes his mark was somewhere else. Somewhere hidden, like Race and Albert’s are. It feels an awful lot like wearing his heart on his sleeve, like people have a window inside of him through his mark. He can hardly walk down the street without a dozen curious necks craning to better see his mark, just checking, just being certain that they don’t recognise the lines on his throat.
The first track meet of the season comes quicker than Davey had anticipated. He loves track meets - all of them do, partly because it means an afternoon off lessons, and mostly because it means they get to spend an afternoon cheering on their friends.
They muscle their way through the crowd to get to the front row of the bleachers, so that Crutchie can see. Jack walks down the line, face-paint and a brush in hand, painting their faces with ‘GO RACE!’ and ‘GO SPOT!’ and tiny illustrations of the school mascot, a bushy-tailed squirrel. Katherine complains that she’s only going to sweat it off. In return, she gets a glowering frown from Jack and a red striped painted down her face, from her forehead to the tip of her nose.
Davey is last in the line, an empty space saved next to him for Jack to sit. Jack dips his brush in paint, and leans in a little closer than strictly necessary. He rests the heel of his hand gently on Davey’s chin, and paints neat lines across both of his cheeks.
‘There you go.’ He says, with a satisfied smile. He leans back, admiring his artwork. Then, he starts, and dips his paintbrush back into the red paint, as if he has forgotten something. He leans back in and paints something on Davey’s nose, in painstakingly slow brushstrokes.
The very tip of his tongue is poking out from between his teeth, eyes narrowed in concentration. Davey can’t quite breathe. When Jack pulls back this time, there’s a self-satisfied smile on his face.
Instinctively, Davey raises a hand to touch his nose, trying to figure out what Jack has painted.
‘Don’t touch it!’ Jack yells, slapping his hand away.
‘Wow, okay!’ Davey says, laughing. He pulls up his phone camera and examines what Jack has drawn:
‘RACETRACK!’ in block capitals on one cheek, ‘SPOT!’ across the other, and, on the tip of his nose, a red heart. Davey gives silent thanks that there are letters across his cheeks to hide his blushing.
Sarah leans over and bops his nose with her finger, squarely in the middle of the heart. Jack protests, but the paint is dry and her fingertip comes away clean. She just laughs, and tells Davey he looks like a Care Bear.
It’s incredibly hot, the mid-afternoon sun high in the sky, a lazy kind of heat bearing down upon them. Davey feels sorry for the kid who’s in the squirrel mascot costume - until Jack whispers that it’s Specs’ blond ex-boyfriend, and Davey doesn’t feel so bad for him any more.
Racetrack and Spot win their respective races with what looks like relative ease, accompanied by the screams and cheers from their friends in the bleachers.
They both jog over once their events have finished, leaning against the barrier, faces flushed, revelling in the exhilaration of just having won.
It’s Specs who notices, to everyone’s surprise. He points to the hem of Race’s running shorts, where the edge of their mark is peeking out.
‘Can we see it?’ Specs asks. And, because it’s Specs, Race obliges, rolling up the left leg of their shorts.
They reveal their mark, small black lines - two figure-eights, joined together, just as they had described. Everyone throws in a compliment, and Davey chips in that he really likes it.
Everyone except Albert, who turns deathly pale.
‘You bastard!’ Albert cries, pointing an accusatory finger. ‘You said it was two figure-eights!’
They are all confused - Race most of all. Davey can clearly see Race’s mark, exactly as they had always relayed it: two figure-eights, joined together to make one shape.
‘It is two figure-eights! What the fuck is wrong with you?’ Race shoots back, ever quick to anger.
By way of a response, Albert pulls his shirt up - to protests and complaints from their friends.
‘Those are fuckin’ insect wings.’ Albert says firmly, pointing to a mark right in the centre of his chest.
Davey stares, stunned into silence.
The mark is identical to the one peeking out from under Race’s shorts.
‘Oh, fuck you.’ Race says, but they’re smiling. ‘Two figure-eights!’
Albert’s next protest that they are definitely, absolutely, insect wings is interrupted by Race fisting their hand in his shirt, and dragging him into a bruising kiss over the barrier.
*
Jack’s eighteenth birthday falls squarely in the middle of their final exams. He tells Davey he’s glad for it - it’s nice to have some kind of distraction from the impending appearance of his mark.
During exams, Davey retreats to the library, mostly - that way, he can study alone and for longer, without distractions. Like this, he can lose track of time, engulf himself in whatever it is he’s studying. He doesn’t exactly enjoy it, but it’s better than the overwhelming feeling of guilt he gets when he doesn’t study. Besides, Katherine does most of her studying with Sarah now, and the house feels crowded as of late. It makes Davey feel claustrophobic, trapped.
A week into exams, and he’s stopped seeing his other friends except in exams they have together. Everything feels a little distant, and the only thing that grounds him is his work. Even Jack feels far away, like they’re living in two entirely separate worlds.
On Friday, June twenty-third, the night before Jack’s birthday, Jack comes to find him, sitting at his usual table in the corner of the library.
‘Hey, Davey.’ He says, softly. Davey jumps, his elbow knocking his pencil case off of the table. Jack catches it in one hand, and takes a seat.
‘Hi, Jack.’ Davey breathes, exhaling fully for what feels like the first time in hours.
‘We ain’t seen you around much.’ Jack says.
‘I... we’ve all been busy. Exams, and stuff.’
‘You haven’t answered any of my texts in three days.’ Jack tells him. ‘Not even the meme about the sheep.’
Davey frowns. He can’t even remember getting that text, let alone deciding to ignore it.
‘I’m sorry, Jack. I just haven’t had time for - for everything.’ He says, all in a rush.
‘Hey, Davey, slow down.’ Jack places a hand on his shoulder, steadying him. Davey stiffens impulsively, and Jack immediately pulls it back. ‘I don’t care about that. What I mean is - I want to know if you’re okay.’
Davey looks at him. Jack is frowning a little bit, the inner ends of his eyebrows curving up in worry. Davey takes a deep breath in, preparing some kind of explanation -
He bursts into tears. Burying his face in his hands, he turns away from Jack, absolutely mortified. But he can’t stop crying, can’t stop shaking.
‘Davey, Davey, it’s okay.’ Jack murmurs. Something about hearing Jack say his name like that just makes Davey cry harder. ‘Can I - do you want a hug?’
Davey nods, still unable to form coherent words. Jack wraps his arms around him, pulling him gently around so that Davey can tuck his head into Jack’s shoulder. He can hear Jack, still talking, quietly, but he can’t quite understand what he’s saying, as though the words are fuzzy around the edges.
Jack has one hand on his back, the thumb rubbing soothing circles in what Davey thinks must be a subconscious motion; and one on the side of his neck, dangerously close to his mark. Ever so slowly, Davey relaxes, every muscle in his body unclenching. Jack doesn’t let go, waiting for him to pull away.
Eventually he does, wiping at his eyes with the cuff of his sleeve.
‘Fuck, I’m sorry.’ Davey says, with a weak smile. ‘I must look like shit.’
‘It’s okay. I go all red and splotchy when I cry. You look gorgeous in comparison.’
Davey knows it’s just a joke, but that doesn’t stop his heart from stuttering. Jack digs in his bag, and produces a pack of tissues. They look a bit like they’ve been in there since Jack was a freshman, but Davey takes one nonetheless, and dabs at his eyes.
‘What are you doing tonight?’ Jack asks.
Davey hesitates. His plan had been to stay in the library until he physically couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer, then pray he didn’t fall asleep at the wheel on the way home. It seems as if Jack can read his mind, because he starts to pack away Davey’s pens and study books.
‘Come back to mine. Stay over, we can order pizza.’ Jack says.
‘I -‘ Davey starts to protest, but he can’t find the energy. ‘Okay. Yeah, okay. Thanks, Jack.’
‘Any time.’ Jack puts Davey’s books in his bag and zips it up. ‘Can we go in your car?’
‘Oh, I get it.’ Davey begins to smile. ‘You only want me for my car.’
‘I do not!’ Jack grins back. ‘I also want you for your driving license.’
*
Jack’s house is almost empty. Now that Race has Albert, Jack explains, they’re rarely home, and Crutchie is staying over at Finch’s house.
‘Must feel quiet, without Race here all the time.’ Davey says, sitting on a stool at the counter in Jack’s kitchen, leafing through the takeout pizza menu. ‘Can we get garlic bread?’
‘Whatever you want.’ Jack replies.
‘Jack, I’m leaving!’ A voice calls from the hallway.
‘Come say goodbye to Davey, mama!’ Jack yells back. ‘She’s got a show tonight.’ He explains, plucking the pizza menu from Davey’s hands as he leaves the room.
Medda comes in as Jack goes out. She’s all made up, ready for a show, her hair pinned up in curlers, her eyes glimmering with gold shadow. At the sight of Davey, her face lights up.
‘David Jacobs!’ She cries, wrapping her arms around him and holding him close. ‘I ain’t seen you in way too long.’
‘I missed you, Medda.’ He says, finding himself suddenly on the verge of tears.
‘Are you taking care of yourself?’ She says, drawing back and taking his face in her hands. ‘The bags under your eyes could hold my shopping.’
Jack pokes his head round the door, phone in hand.
‘He’s not, mama. Tell him he’s studyin’ too much.’ Jack says. ‘Davey, what do you want on your pizza?’
‘Shut up, Jack.’ Davey shoots back. ‘Pepperoni, please.’
Jack just smirks, nods, and leaves again.
‘You know you gotta be kind to yourself.’ Medda says. ‘Let people be nice to you. You aren’t all alone, David.’
Davey just nods. Medda’s one of the only people who calls him that. It makes him feel like he’s at home, like he can relax and trust that everything truly will be okay.
‘Make sure Jack doesn’t make you sleep on the floor tonight. I don’t care if it’s his birthday tomorrow, you’re our guest.’
‘I heard that, mama.’ Jack walks back in, phone pressed between his shoulder and his ear. ‘Hey, Davey - do we want dessert?’
‘Ice cream?’ Davey suggests.
‘You’re a genius.’ Jack grins, and walks back out.
‘I’ll see you in the morning, Davey, my love.’ Medda says.
‘See you in the morning, Medda. Break a leg!’
Davey hears Medda whisper something to Jack as she leaves, and the door click shut. All of a sudden, they’re alone in the house.
‘Pizza should be here in half an hour.’ Jack says. ‘Movie?’
‘Yes, please.’ Davey says. ‘Do you mind if I change?’
‘Not at all. You know where my clothes are, take what you want.’
Davey heads upstairs, and deposits his bag in Jack’s room. He keeps a spare toothbrush and a t-shirt tucked at the back of Jack’s wardrobe for nights like these, but tonight, he opts to take Jack’s clothes. He picks out a pair of Jack’s soft plaid pyjama pants, and a white t-shirt with a faded print of Van Gogh’s sunflowers on it.
He looks at himself in the bathroom mirror, at the bags under his eyes that Medda had pointed out. He runs the pad of his thumb over them, and is startled at how swollen they are, like bruises. His eyes are still red-rimmed from crying. He splashes cold water on his face, as though that will destroy the evidence.
The shirt is far too big on him, made for Jack’s taller, broader frame. The neckline comes down too low, the entirety of his mark on show. He wears collared and high-necked shirts almost every day now, sick and tired of seeing the mark every time he looks in the mirror.
When Davey goes downstairs, Jack is curled up on the sofa with a blanket, the pizza boxes stacked on the table. Davey notices that, although it’s the middle of summer, Jack is wearing a long-sleeved pyjama shirt and long pants. The first frame of Dead Poets’ Society is paused on the TV.
‘Thanks, Jack.’ He curls up next to him, Jack automatically lifting the blanket so they can share it.
They eat pizza and ice cream until Davey thinks he might burst, and he settles back into the sofa to watch the movie. It’s his favourite - and he knows that Jack knows that.
Unable to hold his head up, he relaxes into Jack’s side, letting his head fall onto his shoulder. Jack’s arm is positioned around his shoulders, his hand absent-mindedly tracing patterns on his upper arm.
‘Are you nervous?’ Davey says, as the credits roll on the movie.
‘About tomorrow?’ Jack asks. Davey nods. ‘I’m terrified.’ He laughs, curtly.
‘What of?’ Davey asks - not because he doesn’t understand, but because there are a thousand different things that Jack could be scared about.
‘Scared it’ll be someone I know. Scared it’ll be someone I don’t. Scared I won’t even get one.’
Davey just nods, understanding. ‘Do you want to stay up? Until midnight?’
‘Any other time, I would.’ Jack laughs. ‘I think I’m about ten seconds from passing out, though.’
It’s half-past ten, and Davey can’t keep his eyes open either. They haul themselves off the sofa, Jack first, then offering a hand to Davey to pull himself to standing with.
They bicker for a few minutes about who’s going to sleep in Jack’s bed and who’s going to take the floor, though both of them know the inevitable outcome.
Like always, Davey sleeps on the left side.
Like always, they fall asleep facing away from each other, Davey curled up like a baby, and Jack splayed out, a mess of limbs.
Like always, Davey wakes up in pitch-darkness to find them wrapped around each other, Jack’s face nestled in the back of Davey’s neck, his arm slung over his side.
*
The light of the morning filters in through the curtains, and Davey blinks heavily. He hasn’t slept so deeply and for so long since weeks before exams started. He can hear the clattering of pots and pans from downstairs, and voices clamouring for attention. Race and Crutchie must be back - and, by the sounds of it, Albert with them.
Davey is alone in the bed, and he feels a little cold without the heavy, comforting weight of Jack next to him. The door clicks open, and he turns. Jack is standing in the doorway, just a silhouette to Davey’s bleary eyes.
‘Shit, sorry. Did I wake you up?’ Jack asks, voice still hoarse from sleep.
‘Nah.’ Davey croaks, pushing himself to sit up against his pillows. ‘S’okay. Happy birthday.’
‘Thanks.’ Jack says, though he doesn’t sound happy. He sits on the edge of the bed.
‘What does it look like?’ Davey asks.
‘I don’t know.’ He gestures to his long sleeves and pants. ‘I don’t really want to know.’
‘Last night, you said you were scared it would be someone you know.’
Jack looks down, as if embarrassed.
Davey presses on. ‘Do you - is there someone you think it is?’
Jack hesitates, opening and closing his mouth several times in his uncertainty.
‘There’s someone I hope it is.’ He says, quietly.
‘Oh.’ Davey breathes. ‘We don’t have to look at it. You can wait, do it later.’
Jack considers this for a moment, head tilted to the side.
‘No. Let’s just get it over with.’ He says, finally. He stands up, and looks at his hands, turning them over and over, checking. ‘All clear.’ He holds them up. ‘Can you take a look at the back of my neck?’ He turns in a slow circle, but all Davey can see is blank skin.
‘Nothing.’ Davey says. Jack reaches down and pulls up each leg of his pyjama pants, exposing first his right, and then his left lower leg. They are both blank.
It feels as though Davey’s chest is slowly constricting, tightening bit by bit.
Jack rolls up the sleeve of his right arm. They both look, turning his arm over, searching for any indication. Davey’s heard stories of people with only a tiny dot for a mark, or else people with marks so close to their skin tone that they could hardly see them. He knows the same thing is running through Jack’s mind.
Jack rolls up his left sleeve, neatly, very slowly, turning and folding each roll. When the sleeve is rolled up to expose his entire forearm, they see the first millimetre of a black line. Jack stops short, the mark still covered. He places his hand over it, and closes his eyes.
‘Do you want me to -‘ Davey starts.
‘Is that okay?’ Jack finishes.
‘Yeah. Yeah, of course.’ Davey turns around, back facing Jack, to give him some privacy. He squeezes his eyes shut, hardly daring to breathe.
In the silence, every sound is amplified. Jack pulling his sleeve up all the way. His sharp intake of breath. The sound of his fingers tracing gently over the mark.
‘Davey?’ He says, voice just a whisper.
‘Is It that bad?’ Davey jokes, but neither of them laugh. He opens his eyes, but doesn’t turn around.
‘Davey, before you turn around, I want to tell you -‘ Jack breaks off.
‘Jack, what is it?’ Davey asks, panic suddenly settling in. He still doesn’t turn around.
‘Davey, I love you.’
Davey freezes, unable to move. His breath is caught in his throat, his only movement the pounding of his heart, slamming against his ribcage.
‘I think - shit, this is a lot harder than they make it look in the movies. I think I’ve always loved you. I think I loved you when we first met when we were nine, and you told me you’d fight Oscar Delancey for making fun of me. I loved you when you broke your hand punching his nose.’
Davey looks down at his hands. His right forefinger is still a little crooked, left over from that punch. He can still remember the shock, the adrenaline that stopped the pain from settling in until the ambulance came. Jack had sat with him, swinging his legs over the edge of the back of the ambulance.
‘I loved you when we were thirteen, and you told me your soulmate was gonna be a boy. And you cried -‘ Jack sniffs, and Davey thinks maybe he’s crying. He starts to turn, but Jack stops him. ‘Don’t you dare. You turn around and this is all going to shit.’
Davey presses his lips together, hiding a smile, but he stays with his back to Jack.
‘You cried, and I cried too, because I didn’t know if my soulmate was gonna be a girl, or a boy, or neither, and it scared the shit outta me, but at least I had you to tell me it was okay.
‘I loved you when we were sixteen, and you started dating that kid -‘ Jack carries on, and Davey can hear the smile in his voice, now. ‘- that kid you knew from synagogue, and you used to spend all your time with him, and you’d take him to the diner, and I bet he ate your gross ketchup and vanilla shakes with you. I loved you so damn much, and I hated that you loved him.’
Davey hadn’t loved him. He’d been nice - more than nice, but Davey had always known, deep down, that they didn’t belong together. It had made him feel guilty, ending it like he had, and even guiltier when Specs’ boyfriend had done the same thing.
‘I loved you that night we sat on Kath’s front porch, and I loved you the day we went to the diner to get away from Sarah and Kath, and I loved you the day we all had cake for Crutchie’s birthday, and you sat next to me and you nearly held my hand.’
Jack’s crying now, Davey can hear it in his voice.
‘And I loved you last night, Davey. Not just today, and not just now.’
Davey somehow knows that now is when he turns around, now is the moment in the movie where the music is swelling to a climax.
So he turns, and Jack is staring at him, smiling, his eyes full of tears. His left sleeve is pulled all the way up, and there is a black mark in the crease of his elbow.
Slim black lines. A semi-circle, with three lines radiating from it. Like a cartoon sunrise.
‘Oh.’ Is all Davey can think to say. He blinks at the mark, wondering absently if this is just a hallucination. Or a dream - maybe he’ll wake up in a moment to find Jack’s body pressed up against his in his big double bed, his arm slung over Davey’s side.
‘Yeah. Oh.’ Jack repeats. Any other time, Davey would shove him and tell him to stop teasing, but now doesn’t quite feel like the time.
Inch by inch, they lean in. Davey watches as Jack’s gaze drops to his lips, to the mark on his neck, and back up to his eyes again.
Neither of them are concentrating enough to manoeuvre the kiss right, and they bump noses, both pulling away in surprise. Davey leans back in, but Jack goes in the same way, and their foreheads knock together. They both burst out laughing, holding onto each other as they gasp for breath. At some point, Jack’s hand ends up on the side of Davey’s neck, and Davey’s hand is on Jack’s thigh.
Davey presses a kiss to Jack’s mouth, gentle and chaste, and draws back just as quickly. This earns him a smile from Jack, and they both begin to laugh as they lean into each other.
They can hardly get closer than an inch apart without dissolving into more laughter. Davey doesn’t think he’s ever been this happy.
Eventually, their laughter dies down, and Davey gently pushes Jack down until they are horizontal. He rests his head on Jack’s chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart, and feeling the rise and fall of his chest. He reaches out a hand, and Jack seems to understand what he wants, because he raises his arm so that Davey can see.
Davey traces his fingers over Jack’s mark, like Jack had done to his, months ago at the diner. Without a word, he leans up and presses a kiss beneath Jack’s jaw.
As if this has sparked something in him, Jack pulls him up so that their faces are level, and kisses him, long and deep.
Davey’s never been kissed like this. He’s dated boys, sure, but kissing them had never felt like this does. Jack’s kisses are clumsy, hasty, like he is always chasing something, seeking more. Davey thinks he could drown in these kisses, in the desperation and the sheer, unashamed want that he can feel thrumming through both of them.
Thinking back, Davey hasn’t ever seen Jack with anyone - the odd week-long relationship, an occasional hookup at a party - nothing lasting. Nothing that Jack had ever confided in Davey about. Davey wonders, briefly, if this is scary to Jack. If it is, he isn’t showing it.
Jack’s hands are everywhere, trailing across his mark, across his back, circling around his waist, holding onto his t-shirt like an anchor. Davey dips his head to kiss along Jack’s jawline and down his throat, and Jack’s hands fly to his hair, tangling into it. It feels nicer than Davey would have expected, but it’s a surprise, and he lets out a soft cry against Jack’s throat. Jack laughs at that, and Davey revels in the way he can feel it, not just hear it. In retaliation, Davey scrapes his teeth lightly across the skin of Jack’s neck, sucking hard enough that he knows there will be a bruise.
‘Shit, Davey.’ Jack gasps. ‘You’re gonna -‘
‘What? Leave a mark?’ Davey mumbles against his throat, amused. He pulls back a little, and, sure enough, there’s a sore red mark where his mouth had just been. He kisses it, almost reverent in his admiration of seeing his own mark on Jack - a mark of his own creation. Jack lets out an honest-to-god whine, something that sounds a little like Davey’s name. Davey grins up at him, and presses a hot, open-mouthed kiss on Jack’s throat, sucking even harder than before to create another bruise.
He could carry on like this forever, but reminds himself, with a thrill of excitement, that he has a lifetime to explore every inch of Jack in the way that he wants to.
He kisses Jack, drinking him in, sweet and heady and intoxicating. Neither deepens the kiss, just the press of lips on lips, slightly parted, an outpouring of everything Davey has been thinking and feeling for years.
When he pulls back, Jack is breathing hard. His hair is a mess - when did Davey even have his hands in Jack’s hair? His lips are red, still parted, as though chasing another kiss. Davey admires, with a secretive thrill, the trail of red and purple marks he’s left along the line of Jack’s throat.
‘I love you, Jack.’ He says, quietly, as though he’s spilling a secret. ‘I can’t remember a time when I didn’t love you.’
A smile spreads across Jack’s face, half-triumphant, half-awestruck. He leans in to kiss him again, when the door flies open.
‘Happy birthday, Ja - oh.’ Race stops short, blinking at them. Davey almost falls off the bed.
‘Hi, Race.’ He says, eyes wide.
‘Hi, Davey.’ Race pauses for a moment, the dashes off downstairs. Davey can hear them yelling to the others in their excitement.
Jack laughs, and Davey does too, both a little shaky from the surprise. Davey sits, and Jack stands to look in the mirror and fix his hair.
Davey pretends not to notice when Jack pulls his collar down to examine the string of bruises along his neck and across his collarbones. He pretends not to notice the way Jack admires them, the way he smiles, trailing a finger across the marks.
‘You ready to face them?’ Davey asks, extending a hand.
Jack nods, and threads his fingers through Davey’s. Davey can’t help but look down, at the black lines on Jack’s inner elbow. He squeezes his hand gently. Jack looks up at him max and smiles.
Davey had never thought that it could be this easy. But perhaps it could be, if he got lucky. And Davey doesn’t think he could get luckier than this.