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'We're in love, aren't we,' says Jack.
Gabe pauses. Carefully, he puts the lime Jell-O back down on Jack's tray. The spoon tips over the side and clatters to the floor, because of course it does - because it's just been that kind of week. 'Jack... we're not in love. We're just friends.'
Jack smiles politely - his eyes don't give an inch. 'Friends.'
'Good friends,' says Gabe. 'Colleagues, even.'
'Colleagues,' Jack says. 'Colleagues who get matching tattoos.'
Never thought he'd have to explain Jack's bad ideas to Jack. 'We were just drunk on leave. That doesn't mean--'
'You're wearing my dog tags,' Jack points out.
Unexpectedly, Gabe has to swallow before he can speak again. He squints, vaguely, at the thin sheet over Jack's legs; he narrows his eyes till his vision is swallowed up.
He really fuckin' hates hospitals. 'We thought you were dead,' he says.
A hand tilts his chin up slow. He keeps his eyes closed.
'When I touch you,' Jack says, while he does just that, 'your heart beats very loud.'
Gabe doesn't break. '--I thought you were dead,' he admits.
Jack's breath, almost, on his lips. 'You don't lie to me.'
'If we were really in love,' Gabe opens his eyes, begging, 'you don't think I'd tell you?'
Jack kisses him carefully, then. Like he knows Gabe's mouth; like Gabe wants to be known.
For a breath, they pause, they still and stare.
With one hand, Jack thumbs the wet from beneath his eyes. To a stranger, Gabe clings, with the face of a friend.
'Oh, Gabe,' Jack sighs, 'I don't think you knew.'