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Jay sat alone slouched against Tim's couch, feeling its ragged fabric beneath his fingertips. He scanned the room, taking in the surroundings he was already familiar with. Tim's house was old and messy--boxes and instruments strewn about, mysterious objects covered in white sheets (that Jay never bothered to uncover), and a hole in the ceiling by the attic door that Jay couldn't help but notice every time he walked to the bathroom. Jay didn't know if this is how Tim usually lived, but he tried not to care. He didn't want to care, really.
In front of Jay sat a coffee table. Nothing of particular interest lied on top: a pile of old books he has never seen Tim read, a used coffee mug, Jay's camera, the tv remote, and Tim's lighter. A television droned on quietly in the corner of his eyes, its position awkward on the wall compared to where Tim's couch was placed. He remembered that Tim only set it up because Jay would be staying there now, and told him "anything is better than staring at a blank wall."
It was different for Jay, to live in a house. He could never return to his apartment, and all he's known for the past three years were small dingy hotel rooms and creaky beds that made his back ache in the morning. He now sleeps in the spare bedroom that Tim so kindly let him have. Jay pretended he didn't care either way.
Jay sunk deeper into the couch cushions and leaned his head back. It smelled faintly of cigarettes. It smelled like Tim.
His head lifted back up, hearing the sink running, along with the shaking of pill bottles within the bathroom down the hall. Jay watched patiently. The door finally opened, the light bathing the hall in yellow light. Tim stepped out, walking down the hallway and into the living room towards Jay. They made eye contact and Tim gave him the smallest hint of a smile. Something grew in the pit of Jay's stomach.
Tim took a seat next Jay on the couch, the sudden shift of weight causing him to slide slightly towards Tim. Their thighs were barely touching.
"What are you watching?" Tim asked as soon as he got comfortable.
"Um...huh?" Jay turned towards the tv for a second before looking back. "I don't know… I wasn't really paying attention."
Tim nodded and muttered out an 'ah' sound.
Jay nodded back awkwardly, and caught himself analyzing Tim's features. His hair was long in the back but neatly combed, and his signature bangs swooped over the side of his forehead. His sideburns framed his face perfectly, and trailed down to fade into a beard that Tim has been growing out for awhile. It suits him, Jay thought. But why should he care about that.
The feeling that bubbled in Jay's stomach now snaked its way up to his chest, wrapping itself around his heart like a python--and now he desperately wanted to go back. Go back to when he first woke up in Tim's house. Back when he was feverish and hot and oh so angry at Tim. He had been told that Tim basically rescued him from Rosswood, but Jay was so damn irate at the time he couldn't even look at the other man.
Wasn't he still mad at Tim? He betrayed him, lied to him. He kept Jessica a secret from him for God knows how long.
The feeling slithered up Jay's throat and into his skull. He began to feel the hot he so longed for, but it wasn't the same as before. Their legs were now pushed up against each other and Jay told himself he didn't care, he just didn't care.
"Hey… are you okay?"
Jay jumped at the question, not realizing Tim had been watching him. The heat pushed against the back of Jay's eyes, threatening to spill over and down his cheeks. Jay was sure he looked as red as a tomato. He wanted to scream "No! Now leave me alone!" He wanted to be pissed at Tim. Seething. Raged. Betrayed.
Because the reality was that being angry at Tim was easier.
Easier than wanting Tim to lean over and pull Jay into his embrace, and tell him it would all be okay. Easier than wanting to know how warm Tim's hands were entangled with his own. Easier than wanting Tim to put himself and his weight on top of Jay, grounding him. Easier than wanting to feel the tickle of Tim's breath against his neck. Easier than wanting to live with Tim forever in his old and messy house, with boxes and instruments strewn about, mysterious objects covered in white sheets (that Jay was now itching to uncover), and that hole in the ceiling by the attic door. Easier than dealing with the fact that maybe Jay Merrick was falling in love with Tim Wright.
Finally, Jay answered Tim's question with a choked out "yes." Their legs were no longer touching.
Not caring about Tim was easier, and it would be easier for Tim to not care about Jay either.