Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Push it, Kelly! Go, go, go!”

His heart is pounding out of his chest. He feels like he’s going to drop any second; his lungs are burning, but the adrenaline in his system keeps him going. Keeps him pushing that much harder. 

Distantly, he hears grunts and blocks from behind him, but he keeps on going. He weaves through bodies on the field and looks to his left- and there’s Albert right there, eyeing him and giving him a nod that he’s ready, he’s open, and with no hesitation, Jack throws the football over the heads of the opposing team and into Albert’s waiting hands.

Jack dives out of the way after that, but he keeps his eyes locked on Albert. Albert is going, going, going, and he’s weaving through the other team’s blockers like he was made for it, and, with one second left on the clock, one second until the end of the fourth quarter, one second until the game goes into overtime if they don’t get this right , Albert dives into the endzone and scores the last touchdown of the night.

Immediately, the crowd erupts- jumping to their feet, shaking noise-makers and blowing air-horns. Over the roar of the crowd, Jack hears himself start cheering- so loudly his voice threatens to give out. The game is over; their team has just one by six points after being tied for the majority of the last quarter, and as Jack races across the field, running circles around the other team with his fists in the air, he can feel just how sore his face is going to be from smiling so fucking hard.

First game of his last season, and they’ve won it.

The Duane High Lions have won against the North High Wolves, and as Jack calls his team in for a huddle and rips off his helmet, the crowd goes wild . The band starts blaring the fight song and everyone is rushing onto the field, the cheerleaders are doing one last cheer, and everything is perfect.

Jack rubs his face in disbelief as he and Albert are pushed to the center huddle, and when Jack leads the boys in a chant, he feels like everything is finally slotting into place.

Summer practices had been a bitch, especially as the official captain of the team- the senior quarterback, the man with the plan, the one everyone looked to for guidance. He had pushed himself harder than ever before, he spent hours committing plays to memory, and everything had finally paid off.

“Go team!”

***

Shake the other team’s hand. Say “good game” and nod to the coach. Walk to the sidelines and bask in the attention from the crowd for a while before hitting the showers.

This part of Jack’s after-game routine thankfully hasn’t changed, not in the four years he’s been playing.

As Jack files into the locker room, one of the last to walk in, he joins in the other boys’ task of taking off their shoulder pads and peeling sweat-drenched jerseys and undershirts off of themselves. He sets his helmet down in his locker, laughing as a few of the boys come up and pat him on the back, before he hears the door open again and a whistle come from behind him.

“What team?!”

“Lions!” All of the boys respond simultaneously, turning to look ahead at their coach.

Coach Larkin, otherwise known as “Mama,” but only if you’re Jack Kelly.

Medda has the brightest smile on her face as she throws her hands up, letting out a loud, playful yell. “Y’all did it! I knew you boys had it in you!” This draws another round of hoots and hollers from the boys, led by Albert, who circle up around her. “ Man, if y’all play like that for the rest of the season, there’s no way in hell we’ll lose the championship game this year!”

“The Knights ain’t gonna know what hit ‘em!” Jack yells as loud as he can, and the rest of the team erupts into yells of their own. Jack pumps his fist, and throws his head back in laughter as Albert and Finch flank his sides, riling up the crowd with hoots and claps of their hands; they would’ve been great cheerleaders, Jack thinks to himself, as he wraps his arms around them and pulls the both of them into a gentle, loving headlock.

“Alright, alright, settle down,” Medda calls out after a few moments of chaos, but she’s smiling wider than Jack has seen in months, still laughing. “I just wanted to let y’all know how proud I am tonight. I know it hasn’t been an easy summer, but this is the payoff! Let’s keep this momentum up for next week, alright?” She nods to herself, looking around the circle of boys. “Y’all hit the showers. And remember, we’re up against the Raiders next week; it’ll be an easy week, boys. Don’t slack. We’ll debrief tonight’s game at practice in the mornin’, but you all did real good out there tonight. What team?!”

“Lions!”

“Mama’s out!” Medda yells over the boys, and walks back out of the locker room with her hands in the air.

As she leaves, the rest of the team disperses. Jack continues taking off his jersey and his pads, hanging everything up in the locker- after his shower he’ll stuff everything in his gym bag, but that’s a later problem rather than a now problem. He glances around at the other guys; Albert is getting his things ready to head to the showers, and Elmer is scrolling through Twitter while casually chugging an entire water bottle. Specs is taking out his contacts, while Romeo and Finch are taking off their shoulder pads in the corner. 

“I can’t believe we did that! We kicked ass!” Albert yells after a few moments, and grins as Specs slaps him on the back.

“Speak for yourself, Red,” Specs laughs, then jumps up on one of the benches, patting his bare chest with his fists. “Let it be known that I knew we’d win tonight! All me, baby!”

“Get off the bench, dumbass,” Romeo shakes his head, letting out a giddy little laugh. “That cute girl from my geometry class watched the game. Saw me on the field,” He starts, nonchalant as he hangs up his pads, but he suddenly spins around and jumps up onto the bench that Specs has just gotten off of. He bends his knees and throws his hands in the air as he screams, “Guess who got her numbeeer!”

The boys all erupt into cheers as Romeo does this- this stupid little dance, one that Jack smiles wide seeing. Romeo has always been one of the more eccentric boys on the team; Jack remembers playing with him in middle school; he’s two years younger than Jack, though. A sophomore like Specs. Jack is certain, though, that Romeo has a good chance of being captain in the future. He’s damn good.

“ Speaking of cute girls,” Finch starts, crossing the room to clap Jack’s shoulder. “Jackie boy, your girl show up to see you win tonight?” He asks with a shit-eating grin, and Jack rolls his eyes.

“Dude, we broke up, like, last month,” Jack says as he runs his hands through his hair and shuts his locker. 

“Shit, really?” He asks, surprised. 

“How did you miss that?” Albert asks, raising a brow. “She dumped ‘im and he came out. Did’ja just forget about the fact he said he wanted to fuck Michael B. Jordan last week?”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Specs cuts in, raising a brow. “I believe Kelly said he would, and I quote, ‘let that man do anything’ to him. I don’t think Kelly’s the one doin’ the fucking.”

“I hate all of you guys,” Jack says with a groan, crossing his arms. “Seriously. Every one’a you. Ya’d think I’d get some respect around here, but I guess not!” He yells, teasing- it’s obvious by the smile on his face, but he soon looks up at Finch and grins. “But, yeah, Katie and I are done.”

“Sorry, man,” He says with a frown, though he soon furrows his brows. “Wait, then, why was she in your truck this mornin’?”

As the other boys let out a string of “oooh” s, Jack grins and shakes his head, kneeling down to untie his cleats. “I always give Katie a ride to school. Like, even before we started datin’. What, we break up and suddenly we ain’t allowed to be friends?”

“Not when y’all looked like way more than friends last week,” Oscar Delancey calls out, and Jack’s good mood sours. “She was practically spreadin’ her legs for ya!” He says it in a way that makes it sound like he’s just one of the guys. Like he’s expecting the other boys to agree with him, to cheer for him, to laugh with him. 

Like he thinks it’s a fucking joke.

All of a sudden, Jack’s seeing red.

“Okay, first of all, she and I never fucked, and if we did, it sure as hell wouldn’t’a been a problem for you ,” Jack starts as he stands back up, looking Oscar dead in the eye. “Secondly, we weren’t even together last week! Third-- do not talk about Kath like that. Who the fuck raised you? It’s fuckin’ rude.”

Oscar rolls his eyes. “Christ, man, it was just a joke. Chill! All’s I’m sayin’ is that I didn’t mind seein’ her around all summer. She’s got a nice ass, don’t she, fellas?” He asks as he looks at the other boys for backup, snickering.

The silence in the room is deafening .

Jack takes a few steps closer, raising a brow. “You wanna get kicked off the team? ‘Cause that right there is how you get kicked off the fuckin’ team,” Jack warns, clenching his fists.

“Quit talkin’ ‘bout the girls like that,” Finch sounds off from the back of the room. “That’s a dick move, dude.”

“Disrespectful as hell ,” Albert says as he stands, walking to stand next to Jack. “We put up with your shit all summer, Delancey, but we ain’t gonna deal with this for the whole fuckin’ season. One more wrong word outta your mouth and we’re tellin’ Coach, after we kick your ass.”

“Then, ya can spend the rest of the year with your brother on the bench. How’s that sound?” Jack asks with a smirk, though there’s nothing friendly about his expression. He is, however, amused by the way Oscar takes a step back with Jack and Albert both staring him down; Jack and Albert are both pretty strong. It wouldn’t take anything for the two of them to beat his ass into next year.

Oscar stares back at Jack, then clenches his jaw and shakes his head. “Like I’m scared of Mr. Mama’s Boy,” He mumbles, just barely loud enough for Jack to hear, but it sends Jack’s blood boiling. “Whatever, I’ll keep my mouth shut. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

“Fuckin’ juniors, man,” Jack says as he turns away from Oscar, shaking his head. “Always thinkin’ they run the place. Shut the fuck up,” he mutters under his breath, then grins when Finch and Albert snicker. “Alright, I’ve had enough of y’all. I’m hittin’ the showers.”

“Aight, man, see you in a bit.”

With that, Jack walks straight to the showers in the back. Once he makes it to the stall- the good one in the back, the one that never runs out of hot water- he finishes undressing and hops in, locking the stall door with a heavy sigh.

As the warm water runs down his back, he takes in a few deep breaths. He’s still on his high from winning, but as the reality of it sets in, Jack feels anxiety curl deep in his stomach.

They have a good start right now. Right off the bat, winning their first game. It’s a good thing, but… what if they can’t keep up the momentum?

What if Jack can’t keep up the momentum?

Jack swallows and pushes that thought way, instead focusing on washing the dirt and grime off of himself. He’s only in for about five more minutes; he’ll take a better shower in the morning, but this isn’t about luxury right now- it’s about necessity, so he doesn’t “fuck up his truck” with the “man stink”, or so his mama says.

Once he’s dressed and ready to go, in a baggy pair of sweats and a tight muscle tee, the exhaustion from the game starts to settle in. He says goodnight to the fellas, leaves the fieldhouse, and not even ten minutes after he gets home, Jack Kelly is dead to the world for the foreseeable future.

***

They beat the Raiders.

The next week, at their Friday night game, they beat the Raiders. Not like it’s hard- the Raiders have had the same coach for over twenty-five years, set in his ways, and that team just doesn’t work as hard as they need to. It’s an easy win.

But, then, the week after that, they beat the Bulldogs. And the Eagles. And the Badgers.

They even beat the Tigers, which is fucking wild.

And, sure, a few of those games were close calls, but the Duane High Lions have been pushing themselves to the limit over the past few weeks. Medda is working them to the bone; sometimes, during dinner on days with no games or practices, Medda will start to feel guilty.

“I just feel like I’m pushin’ you boys too hard,” She says one night, while leaning against the kitchen counter as she waits for the oven to sound off. “What do you think?”

Jack looks up from his laptop on the table, and shakes his head as he pauses whatever essay he’s working on. “Mama, it ain’t like you’re killin’ us,” Jack says with a laugh. “I mean, sure, I don’t think makin’ us run a mile before practice really does anything, but it keeps us on our toes. I just…” He shrugs, pursing his lips. “I think, if ya let up on us, some of ‘em might get lazy.”

“They’ll see that we’re winning, and won’t put in the actual work,” Medda summarizes, tilting her head. “I think you’re right.”

“Ain’t I always right?”

“Oh, sweetie, I love you,” Medda says with a smile, turning around. “But your math grade says otherwise.”

“Low blow, Mama.”

***

They’re on the winning streak, and it’s keeping Jack on an all time high.

But, nonetheless, Jack is keyed up at the thought of the homecoming game this week; the most important game of the year, aside from the championships. Everyone comes to this game. Students of all corners of Duane High, local high school football fanatics, families and friends- it’s such a big game that even thirty minutes before the game starts, it’s hard to find any kind of seating in the bleachers.

Because this game involves the biggest rivalry of the century .

Duane High Lions vs. Central High Knights. Now, their teams- they have a history, one Jack is intimately involved in. Freshman year championship game, they went head to head, and after having a terrific season, the Lions lost with a final score of 46 to 48. They redeemed themselves the next year, though, when Jack’s team beat the Knights 58 to 44.

But then, last year, junior year, everything went to shit.

The Lions lost to the Knights on the night of homecoming. It was rough- there was a brawl in the parking lot, after some particularly snarky Central Highers came over to the homeside of the field and started taunting some of the guys from Duane. Not football guys; no, this was more like… Jack can’t even describe it. How exactly should someone describe a fight between tipsy teenagers in a shitty parking lot after a bad football game?

He was already in the showers when it happened, but from what he heard, it was a “fight to the death” between a few of the preppier Central High dickheads and some of the less-than-squeaky-clean assholes from Duane.

That game was only the beginning, though.

Because, despite losing, the Lions still ended up in the championships with the Knights for the third year in a row.

And, God, that game was tough. Jack was having the time of his life, though; he was a running back then, and was damn good at it. He remembers the high he felt at the time. Running like a bat out of hell, making more touchdowns than he can count, and by the middle of the third quarter, the Lions were up by twenty-two points.

And then, Jack got hurt.

Fucked up his leg. Some jackass senior from Central dove for him a little too soon, causing Jack to hit the ground hard, and it didn’t help that Mr. Big Senior Dude landed with his entire central body weight on Jack’s knee.

Jack had insisted that he was fine, that he could still play, he was just sore and needed a breather- but the fact that he had to be carried off the field on a stretcher didn’t exactly help his case.

He left in an ambulance. The next morning, he was informed that the Lions had lost to the Knights by four points.

Somehow, learning that hurt worse than getting hurt.

He came home with a dislocated knee, a concussion, and a shattered ego- and now, as quarterback and captain of the team, Jack is wanting to come back this year with a vengeance.

It’s not often that they play the same school two years in a row at homecoming, but the schedule worked out that way. Jack would much rather play the Elks than the Knights, but they’re playing Central and not East, and this is something that Jack has been stressing over for weeks and he hasn’t really been able to think about anything else and he doesn’t want to fuck this up this week and now Jack is bouncing his leg in the middle of an trig exam that he didn’t study for and doesn’t know how to finish.

But he turns it in. He’s expecting a 65 at best, but his grade hasn’t been good in math since seventh grade, so as long as he makes above a 30 on this exam, he’s gonna be happy.

As luck would have it, he’s the last to take his test back to Mr.Wiesel, who gives him a critical look. “Did you do the backside this time, Kelly?”

Jack shoots him a grin and shrugs. “Guess ya better look, huh?”

Wiesel turns the paper, and scowls at the doodle of himself, along with a speech bubble that says, “i eat hopes and dreams for breakfast <3”. At least the questions are filled in.

“Even put your bald spot in there,” Jack says proudly, pointing at the page. “And your forehead wrinkles! I gotta say, Mr. Weasel, this is some of my finest work.”

“Sit down, Mr. Kelly.”

“Aw, but don’t ya like talkin’ to me?”

“Sit down.”

“Suit yourself,” Jack says simply as he walks back to his desk, giving Finch a high five on his way, and he soon sits back down- right next to Albert, who is sitting behind Race. They’re both seated sideways, fingers interlocked on Albert’s desk, and Jack shakes his head as he sees them.

He loves them, he really does, but it’s still so amusing to see how they’re still attached at the hip after a full year and a half of dating. Race is even wearing Al’s letterman jacket, a common occurrence, but it doesn’t make sense because Race already has one of his own. Race isn’t a player, but he is one of the team managers; he comes to every game and practice, and is basically Medda’s right hand man: a middleman between her and Jack, if you will. He helps decide plays and runs numbers, while also manning the water station, helping the Booster Club with the concession stand sometimes, and, on the rare occasion that someone gets hurt, he stays back with them while the other two managers take over his spot.

Jack was actually the one to push them together. Not directly; they’d had a hangout scheduled, the three of them, and were going to go see a movie, but Jack had to cancel at the last minute to help his mom at the house, so the two of them wound up seeing a movie alone.

And now they’re here, a year and a half later, still as insufferably sweet as ever.

“Weasel’s got a real stick up his ass,” Jack mutters with a deep, dramatic sigh. “Didn’t even like my drawing.”

“Weasel’s always been a dick, Kells. Ya think we don’t know that?” Race chimes in, glancing at Albert, then back at Jack. “He threatened to move us to opposite sides of the classroom.”

“To be fair, y’all were kissin’ in the back of the class.”

“That doesn’t mean he can just move us without proper cause,” Albert shrugs, though there’s a playful grin on his face- like he knows he’s just talking out of his ass, but he still says it anyway. That’s just the kind of guy Albert is.

Jack shakes his head again, and turns to Race. “Why do you put up with him, again?”

Race shrugs, looking into Albert’s eyes. “Y’know, I really don’t know.”

“Babe.”

“Kidding, hun. I’m kidding,” Race reassures him with a smirk, patting his cheek twice, and Jack chuckles as Albert leans into his hand. With that, he turns to Jack and tilts his head. “So, I haven’t gotten to ask you, but how are ya feelin’ about Friday?”

Jack’s eyes widen slightly as he blows out a sigh, and he crosses his arms. “Honest?” He asks, meeting Race’s eyes, and he gulps as the blond nods. “I’m terrified. I don’t wanna fuck it up.”

“You aren’t gonna fuck us up, Jack,” Albert frowns. “What are you talkin’ about, man?”

“I’m the reason we lost the championships last year,” Jack deadpans, furrowing his brows. “ I’m the reason. I don’t want to mess up again.”

Albert rolls his eyes. “That asshat dislocated your knee, Cisco, that ain’t your fault!”

“I could’ve kept playing--”

“You couldn’t walk!”

“DaSilva,” Wiesel calls out, peering at Albert over his glasses.

Albert frowns, giving him a nod, before turning his attention back to Jack. “Okay- Back to what I was sayin’ before I was rudely interrupted, you gotta stop puttin’ so much pressure on yourself, Jack! As much as we want to, we ain’t gonna win all the games.”

And Jack knows this. He really, truly, honest to God knows this.

But he can’t stand the thought of being the one to lose. Not now.

Jack is silent until the bell rings, about ten seconds later. With that, Jack pushes himself out of the desk and slings his bag over his shoulder. He makes it about five steps to the door before he looks back at Albert, meeting his eyes. “I know we aren’t going to win every game,” Jack says, voice even, “but we’re gonna win this one. We’ve got to win this one.”

With that, he turns and walks out of the classroom, letting out a heavy sigh as he ducks his head and starts toward the gym for weightlifting.

Losing this game is not an option Jack is willing to consider.

Chapter Text

If there’s one thing the boys on the team know about Jack, it’s that he gets pretty unpredictable when he’s stressed.

Friday morning is no surprise.

It’s the day of the homecoming game. Everyone is all decked out for it: students in the hallway are wearing mums and bells and bring noisemakers to every class, and the energy around the school is buzzing. A few of the student council members go all out for the dress up day; they wear navy tutus and white t-shirts and elaborate makeup- hell, even some of the guys on the team do it, too. Albert is one of the ones in a tutu; he even shows up in some stupid pom-pom headband from the local Party City, and a blue bandana is tied around his neck, and he has a goddamn megaphone. Officer Snyder, the school’s security guard, tries to confiscate it, but Albert talks him out of it, claiming that “the principal said it was fine.”

Principal Pulitzer most certainly did not say it was fine, but whatever, right?

And Albert isn’t even the only one. Finch went all out, too; he came to school with one of those cheapass feather boas from the dollar store, but it was pretty funny watching him get scolded for consistently dropping feathers in the hallway all day. Romeo was decked out in all blue, Elmer was wearing a cowboy hat that he obviously spray-painted to be blue and white, and even Oscar, that son of a bitch, was wearing a blue hoodie and had a bandana tied around his wrist.

Even Race, who rarely does any “school spirit” things, is dressed to the nines. He also has a bandana- around his neck, like Albert- and he has what looks to be ten beaded friendship bracelets in the school colors on his wrists. Rumor has it, he’ll give you one if you compliment him, but Jack hasn’t really tried that yet. He has a few beaded necklaces, too- and a school t-shirt, of course, but it’s mostly covered by Albert’s letterman jacket. It seems that everyone is buzzing in excitement over the game.

But not Jack.

Sure, he’s got his jersey on over his black hoodie, and yeah, he has his face paint on- blue and white dots, that form half of a figure eight from his left cheekbone to his right temple (he let a freshman girl do it; one of Race’s sisters)- but that’s it.

He really can’t see a point in celebrating when he can’t even eat breakfast without feeling like he’s going to barf.

All day, he barely talks to anyone. He keeps his head down and keeps thinking, thinking, thinking-- he goes over play after play, scribbles down notes about who’s playing what position and who has what skills, and he even catches himself double-checking the numbers on everyone’s jersey- like that fucking matters . He doesn’t talk shit in his classes like every other Friday, and doesn’t try to sweet talk his way out of any quizzes or unit tests, and he doesn’t even ask to leave before lunch so he could go to the field.

He’s never felt like this before a game.

“You’re gonna choke tonight if you keep worrying,” Charlie says to him at lunch. Charlie is one of Jack’s best friends; he doesn’t get to talk to him as often as he’d like, since Charlie is basically a genius taking all AP classes while Jack is stuck in on-level classes with the rest of the dumbasses. He’s also pretty busy as of late- between his wheelchair basketball league games and his involvement in the yearbook club with Katherine, Charlie is kept pretty busy, but Jack desperately needs to talk to someone other than one of his teammates right now.

“Listen, I’m not gonna choke,” Jack says indignantly, before popping another Sonic popcorn chicken piece into his mouth. They actually left campus for lunch today; Jack usually just goes to the fieldhouse during lunch, and snacks there before lifting some weights until he has to make it to his art class, but the thought of stepping into the fieldhouse today damn near gave him a heart attack. “I’m just… I’m trying to prep myself.”

“Prep yourself for what?” Charlie asks, taking a sip of his sweet tea.

Jack turns and looks at him. “Trying to prep myself for how badly this is going to fuck me tonight.”

“ Dude, that sounds gay as hell,” Charlie says with a laugh- but it’s fine, because Charlie is literally wearing a pair of pride Converse with rainbows on the sole. “Didn’t know you were a bottom, Jackie.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Well, you’re not a twink. Power bottom, maybe?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know, man,” Jack says, shaking his head with a bewildered expression. “Haven’t been with a dude yet. Really can’t tell you the answer.”

“You radiate power bottom vibes.”

“I don’t even know what that means. ”

Charlie grins, shaking his head. “You’re still in the baby gay phase, dear. You’ll learn.”

Jack lets out an overdramatic whine and rests his forehead against the steering wheel of his truck. “I’m having the worst day of my life , and you’re makin’ fun of me and my lack of sexual experience with dudes? I need help, Crutch! Not some watered down version of the BDSM test!”

Charlie doesn’t look convinced. “Is this because of Jacobs?”

At the sound of the name, Jack’s head snaps up, and he makes immediate eye contact with Charlie. “How the fuck do you know about Jacobs?”

Even hearing his name sends shivers down Jack’s spine.

And, okay, yeah. Maybe he’s really nervous tonight because he’s under a lot of pressure, and he’s the face of the team, and if he fucks up they lose, and it’s all going to be on Jack because he’s the captain and he’s supposed to lead the team.

But, maybe, just maybe, Jack is nervous for an entirely different reason.

That reason being: David Jacobs.

6’3”. Wears glasses off-field, and contacts on-field. Not super jacked, but built with lean muscle. Faster than most of the boys Jack has seen on the field, from any school. Impossibly blue eyes. Dark hair to match. Freckles, and a nice smile, but an even nicer mean face- if that's even possible .

Jack hates him.

“Jackie, you bitch about him every year,” Charlie points out, raising a brow. “He’s not exactly someone I wouldn’t know.”

“He’s a fuckin’ cheat,” Jack grumbles, crossing his arms. “He- He just- He thinks he can just-- He waltz’s on up onto the fuckin’ field lookin’ lanky and awkward as shit, and then he- He-- Damn it! He’s fuckin’ good, and he’s so goddamn smart, and I just- I- I don’t--”

“Calm down , holy shit,” Charlie says through soft laughter, eyes widening as he leans away from Jack. “You’re fuckin’ red, Jack, what’s gotten into you?”

Jack takes in a deep breath through his nose, huffing. “David Jacobs is the worst goddamn person on the face of the fuckin’ planet and I want to punch his fuckin’ lights out every time I see him.”

“Hot.”

Jack's sigh makes a sharp turn into a frustrated yell, both hands flying up on their own accord. “Dude!”

As Charlie dissolves into a fit of laughter loud enough to make Jack cover his ears, he shakes his head and rethinks every decision he’s ever made.

Like the decision to think David was nothing but a loser back in ninth grade.

Truthfully, Jack doesn’t know much about the guy. They don’t really talk, but since freshman year, Jack and David have had a- a thing, one could say. A rivalry. It started back when Jack was just starting out on the team; it was the first game of his high school career, and the Lions were up against the Knights. Jack wasn’t much use back then; he wasn’t that fast, and couldn’t really be in the big leagues yet, but he was good at blocking and using blunt force.

Thing is, in the line up, Jack- just a guard back then- was face to face with this lanky-ass white kid from Central. Bright blue eyes and dark hair, from what Jack could see through his helmet. He looked like he weighed about 120 soaking wet, so Jack knew he could take him. This kid wasn’t a threat.

But, somehow, the kid got Jack down on the ground, and, somehow, he continued to do it during every fucking quarter.

It didn’t fucking matter that the Lions won the game anyway. Jack had been knocked down a few pegs by some stupid tree-boy-hybrid, and Jack has hated him ever since. To make matters worse, he had a run-in with Jacobs at the championship game that year, too; he knocked Jack square on his ass and told him to “get back up, pretty boy,” and somehow, it didn’t feel like an insult. It didn’t feel malicious or mean.

It felt like a challenge.

Jack had gotten a good look at his jersey that night- Jacobs. After doing some hardcore snooping, with help of Google and a barely-there Instagram account, Jack had figured out the boy’s name: David.

David Jacobs. A face Jack will never forget.

And, well, it’s not like he’s had a chance,

Miraculously, he and David have kept up constant contact throughout the games. They would end up in front of each other in line before kickoff, or they’d run into each other after the game was over, or, if they were lucky, they’d be able to tackle each other once or twice per game. And every one of those meetings had had a healthy dose of shit-talking right along with it. They were constantly poking jabs at each other, and always had the most delightful things to say, but over the years, it’s gotten a bit too friendly for Jack’s taste.

Especially considering what happened after Jack got hurt.

***

Pain.

Throbbing pain.

Through the persistent ringing in his ears, Jack hears a borderline animalistic scream, more like a deep, gravelly growl than anything else, and it takes him all of five seconds to realize that the sound is coming from /himself/.

It’s hard to keep his eyes open. Everything is so- so bright, and it /hurts/ . A loud, painful groan claws its way out of his throat as the pressure on his knee is removed, and when Jack blinks his eyes open and looks up through the tears, he sees why: because the guy who landed on him finally stood up.

This guy is massive. Must be about 6’5” and must weigh about 240. Pure muscle. Big boy.

Jack just /really/ wishes he wouldn’t have moved.

All around him, people are rushing forward. Whistles are blowing endlessly, much to Jack’s dismay, and coaches and assistants are waving their hands up and down; when Jack turns his head to the side, all he sees are boys- his teammates, and even the guys from Central High- taking a knee on the field.

He spots Albert, who is kneeling just about fifteen feet away. He’s taken his helmet off, and his face is panic stricken.

Suddenly, there’s a hand touching his helmet, and Jack whimpers as that hand gently tugs him into a slight seated position and pulls the helmet off. When he looks up, it’s Medda; she looks shaken up, and Jack watches as she takes a deep breath. “Oh, baby, it’s gonna be okay...”

That’s when Jack tries to stand, but immediately, all of the adults around him start saying no and gently push him back down against the turf. It takes Jack a moment to understand why, but then he looks down, and--

/Oh./

Oh, knees don’t bend like that. They aren’t supposed to, anyway.

And they’re not supposed to swell like that, or be that color, or twist that way, or--

The sight makes him nauseous. “Coach--”

“I know, I know,” She whispers, running a hand through Jack’s sweaty curls. “You got hit real hard, hun, but it’s okay. We’re- We’re gonna get you all fixed up, okay?”

“My head hurts,” Jack mumbles, just barely maneuvering himself to lie in her shadow instead of the bright spotlights of the stadium, and it’s only then that he realizes that there are tears streaming down his face. He feels dizzy, even lying on the ground, and his entire body /hurts/. He shifts his leg, and immediately gasps, digging his nails into Medda’s shoulder. “F-Fuck!”

“You’re gonna be okay, alright? We’re taking you to the ER, you’ll be okay,” Medda murmurs, then looks up. Jack follows her gaze, and his eyes widen when he sees Race standing above him, shakily holding out a water bottle.

That seems to be when a switch is flipped. 

“What? No! Help- Help me up,” Jack says loudly as he reaches for Racer’s hand. He knocks the bottle away and once again bends his good leg to push himself up, but Race pulls his hand away within seconds and steps back so Jack can't use him for leverage. “Help me up, and help me bandage this, I gotta--”

“Jack, no,” Medda says firmly, grabbing his wrist. “You’re going to the emergency room. Paramedics are on their way, and--”

“No!” Jack yells, eyes wide, and even his own volume has himself wincing. “N-No, it’s- it’s the championships, I can’t just--”

“Jack, you’re hurt--”

“I don’t fuckin' care!” Begging never gets him far, but he has no choice once he feels the panic rising in his chest. He's so tired, but he can play. He can muscle through it. He's not a pussy. “I-It’s just sore, Coach, I can- I can play, I /promise/, you gotta let me play--”

Medda looks at him, heartbroken, and turns her attention to the two men who have just come to Jack’s other side. They’re carrying a stretcher.

“Mama,” Jack sobs, one last time, but Medda stands and instead instructs the men on how to grab Jack to put him on the stretcher, how to do it without hurting him too much.

Unfortunately, despite her careful orders, it’s not a painless process. In fact, when one of the men touches his leg to carefully- just /barely/- lift it to move him onto the stretcher, Jack gasps. "A-Ah, fuck!" He yells, louder than intended, and the murmur of the crowd rises in volume.

He’s reduced to silent sobs and whimpers after that, hiding his flushed face beneath his hands. Everyone in the stadium can hear him screaming and crying and that fact only makes matters worse. He’s embarrassed, most of all- he’s being overdramatic, and weak, and he could keep playing if he really tried and stopped acting like a fucking /child/.

Distantly, Jack hears an ambulance siren, and his heart drops.

But, when he looks up and lulls his head to the side, the first person he sees is David Jacobs.

David’s not kneeling like the rest of them. In fact, he seems to be in shock; his eyes are wide and he’s rigid and he looks like he’s shaking, though Jack isn’t sure why. He does notice, though, that David isn’t meeting his eyes- no, instead, he seems to be staring straight at Jack’s leg.

As the stretcher is lifted off of the ground, though, David seems to snap out of it, and it’s only then do they make eye contact. David goes limp, the helmet in his hand dropping to the ground, and all David can do is gulp and mouth, 'I’m so sorry.'

And then David’s gaze turns away, and lands right on the guy who- quite literally- crushed Jack Kelly.

He does not look like a happy man. Oh, no, David looks /pissed/. 

And he's walking toward the senior boy. 

And, even over the paramedics asking him questions- about what he remembers, about how hard he hit his head, about his pain level- Jack can hear David's voice yelling at someone. He’s loud. Angry. He sounds like he’s about to beat someone’s ass.

Jack can’t seem to figure out why, not even as he’s loaded into the ambulance.

The Lions lose the championships.

***

“Okay, boys, listen up!”

All of the chatter in the locker room comes to a halt. Jack stands as Medda gazes around the room, taking a subconscious step forward as he does so. Medda locks eyes with him, smiles, and lets out a deep breath.

“I know you boys are anxious about this game,” Medda starts, crossing her arms, “but remember that tonight isn’t the end-all-be-all. We still got a long way to go before the season ends, so no matter what the outcome is tonight, you boys still have time to get ready for the big leagues.”

Jack isn’t listening. Tonight is the most important game, yet she doesn’t even see it.

She talks for a lot longer. Logically, Jack knows he should be listening, but he just- he can’t focus. Not now. He can hear everything outside; the band, the noisemakers, the cheering of the crowd, and it’s all making him feel even more worried than before.

But he can do this.

Still, though, Jack doesn’t really talk to anyone until he’s done with all of his pre-game warm-ups. They’re all muscle memory by now, and his brain shuts off during the first five minutes, but as Jack removes his shirt and reaches for his undershirt, a makeshift sleeveless crop top, he hears someone enter the room. “Hm?” He turns, and sighs when he sees Albert and Race.

“Hey,” Albert says with a nervous smile. He’s shirtless, but is already wearing his pants and cleats, complete with a Nike sweatband holding his hair out of his painted face. “You… You good?”

“Huh?” Jack asks, raising a brow, but before Albert can repeat himself, he nods. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well,” Racer starts, taking a step forward- He’s changed shoes, Jack notices. He’s wearing the blue and white Vans Jack painted for him. “You just… You aren’t talkin’,” Race points out.

“And ya kinda stormed out of Snyder’s class,” Albert says again, shifting his weight. “We just wanna make sure you’re good.”

Jack eyes them for a moment, then sighs as he turns back toward his locker, pulling the crop top on. “I’m fine,” He says as he takes the hair tie off of his wrist and pulls his curls into a loose ponytail at the nape of his neck. “Just ready to get this over with.”

Albert shoots Race a look, one of mild annoyance, and sighs as he shakes his head. “Listen, Jack, I know ya got this thing with Central, but you’re psyching yourself out. Chill out, dude.”

“Can you fuck off ?” Jack snaps, clenching his fists, before he hangs his head and rubs his face. “Al… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean--”

“It’s fine,” Albert shrugs it off, though there’s a strange look on his face- one that tells Jack that things probably aren’t fine. He sighs and walks closer while Jack grabs his shoulder pads. “I’m just sayin’, Cisco, it’s not the end of the world if we--”

“Don’t finish that sentence. It ain’t gonna happen,” Jack warns, then shakes his head. “I’m fine, it’s fine, and we’re going to win. I’m just… Gonna finish getting ready. Go get dressed.”

Albert stares at him for a beat too long, then sighs, rolls his eyes, and says, “On it, Captain.”

Once Jack is alone, he slams his locker shut and leans against it, letting out one last deep sigh. He can do this. He… He can do this.

He has to do this.

***

Pre-game workouts suck, but being with the boys is kind of helping Jack take his mind off of things. They’re on the sidelines now, doing warm ups and verbally running a few plays, and Jack focuses on that- not the sound of the cheerleaders wowing the crowd behind them, not the sound of the noisemakers in the stands, not the sound of the band playing Sweet Caroline over the rock music playing on the loudspeaker.

He focuses on his team. On his boys. The ones who have his back no matter what.

And then, eventually, the team huddles behind the endzone, all hooting and hollering as the announcer begins the introduction, and one by one, the boys run out onto the field as their name is called. Jack watches with a slight grin; Romeo shoots peace signs at the crowd as he runs, and Finch does finger guns. Albert goes the extra mile, of course; he does a fucking flip, but that’s always been his thing. It’s his “signature move”, as he calls it. 

Finally, Jack’s name is called dead last, and he runs out onto that field like he was made for it, smiling wide and waving his hands.

The roar of the crowd gets that much louder, and Jack scans the front row; he sees Charlie and Katherine front and center, shaking their noise makers- pebbles in empty milk jugs, with hot-glued bells on the sides. They’re screaming his name and pumping their fists. It’s kind of fun to watch, because they’re both holding something along with the noise makers; Charlie is waving his crutch in the air, which literally has a cutout of Jack’s face duct taped to it, and Katherine is waving around a leather-bound notebook, one that Jack had gotten her for her birthday. She brings it to every game, and she kind of has to, since she needs to take notes for both the school paper and the yearbook committee. She covers sports; all of her friends are on at least one sports team, so it makes sense. Jack isn’t complaining. It’s nice having her in the stands.

Jack smiles at them one last time and shakes his head in amusement, then turns to the rest of the guys and screams, “What team?!”

“Lions!”

The boys huddle up and do their chant- just a few yelled lines of the Fight Song- and eventually they all clap each other’s backs and line up on the sidelines as Jack turns his attention to center field.

That’s when he sees him.

David Jacobs, standing front and center across the field from Jack. He’s filled out nicely since last year. Strong legs, toned arms, a shorter haircut- faded on the sides, but longer and wavy on top. His jawline is still sharp enough to kill, and those bright blue eyes look downright deadly behind the dark fringe in his face.

And he’s smiling like a predator baring its teeth, all but beckoning Jack closer.

Jack can’t think of anything else until the ref gestures for the two of them to meet in the middle for the coin toss.

Jack strides forward, taking his helmet off and holding it loosely at his side. He meets David right next to the ref, and holds out a hand- more of a custom than a friendly gesture. “Jacobs.”

“Kelly,” David counters, shaking his hand much more softly than Jack was expecting. “Good to see you back on the field.”

“Yeah. Let's hope none of your boys try to fuck up any knees tonight,” Jack grins, a forced little gesture, and he sees something flash in David’s eyes- regret, maybe, but that’s… No. No, that can’t be it. Jack decides it’s not important, though, as he takes a deep breath and asks, “Ready to lose?”

David hesitates, which leaves Jack confused, but then his jaw sets and he squares his shoulders. “We’ll see about that,” David smirks at him, and Jack feels like he can’t breathe.

God, he hates him.

Jack calls heads. The ref’s coin lands on tails.

And the game doesn’t get any fucking better after that.

By halftime, the Lions are down twenty points, and Jack lets out all of his frustration in the fieldhouse for about five minutes. Everyone else is in the locker room, but Jack is in the showers by himself- not using any, but simply… How should he put this?

Screaming.

Jack is screaming.

Yeah, his throat is all sorts of raw when he walks back into the locker room, and, sure, the boys don’t really make eye contact with him as he storms through, but it’s fine, because Jack is fine, and he’s definitely not freaking out.

A small voice pops up from the back of the room. “We… We still have a chance to pull through.”

Jack snaps his head up and makes eye contact with Romeo, gulping hard. “You think so?” He asks as he takes a step forward. “You really fucking think so?!”

“Jack,” Albert warns, his jaw setting. “Don’t.”

“We’re gonna fucking lose! ” Jack yells loudly, throwing his hands up in the air. “Why am I the only one who fuckin’ cares about this?! What the fuck is--”

“You’re the only one who doesn’t get it, Jack! Do you see the rest of us freaking the hell out?! No?! It’s because there’s no fucking reason to!” Albert yells, standing and slamming his helmet down against the bench. “This is just a game! Not districts, not state, not championship! Calm the fuck down!”

Jack stalks forward, eyebrows furrowed. “This isn’t just a fucking game and you know it,” He growls, and for a moment, he feels guilty- but then Albert is walking forward and getting into his space and Jack has had enough. “It’s not just a fucking game ! If we lose to them now , we lose to them in the championships , and all of this will have been for fucking nothing! Years of hard work down the fucking drain!”

“You’re acting like a dick!” Albert yells back, stepping even closer- and against Jack’s better judgement, he shoves Albert, making him stumble back. Albert raises a brow, shocked, then growls and roughly pushes Jack’s chest. “Don’t fucking touch me, I swear to--”

“Guys,” Elmer cuts in, but neither pay attention. The other boys are standing now, circling around the two of them.

But all Jack can see is red.

“Get the fuck out of my way!” He roars, chest to chest with Albert, and as he looks down into Albert’s eyes, all he receives in return is unbridled anger.

Suddenly, Albert says two words that make Jack fly off the handle. “Fuck. You.”

“Oh, you fucking cunt--”

Before Jack can rear back and punch Albert right in the face, and before Albert can slam Jack down onto the ground, they’re pulled away from each other by the other boys- all of whom have started shouting by now, trying to stop them. Jack thrashes in Finch’s hold, and glares as Albert is held back by Specs and JoJo- they’re both grunting by the time they’re let go, but Jack refuses to look at Albert again.

The air in the locker room is tense. Jack feels like he’s drowning in it- he can’t really breathe and, as he looks up and his gaze hops from boy to boy, he’s met with blank stares and angry glares.

Romeo, bless his heart, is the one to speak up again. “Jack.”

“What?”

“When we lose tonight--” When, not if-- “It’s gonna be your fucking fault.”

And then the boys file out, one by one, until Jack is the last one in the locker room

Chapter Text

They lose the game.

They lose the game to the Knights, because of course they fucking do.

It’s not a surprise. After halftime, Jack is lost. He messes up a few plays. Drops the ball- literally and figuratively- more than a few times. He’s benched by a very-not-happy Medda during the middle of the third quarter, and Albert takes his place.

What a fucking slap in the face.

And then time is called, and the Lions have lost the game by twelve points, and Jack feels everything in him break apart at the same time.

He goes through the routine again. Stand. Walk across the field, give the opposing team high fives, tell them good game, and walk off.

And if Jack purposefully misses David Jacobs’ hand while looking him dead in the eye, then it’s no one’s business but his own.

***

The locker room is silent. It’s never been silent before, but it’s silent. No one will look at him. No one will talk to him.

He's surrounded by his favorite people, yet he's never felt so fucking eager to leave.

He’s not even in for all of two minutes until someone comes up to him, though- a freshman, one of the kids that Jack hasn’t really talked to a lot. All he says is that there’s someone outside wanting to talk to him, then shoulder-checks Jack as he walks past.

As Jack walks through the front doors of the fieldhouse, he thinks it might be his mom. He also thinks it might be the principal.

He’s not ready to see David Jacobs standing at the edge of the field.

Jack shivers as he walks into the cool autumn air, crossing his arms over his chest. He regrets already taking off his jersey and his pads; he’s just in that damn crop top, plus his pants and cleats, while Jacobs is still in full uniform. Jack gulps as he comes to stand in front of David, staring down at the turf. “Your bus already left.”

“I had to make up an AP test after school,” David explains. “I drove myself to the game.”

“Mhm. Still doesn’t explain why you’re still here.”

There’s a tense silence after that, one that only ends after Jack looks up and meets David’s eyes. “I, uh…” David takes in a deep breath and shrugs. “I came to ask if you were okay.”

Jack blinks, then furrows his brows. “What the fuck?”

“Listen,” David starts, a serious look on his face. “Out there tonight? You weren’t yourself. I’ve never seen you like that.”

Jack scoffs. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know that you don’t act like that during games,” David insists. “I-- Okay. Okay , fine. Do you have any idea how many freshmen are pissed at me right now? I’ve been hyping you up to them all season. Told ‘em you were the one we had to worry about, because you’re good. Really good. And now, they think I’m full of shit,” He explains with a sigh. “I just don’t get it. Why…” David trails off, and averts his gaze for a moment.

Jack stares, expectant.

“Why would you choke?” David asks, finally, but there’s nothing malicious about his expression. He seems genuinely confused; his brows are furrowed and his impossibly blue eyes are squinted, but he’s staring so hard at Jack… It’s like he’s trying to figure out the mystery.

Jack takes a step back, frowning hard as he glares down at the ground. “Why do you even care? Shouldn’t you be happy that I was out of it today?”

“I--” David takes a deep breath through his nose. “I’m happy that we won. I am. I just feel bad for--”

“You feel bad for me ,” Jack finishes for him, then shakes his head and rolls his eyes. He can feel his chest tightening. David doesn’t even know him, so what’s his problem? “Gee, thanks. It feels fuckin' great to know that you pity me.”

“It isn’t pity, Kelly, I--”

“I think you need to leave,” Jack sets his jaw. “I think you need to leave, right now, and never fuckin’ talk to me again.”

David sighs, but raises his brows as he turns and walks off. With that Jack turns to walk back into the locker room- but he only takes a few steps before he hears David ask, “Why the hell do you hate me so much?”

Jack whips around, the question catching him off guard. “What?”

“Why do you hate me so much?” David asks again, and he looks- he looks different. Tense, but his fists are clenched at his sides. His eyes aren’t the same bright blue; somehow, they look darker. Stormier.

As David takes another step, Jack’s throat runs dry.

“Listen, I get- I get the whole rival thing. I understand that. It’s fine. I like it. But all this time, I always thought we were just- just joking around! I can’t believe you’re actually an asshole,” David glares down at him, his mouth pressed into a hard line; he looks intimidating. There’s no denying he’s strong, and he has a few inches on Jack…

Instinctively, Jack takes a step back. “Shut the hell up. You have--”

“I’ve always loved that little back and forth thing we have going on,” David continues, fuming. “Looked forward to it every fucking time we played against each other. But really? You’ve never been anything but a dick. So-- Y’know what? Fuck it! I’m glad you choked tonight. It’s what you fucking deserve,” David grumbles, and gives Jack one last look-over before meeting his eyes. “Can’t wait to see it happen at the championships.”

David whips around and starts walking away from the fieldhouse, though he looks back at Jack over his shoulder. “If your team even makes it that far, with such a piss-poor captain like you .”

With that final jab, David finally starts walking, and doesn’t look back.

And as David walks away, Jack tries to ignore the way his heart shatters deep in his chest.

***

"Jack Kelly, what the hell did you do?"

As soon as he walks in the door, Medda is on his ass like a wildfire.

He took a long drive after the whole David fiasco. He ignored everyone's calls, of course; he drove out of town, taking that busted truck of his down backtrails and gravel roads until the stars were high in the sky. He should have been home near eleven. That's the time he's always home after games, unless when he goes out to some shoddy 24-hour diner with some of the boys.

But tonight, Jack doesn't walk through the door until nearly one in the morning.

When he finally locks the door behind him, he turns to face Medda, a blank, tired expression on his face. "Can we do this in the morning?"

"It is the morning, Jack!" Medda roars. She's already ready for bed; her hair is tucked into a silk night wrap, and he can clearly see her pajama pants underneath her pink robe. He feels bad for keeping her awake so late- she works hard. Too hard, in fact. She has better things to do than worry about her eighteen-year-old son, but here she is, staring him down like he’s killed a man.

She takes a few steps forward when she sees that Jack isn't going to say anything. "Do you know how many phone calls I've gotten from parents tonight?! Parents of freshmen, no less!" Medda shakes her head. "They're asking me why their sons are saying that the goddamn quarterback was cussing everyone out in the locker room! You yelled at the boys?!"

" No, I just--"

"Mrs. Cortez said Finch told her you tried to fight someone, Jack! What has gotten into you?!"

"No one was listening to me!" Jack yells, fisting his hands in his hair. "No one! They-- They didn't get it, Mama, they- they weren't pushing themselves hard enough, and they--"

"You boys scored over fifty-five points tonight, Jack! That's not good enough for you?!"

"Not when Central scored seventy-four !" Jack shouts, and takes in a few deep breaths as he backs up, trying to calm down. “No one gets it! I can’t afford to lose, Mama, I- I have scouts watchin’ my every move, and if we don’t win then I’m not noticed and if I’m not noticed, I don’t get scholarships, and if I don’t get scholarships--” Jack cuts himself off as his chest squeezes tight.

He's being irrational. He knows this. He knows he needs to calm down before he does something he regrets, but all that this is doing is bringing tears to his eyes and Jack feels himself getting overwhelmed again and all he wants to do is scream and cry and--

"Just-... Just go to your room, Jack. Get some rest," Medda says in a sigh, rubbing her forehead. "But this conversation isn't over. We'll finish in the morning, just like you wanted."

"Mama--"

"Go," Medda says sternly, final, and Jack takes in a shuddering breath and stomps his way upstairs.

He'll never admit it, but he cries himself to sleep that night.

***

The next morning is rough.

Not in terms of an argument; no, Jack hasn't even gotten out of bed yet, but the next morning is rough, because the next morning feels familiar. Far too familiar to be comfortable.

It feels familiar because he's lying in bed with a pounding heart. It feels familiar because he's disappointed in himself, feeling so worthless that he doesn't even want to get out of bed.

This shouldn't be happening. All those years ago, Jack started football to get away from these feelings- and now they're all hitting him full force, leaving him with no desire to do anything but sulk.

It takes him about two hours to work up the courage to even go downstairs, and when he reaches the living room, he sees Medda on the couch, watching a recording of last night's game on the television. She glances to the side as he walks into the room, setting down her glass of water as she reaches to pause the recording. "I'm sure you don't want to see this," She says pointedly, shifting on the couch and gesturing for Jack to sit next to her.

Jack does so, though he curls in on himself, resting his chin on his folded arms. "Not really," He mumbles, letting his eyes close.

Medda frowns. "Jack," She starts, letting out a sigh. "I woke up to a text from Albert. He told me what happened, hun, and said that it wasn't just you--"

"Don't put him in trouble," Jack says, shutting his eyes tightly. "I started it. It's my mess and I dragged him into it."

"...Okay. I'm not going to punish him, but I am going to talk to him," She comprises, letting out a sigh. "I just… I need to know what's gotten into you, Jack. I need to know if this is a one-time thing, or if we should get in contact with your therapist again."

"I didn't want us to lose against the Knights," Jack says bluntly, shaking his head. "I'm- I'm sick of the back and forth we have with them and I just… I wanted to win last night. I didn't want to be the reason we lost again, but I… I guess I was," Jack admits, and rubs his eyes.

First, he causes a loss because of an untimely injury, and now… Now he causes a loss because of a tantrum.

Medda shakes her head, leaning forward. "I understand that, but you… You can't take that frustration out on your team, especially not in front of the younger boys."

"I know."

"I'm going to have to punish you somehow."

"I… I know."

Medda sighs, standing and crossing her arms as she paces in front of the television. "Principal Pulitzer wanted me to kick you off of the team," She starts, "but he's agreed to allow you to stay if I bench you at our next game. He's also giving you a week of lunch detention. You're lucky it's not after school."

Jack groans, but he understands. It's not the worst punishment in the world, and not playing this week is going to suck, but… Maybe it's what he needs. A week where he doesn't have to worry about putting on a show. "Anything else?  From you?" Jack asks, looking up at Medda with a frown.

Medda nods. "You're gonna be doing nothing but workouts at every practice. No practicing plays; you'll be running a lot of laps. Albert is our captain for the week, so you'll be doing grunt work. Maybe helping Race," She huffs. " Plus, you're going to apologize to the boys. All of them."

Jack gulps hard and nods, looking down at his lap. "You aren’t gonna take my phone or nothin’, right? Am I grounded?"

"You can be if you want to be," She offers, and Jack instantly shakes his head. "Alright, then, it's settled. You have a lot of explaining to do on Monday."

***

For the first time in years, Jack misses a Sunday morning workout session with his boys.

He’s not let off the hook for it either, of course, since the next morning, he wakes to Race, Charlie, and Albert bursting into his bedroom.

Jack may or may not scream as he sits up; he was having an actually good dream, thank you very much, but he cuts himself off as he notices the three boys taking purchase of his space. Charlie sits in his rolly chair, leaning his crutch against Jack’s desk. Albert, of course, sits on the little bench-thingy attached to the wall near his window. Race sits at the foot of Jack’s bed, not really caring that Jack needs, y’know, this thing called personal space.

It all happens so fast, and by the time Jack has calmed the frantic beating of his heart, the three of them have already made themselves at home. “Please tell me my mom let y’all in,” Jack says with a groan, rubbing his face. “ Please tell me you didn’t break in again .”

“Don’t worry,” Al nods, “Mama let us in.”

“We had coffee with her,” Charlie says with a grin. “She makes the best coffee.”

“It’s literally just Folgers, but okay,” Jack mumbles, and leans against his wall. He has his blankets pulled up underneath his arms- he’s shirtless, and while he usually doesn’t feel insecure about it, it’s also early in the morning and there are three guys in his bedroom. Sue him for wanting privacy, even if he is sitting like a naked woman covering her chest after some cheesy sex scene in a movie. “Y’all are so lucky I ain’t naked.”

“Ain’t like we haven't seen it all,” Albert chimes in, shrugging as Race whips his head around to stare at him in surprise. “Communal showers, babe. I honestly don’t know what you were expectin’.”

“Have you seen Jack’s dick?” Race asks Charlie, abruptly, and Charlie shakes his head. “Okay, Albert, that’s not a universal experience. You’ve seen Jack’s dick?”

“You haven’t--?”

“Okay, okay, let’s stop talkin’ about my dick,” Jack chimes in, feeling his cheeks heat up- he’s just praying the embarrassed flush isn’t noticeable against his dark skin.

Albert claps his hands together. “Right. We shouldn’t talk about Jack’s dick--”

“-- Thank you--”

“--Because we need to talk about how Jack has been acting like a dick,” Albert finishes, and completely blindsides Jack.

"Hey!"

“Dude,” Race huffs, “You tried to fight Albert in the locker room.”

“I-- Okay,” Albert cuts in, “I kinda… That ain’t 100 percent on him. I also tried to fight Jack in the locker room.”

“I’m sorry about that, by the way,” Jack says with as much sincerity as he can muster, frowning at Albert. 

Albert eyes him for a few moments. The room goes silent again, and Jack takes that as his cue to keep talking. "I… Yesterday mornin', Mama got to me. She helped, uh, put things into perspective," He says as he rubs the back of his neck. "Al, I… I am so sorry for actin' the way I did. You didn't deserve that, and neither did any of the other boys."

"No, we didn't," Albert agrees, crossing his arms as he looks down. "That wasn't cool, man. Not at all, but… but I'm not gonna give you any shit for it, okay? Mama's already done that," He says, referring to the punishments. "Just make sure it doesn't happen again and we're even. Let's just… put Friday behind us."

Jack nods, though his stomach twists at the thought of Friday. Friday… was the worst day of his life, like he told Charlie it would be; they lost the game, Jack made the team angry at him, Jack almost fought another quarterback from Central, Jack cried so hard in his truck that he had to pull over while driving home, Jack--

Oh, fuck.

Jack groans as the thought of that blue-eyed boy enters his mind, hiding his face in his hands.

“Jack, what… Are you good?” Race asks from beside him.

Jack slowly looks up, cringing. “I yelled at David Jacobs after the game and now he’s kinda pissed at us.”

“Us?” Albert repeats, then barks out a laugh. “Nope! No way in hell you’re gonna let that be on all of us. You gotta apologize, dude, or--”

“ No . I’m not apologizing.”

“Okay, well, fuckin’ Spot Conlon is on his team. You remember the last time some Duane kids pissed off Central?” Albert asks, and Jack nods- the brawl in the parking lot, yes, he’s well aware. “Okay, so, you’re gonna apologize to Jacobs, and maybe Conlon won’t come kick the entire team’s ass.”

“Asses. Not ass,” Race looks over at Albert. “The team has more than one ass.”

“You, my love, are insufferable.”

Race grins, and as he lies back against Jack’s wall, Jack shakes his head. “Cut the lovey-dovey bullshit for, like, two seconds,” He raises a brow. “I’m not gonna apologize to someone from Central.”

Charlie looks over at Jack, and rubs his arm. “Y’know… At the game. Uh, Kath and I sat by his sister. Well--” He shakes his head. “Kath invited his sister to sit with us. She didn’t know she was his sister, but you know Kath… Pretty girl alone at the concession stand? Kath ‘saved’ her, I guess.”

Jack raises a brow, leaning forward. He didn’t even know Jacobs had a sister, and clearly Charlie can tell he’s curious, because he nods and meets his eyes. “His sister’s name is Sarah. They’re twins, actually. She was flirting with Katherine the entire game; it was, uh, kinda awkward, ‘cause Kath was flirting back and- and I heard a lot more than I probably should have.”

Jack frowns. “Kath wouldn’t date someone from Central.”

“Well, she did get Sarah’s number,” He admits, and doesn’t give Jack time to react before he says, “Anyway, Sarah was telling us about David, and he’s… He’s actually a really good guy, Jack. She said he was excited to see you.”

“Excited to see me?” Jack repeats. He thinks back to that night, when David seemed happy as Jack was walking toward the coin toss, and… Well, at first, he did seem genuinely concerned for Jack, since he was asking if Jack was alright, and asking why he got so flustered during the game…

And then, Jack remembers the championship game from last year. Remembers David going ballistic on the senior who gave Jack his concussion-dislocated-knee combo. Remembers him looking so shocked while Jack was carried onto the ambulance. Remembers him being playful and joking around on the field since freshman year.

Maybe Jack really is an asshole.

Jack is silent for a few more moments, until he sighs and rubs his face. “Fine. I’ll apologize.”

"Thank fuck," Albert lets out a sigh of relief. "Think of it as the last thing ya gotta do before I fully forgive you. I'm not dealing with no Central High bullshit this year."

"You're such a drama queen," Jack rolls his eyes.

Albert raises a brow, crossing his arms. "Says the one who threw a fuckin' tantrum in front of the whole goddamn team because he was losing."

"Are you ever gonna let me live that down?"

"Never.”

"Figures," Jack says as he reaches over to his bedside table. He grabs his phone, and frowns as he opens Instagram. "I… Okay. Help me find Jacobs," Jack says with a frown, "and let me fix my mess."

Chapter Text

The boys stick around long enough to help Jack find David’s Instagram, but after they leave, he’s on his own.

It shouldn’t be as nerve wracking as it is. So far, all Jack has seen is the very bare minimum of David’s account; his username and profile photo, to be exact. As he clicks the account, though, he notices two things.

One, David’s account isn’t private.

And, two, David’s account is not at all what he was expecting.

Okay. Okay. Okay. For starters, God, David’s bio is really interesting. Not really. All it says is literally, “david - he/him - L[G]BT+ - CHS ‘21”.

So. He’s a senior. Cisgender. His name is David.

And he’s... gay.

That shocking little tidbit is only punctuated by the discovery that David’s name on the screen is literally just his name accompanied by a rainbow flag emoji.

And, sure, Jack has seen his account once before- but that was back in freshman year, and Jack definitely would have remembered seeing some of this stuff, but apparently David’s account has changed a lot in the past four years.

He has about four thousand followers. Good for him.

As Jack snoops even more, he sees David’s highlights. There’s one filled with music recommendations, one that’s strictly for pride posts, and one titled “lit memes”- which, despite what Jack was thinking, actually means “literature memes”. Jack learns that the hard way. 

Additionally, he has another two highlights, one simply titled with a Star of David emoji, and the other is just… a football emoji.

But, other than that, there’s no sign of football on David’s account.

What he does see, though, is photos of David with his friends. They’re all really aesthetic-y, and Jack has never seen David outside of his football uniform, but the baggy sweaters and cuffed jeans really suit him. There are a few photos of David that look like they’re professionally done, too; some of him in turtlenecks and dress pants and jewelry, standing in the middle of a busy intersection, or some of him shirtless with makeup and painted nails, sitting in his room- which is gorgeous, Jack notes, with blue walls and golden accents and fairy lights and stars painted on the ceiling. A quick look at the caption tells Jack what he needs to know, though; the photo credits lead to an account titled Sarah Jacobs Photography. That explains it.

Nonetheless, David Jacobs is one hundred percent not the person Jack thought he would be.

Jack can’t stop himself from going through every photo, though. David is… stunning, especially in the candids he posts- like the one of him and one of his friends, mid-laugh because David’s iced coffee is in the process of spilling between them, or the blurry one of David in front of a sunset, a sleepy smile on his face.

Jack feels his heart pounding, and feels butterflies in his stomach.

With that, Jack goes in for the kill and clicks on the “message” option.

It takes him a long time to even think of what to say. He doesn’t even know where to begin- David has been nothing but kind to him, aside from during their argument, yet Jack has been  so… rude. That’s what kills him about this entire situation; they were both so missguided. David thought that what they had going on was a playful thing, and honestly, Jack can’t blame him. Looking back, their banter has always been interesting, to say the least. Razzing each other, making jokes at the expense of each other, occasionally pissing each other off just for the competitive aspect. How do you apologize for being nothing but a dick four years after you meet someone?

Eventually, he just starts typing, and sends the message with a sigh.

‘From: @jkelly0702:

hey, this is jack kelly (obviously, lol). i just wanted to say sorry for what happened after the game. you were right, i’ve been an ass and you havent done anything to deserve that treatment. you did really good at the game btw, and thanks for trying to check in with me. I’m sorry that i got so defensive. it was nothing you did and i shouldnt have taken everything out on you.

also your account is really cool ?? unrelated but i like it a lot

okay ill stop messaging now, sorry. have a good day’

He hopes he gets something out of this. He hopes this hasn't been in vain.

He hopes this is enough to make up for years of being the bad guy.

But, then again, Jack Kelly isn't known for his luck.

***

‘New Notification: ‘@david_jacobs’ liked your message!

The notification comes about two and a half hours after Jack sent the message.

Not that Jack has been counting the minutes; he really, truthfully hasn't, since he's been busy. It's a Sunday, and Sundays are Jack's productivity days- an old trick his former therapist used to make him follow, one that has become pretty standard.

Now, Jack, he likes routine. He likes knowing exactly what to do and when to do it, just because it's comforting, and it's relaxing. Not on a daily basis- his mind is far too chaotic for him to do the same thing every day- but taking care of things on Sunday has been his thing since middle school.

So, after Jack sends the message, he gets to work on cleaning his room. For someone as all-over-the-place as he is, his room is nearly always clean; he has to have some sort of order to it, or he can't function. Sure, there’s the occasional dirty shirt on the floor, or a cup of paint water sitting idle on his desk, but he doesn’t let his room get nearly as messy as some of the other boys. Racer’s is constantly in disarray. Half the time, Jack cleans his damn room whenever they hang out together; they’ll be talking and watching Netflix and all the while, Jack is cleaning Race’s bedside table, or sitting on the floor folding his laundry. 

Needless to say, Jack has a thing for clean rooms, because it’s one of the few things that has been a constant since he was young and in therapy.

He starts this time by taking any and all laundry downstairs to the washer and dryer, starting a load, before heading back upstairs to rid the room of any dishes or trash that might have accumulated with his late nights this week. Once that's done, he busies himself with tidying up his desk. There are three drawers on either side of the sitting area, full to the brim with art supplies- everything from sketchbooks to calligraphy pens to oil paints, so it takes him a second to get everything situated. He talks to himself as he puts everything back into its rightful spot, and as he finishes this task, he hears his phone chime from where it's been lying on the bed.

Slowly, Jack crosses the room, and gulps hard when he sees he has four notifications from David- one 'like' and three messages.

Well, here goes nothing, he thinks to himself as he clicks onto the message.

‘From: @david_jacobs:

I’m sorry too. I was really rude after the game; I shouldn’t have said the things I did.

Actually no, you kind of deserved it, so I’m not really sorry about that. 

But thank you for the apology. It means a lot. Just make sure it doesn’t happen again and we’ll be good. And thank you about the account thing; I owe it to my sister, she kind of taught me how to make it look good lmao.’

Alright. Snarky and to-the-point, but he isn't nearly as angry as Jack had been expecting.

Part of him wants to leave the conversation at that. It didn't end on a bad note; he could just like David's message and be on his way, but he just… can't put the phone down. Not yet, at least- there are too many variables. David’s texts were open-ended. Friendly and conversational. There are too many possible conversation avenues to just ignore it.

Slowly, Jack begins typing out another message.

‘From: @jkelly0702:

lol one of my friends sat by your sister at the game, apparently she’s really cool’

‘From: @david_jacobs:

Is your friend Katherine? Sar’s been talking to her nonstop since Friday haha. I’m afraid they’re gonna UHaul soon.’

Okay. He's getting somewhere. David isn't angry- he actually seems to be comfortable with talking, which isn't what Jack was expecting, but there's something about the way David is sending those messages so quickly that just draws Jack in. Like he’s waiting for a response. Like he’s engaged in this conversation.

‘From: @jkelly0702:

LMAO knowing kath?? probably. tbh i was talking about my friend charlie, but i’m really close with kath too. she’s one of my best friends. hella sweet, one of the best people i know

sooooo if your sister is looking for a girlfrieeend i highly recommend katie lmao’

‘From: @david_jacobs:

I’ll be sure to let Sarah know, aha.

Also, hey, I know this is off topic, but I was just wondering:”

As David begins typing another message, Jack's smile only broadens.

***

Jack and David end up texting like that for three hours.

And the next day, while they’re both at school, Jack is constantly checking his phone, because he and David are constantly messaging each other- on Instagram, or Snapchat, or just regular texting- which is weird, since Jack rarely texts anyone. He’s more of a social media kind of guy; he’s more likely to respond to a Snapchat than a missed call, and that fact isn’t changing for anyone.

Anyone except David, apparently.

Somehow, they talk about everything. Now, Jack is a special case: he doesn’t like talking about himself that much, unless he’s asked a question- and that’s when he tends to get a little ranty. If someone asks for his favorite song, for instance, he’ll launch into a nonsensical rant about how he has a favorite song for each genre and that the music industry as a whole disregards the existence of underground artists and only allows for the growth of the white and already-privileged singer/songwriters and- yeah. Jack figures, when it comes to talking about himself and his interests, it’s best to keep his mouth shut.

But, somehow, David doesn’t make Jack feel like he has to be short winded. 

It’s an odd feeling, really. Jack isn’t used to this; David apparently likes it when Jack sends an entire paragraph in response to one question, and he even responds the same way- with enthusiasm that, until now, Jack hasn’t received from anyone else. Jack soon finds that David loves passion. He loves these passionate bursts of conversation, he loves finding out what makes people tick, and apparently, Jack is his new subject.

So, Jack obliges. Jack tells David that the football stuff is a way to get out energy. Jack tells him that he’s wanting to play in college; that’s why all of this means so much to him, because if he’s signed onto a college team and can have his schooling paid for, he’ll be living the dream. He tells David that he wants to major in studio art, which he hasn’t even told Albert and Race , and that he’s already been accepted into two schools, but he’s waiting to make his decision until after the football season- just in case he gets any more offers.

Just in case he gets a full ride.

And David seems to understand all of that, and he seems to be actively supportive of it, too. There’s a long fifteen-minute period where all the two of them talk about is the importance of the arts, which Jack rarely gets to talk about; Jack loves his friends, but they’re all dude-bros, and, sure, Jack acts like that, too, but this conversation with David is a breath of fresh air. 

After that conversation dissipates, though, Jack has the opportunity to learn about David, which is what Jack has been waiting for. He learns that David just does the football stuff for fun- he happens to be really good at it. He’s kind of vague when Jack asks why he started football in the first place, though, so Jack has a feeling something else is up; it’s not something he’s going to worry about now, though, considering the fact that David continues on. He likes books. Reading. Classic literature- which Jack had assumed from the highlights on his Instagram page. He wants to go into the education field, either being a high school english teacher or working his way up to being a guidance counselor. He also spills that he’s a writer, since he’s on Central High’s yearbook committee; it’s funny, because he doesn’t even write about the school sports.

“I’m honestly more into current events and stuff like that,” David told Jack during a thirty-minute phone call last night, which they decided on while they were both working out. Talking on the phone while he was out on a run felt a bit weird to Jack, but it wasn’t anything bad- he just had a better reason to keep his earbuds in, aside from whatever shitty workout music the generic Spotify playlist would play. And Jack is sure that David was feeling strange too; Jack doesn’t have much experience being on the phone with someone while lifting weights, so he can’t imagine that David does, either.

But that’s aside from the point. The point is that Jack went from hating David Jacobs to talking to him on the phone in less than twenty-four hours.

Jack doesn’t talk to anyone else during lunch detention that day. He’s technically not even supposed to have his phone out, but Mrs. Hannah loves him and lets it slide, so he messages David off and on for the better half of forty-five minutes. Again, conversation just... flows. He can’t describe it.

Even during practice, Jack sends David snaps during breaks, and smiles at his goddamn phone every time he sees a notification pop up from him. David gets out of practice while Jack is showering, too, and on Jack’s way home from practice, they literally call each other just to talk while they drive. Conversation between is… it’s easy. Too easy.

But it feels so good.

And that’s exactly what Jack is afraid of.

***

“I think I’m in love, Jackie.”

That’s not really what Jack was expecting to hear at 7:20 a.m. on a Tuesday, but when you’re best friends with Katherine Pulitzer, you never really know what to expect.

Jack glances over as she hops into his truck, and raises a brow. “Well, gee, Katie, I love you too, but we broke up ages ago. It’s time to move on, honey.”

“I have moved on, jackass,” Katherine says with a laugh, looking at Jack with a wide grin. She looks genuinely happy- an expression she wears often, but this time, there’s a new little glint in her eyes. Something playful. Something fun. “And I’ve moved on to a Miss Sarah Jacobs.”

“I figured,” Jack grins to himself and nudges her shoulder. “Fraternizing with the enemy. I’m crushed, doll. How could you do this to me, after everything we’ve been through?” He groans dramatically, resting his forehead against Katherine’s shoulder. It’s kind of awkward, since he has to lean over the center console to do so, but he makes it work.

“God, you’re so dramatic!” Katherine laughs and pushes him off of her. “Don’t lean on me. You’re going to get your disgusting boy-stink all over my dress! I need this in pristine condition for later today, Jack,” She says with a serious look on her face, one that Jack can see in those big brown eyes.

He glances down at her outfit, raising a brow. It’s a nice lavender slip dress with a ruched bodice and a small slit in the thigh area. He can see that she’s wearing white bike shorts underneath, from the way the dress rides up as she sits; the shorts likely won’t be visible when she’s standing, but Katherine is a strict follower of the school dress code, even if she doesn’t believe in it. That’s presumably why she’s wearing a tight white tee under the dress- it still looks nice, and the layering fits the outfit really well, but it prevents any shoulders or chest showing.

It shouldn’t matter, but unfortunately it does; Katherine just has a good way of getting around the system.

The clothing is accompanied by silver jewelry, which perfectly compliments both the outfit and her dark brown skin, and her natural curls are down and framing her face. Katherine usually pulls them back into a bun, or sometimes wears a wig, but lately she’s been wearing her hair down more often. It’s a gorgeous look on her. Of course, she looks gorgeous in anything; it was a plus side of dating her, even though she was always showing him up.

“Pristine condition,” Jack repeats after a moment, raising a brow. “Is that your way of telling me that you’re planning on someone ripping the dress off of you tonight? Good on you, Pulitzer! Let out your inner slut!”

“You’re disgusting,” Katherine glares, though there’s a smile playing on her face. “I’m not going to have sex with anyone, trust me. Unlike someone, I’m still a virgin.”

Jack shrugs as he puts the truck in reverse, carefully backing out of her driveway. “Heeey, Katie, listen . There’s gotta be at least one whore in every friend group, and I’m not opposed to taking the title.”

“At least you’re self aware,” She says with a soft giggle, then sighs fondly as she lays back in her seat. “Sarah and I are going out tonight,” She starts, “but I have a meeting after school for the yearbook, and I won’t really have time to get ready for the date, so… I’m dressed up today.”

“You never dressed up for me,” Jack pouts. “I wasn’t worthy?”

“Jack, come on,” Katherine looks at him, deadpan. “You got a boner from seeing me in gym shorts. You’re not exactly someone I needed to impress.”

Jack’s cheeks flush immediately and he rolls his eyes, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. “Shut up,” He mutters halfheartedly, and as Katherine cackles in the passenger’s seat, Jack turns up the radio’s volume to drown her out.

***

“So, hey,” Jack says after about five minutes. They’ve just been singing along to the radio so far, but Jack reaches forward and turns the music down once they come to a stoplight. “Can I… Ask you a weird question?”

“What’s up?” Katherine asks as she shifts in her seat; she’s nearly sideways now, leaning with her elbow on the center console, all attention on Jack.

Jack takes in a deep breath as he thinks of how to word his question. It’s something that has been on his mind for a while; ever since the game, really, which was only on Friday- not even five days ago. Still, the thought of even bringing it up is… nerve-wracking. “I just… I was wonderin’ if Sarah has told you anything ‘bout her brother.”

Katherine furrows her brows. “Her brother. You mean David?” She asks, then smirks as Jack nods. “Well, I mean… She told me he’s single, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Wha-- Kat!” Jack whines, and lets out a huff. “I don’t-- no. No , that’s not what I was asking, you whore. I mean- well, okay, me and Dave have been talking, but it’s not like- we’re just- we’re just tryin’ to be friendly, y’know? After all of the shit at the game, we’re just… givin’ each other a second chance. I just wanted to know if you know anything about him.”

“I know he was your sworn enemy on the field,” She says with a pointed, critical look. “I know that he’s 6’3”. He wears glasses around the house. I know that he’s, like, really fucking smart; when I was at Sarah’s house on Saturday, he was just, like… doing chem work on the couch. And he wasn’t even crying about it.”

“He doesn’t cry over chem work?” Jack asks, then lets out a low whistle. “God, I wish that were me.”

“I know, right?” Kath grins. “I don’t know much else about him. He seems really nice, though, from what I’ve seen- he and Sar are always bickering, but it’s, like, the nice bickering. He literally shot her with a Nerf gun while she and I were cuddling on the couch, and--”

“Wait, you said this was Saturday?”

“Yes.”

“The day after the game?”

“Yes.” 

“And you met Sarah at the game.”

“Yes.”

“And you were cuddling with her on the day after the game.”

“I really do not see the point of your interrogation.”

Jack throws his head back and laughs; he really doesn’t know what he expected. Hell, the first kiss he had with Kath was the day after they got together, and she definitely didn’t take things slow. It’s just her nature to rush into things, but she always has a calculated plan- he knows she’s not going to get hurt.

“Fine, fine, forget I said anything,” He shoots her a smile. “So… You think Dave’s a good guy?”

Katherine looks at him, staring hard for a few moments. She looks… concentrated; her dark brown eyes are trained on Jack’s face, and she’s tapping a perfectly-manicured nail against the center console. After a few moments, her expression softens, and she nods. “I think David is a great guy,” She says softly, giving Jack a knowing look. “And I think, if I had a friend who… wanted to get closer to him… I think I would encourage it,” Katherine finishes after a few moments, and shoots a little grin at Jack.

Jack sucks in a deep breath and nods, turning left into the school parking lot. “Alright,” He says after a few moments, gulping. “Good to know.”

Chapter Text

‘From: @david_jacobs:
Hey do you want to hang out today??’

The message comes while Jack is sitting in his trig class, the one with Race and Albert. It’s a pretty easy day; Wiesel is gone and left a worksheet, which everyone finished in about five minutes because obviously everyone said answers outloud and the sub didn’t stop them, so Jack is sitting on his desk when the DM comes in.

He’s mid sentence when he glances down and sees the message, and suddenly just… stops talking, his cheeks heating up as he reaches for his phone and immediately opens Instagram. 

His mind is racing and his heart is pounding as he thinks of what to say. Should he say yes? It’s a Tuesday, so he doesn’t have practice today. But what if he says yes and something comes up? What if David doesn’t show? This is the first time they’ll be seeing each other since the game, and the first time they’ll be seeing each other outside of a football setting, and is this a date? Wait- no. No, Jack doesn’t like David like that. Not a date. But would David think it’s a date? Does David even know he’s bisexual? David said ‘hang out’, so he probably just means he wants to hang out, but--

“--Jack? Hey, Earth to Kelly!”

Jack blinks harshly and looks up, then gulps and shoots Racer a nervous grin as he turns off his phone. “Huh?”

Race stares at him with a mixed expression- he looks amused, but also curious, meanwhile Albert is staring at Jack like he has two heads. “You just… I don’t know, ya just stopped talking,” Race says with a soft laugh.

“It was like watchin’ a robot power down, man,” Albert smirks, and nods his head toward Jack’s phone. “What made ya do that, huh?”

Jack shrugs and stuffs his phone in the pocket of his hoodie, though he’s itching to respond to the message. “Nothin’,” He says, then pauses and clarifies, “My ma sent me a text.”

“I don’t know anyone who smiles like that when they get a text from their mom,” Race teases, and nudges Jack’s knee with his foot. “You got heart eyes, Jackie.”

“Did not.”

“Ohhhh, our little Cisco’s in loooove,” Albert says with a shit-eating grin, leaning forward. “Bro, ya gotta tell us! Who is it? What’s their name?”

Jack feels his face growing hotter with each second. “It’s- It’s no one, just--”

“Babes, I’ve known you since sixth grade, I know that’s your ‘I have a crush on someone’ face,” Race counters, and Jack scowls. “Do they go here? Pronouns? What do they look--”

“Fine! Fine, they--” Jack groans and rubs his face. “He/him, he doesn’t go here, and I don’t like him.”

“Then give us a name,” Albert says with a nonchalant shrug, and Jack snaps his jaw closed.

“Yeah,” Race agrees, squeezing Al’s hand. “If it’s not a big deal, then you won’t mind giving us a name.”

Oh, these little bastards.

Jack gawks at them, then stammers for a moment. He grumbles in Spanish under his breath as he busies himself with pulling his hair up, and finally looks back up at the two of them, letting out a defeated sigh. “Mierda-- it’s David Jacobs! Happy now?!”

Apparently, actually telling them was the wrong decision, because both Race and Albert let out twin shocked gasps. Albert looks disgusted, and Race has this- this borderline heartbroken expression as he whisper-shouts, “You want to fuck a guy from Central?!”

Jack’s eyes widen and he lurches forward to cover Race’s mouth with his hand. “Shut up!” He whispers, shaking his head. “We are in class! I don’t want to fuck anyone!”

“Not even me?” Albert frowns, then winces as Race slaps his shoulder. “Hey! I was just kidding!”

“I don’t want to fuck you, Albert,” Jack says with a sigh as he rubs his forehead, then takes his phone out of his pocket to send a quick little text- just to tell David he’s down to hang out. “And I don’t want to fuck David.”

“Oh, so, you want him to fuck you,” Race concludes, much to Jack’s annoyance.

Jack rolls his eyes, cheeks aflame. “We’re literally just gonna hang out. Might hit the gym, I dunno yet. Maybe go to the field and throw a few passes.”

“Please don’t have sex on the football field.”

“Albert.”

“I have good memories on the football field.”

“Albert.”

“Do not tarnish the football field.”

“I’m not going to have sex on the football field.”

***

Easier said than done.

It’s not that they actually have sex, because, hell, they don’t even get close, but with the way Davey looks when he walks into the little diner on 2nd street… Honestly, Jack would be lying if he said he didn’t think about it.

They’ve agreed to meet here, because it’s cheap and it’s a neutral area and it’s pretty central in town; they could leave here and be almost anywhere with just a few minutes of driving. Again, it’s nothing big or important, but it’s… a good place to start, Jack thinks.

David decided to come to Jack’s side of town, though why, Jack isn’t quite sure of yet. He made sure to dress for the occasion, though; Jack traded in his signature sweatpants and hoodie for black jeans, an old tee he had cropped- just barely- and a denim jacket with paint splatters all over it. He even does his hair, too; it’s not pulled back anymore, and is actually down and fanned out from his middle part. He looks nice. Casual, yet hot.

At least, that’s what Charlie said when Jack sent him a frantic do-i-look-stupid selfie, and Jack trusts Charlie’s judgement, so he should be fine.

But then, David walks in, and Jack’s heart stops.

He doesn’t look anything like he looks on the field. He’s wearing glasses, for one- golden frames with circular lenses and thin rims, which don’t obstruct Jack’s view of those blue eyes whatsoever. David’s black t-shirt is tight and perfectly grips onto the skin, sleeves cuffed at the shoulders, showing off strong arms. The rest of his outfit is similarly simple- just a pair of brown trousers with a lighter brown checkered design and a beat up pair of Doc Martens- but Jack still struggles to breathe for a moment.

Just because he’s shocked, though. No other reason.

“‘Ey, David!” Jack calls once David pauses in front of the doorway to scan the diner. David’s head snaps to the left, and as they make eye contact, his smile lights up and he walks closer, closer, closer, until he’s sliding into the booth in front of Jack.

“Hey,” David greets with a grin, and rests an arm on the table. “Thanks for agreeing to hang out.”

“You say that like it’s a business proposition,” Jack teases with a smirk, leaning back. He decides to lose the denim jacket; as he pulls it off, he stares at the table. This specific tee is cropped up to his waist, and the sleeves are non-existent; the arm holes gape and show off basically his entire side, but it’s not like he has anything to show. Just tan skin and muscles, nothing important. Not at all.

He looks back up at David and grins, tilting his head. “So, what brings ya to this side’a town?”

David shrugs, an amused little smile on his face. “Sarah’s car is in the shop,” He starts. “And she has a date with Katherine, so I had to drive her. I didn’t want to have to stay around here by myself, so… That’s where you come into the picture.”

“You know lesbian dates last, like, six hours, right?”

“Oh, I’m fully prepared to drive Sarah back here tomorrow with all of her personal belongings packed. I’ll be surprised if she doesn’t propose tonight.”

And that causes Jack to laugh- a genuine, high little laugh that doesn’t come out that often, but this is- this is different. Maybe it’s because he feels weird, like he’s fraternizing with the enemy, but, really, he’s not sure how hanging out with David would bring any bad luck to the Lions. 

Unless, of course, this is all some elaborate scheme for David to get on Jack’s good side just so he can betray them if- no, when- the Lions go head to head with the Knights at the championship game.

But real life isn’t a movie, and David isn’t some bad guy trying to ruin Jack’s life.

David is… David.

***

They don’t actually order anything at the diner, just have a milkshake each, but they still leave a hefty tip for the waitress- something like ten dollars on a fifteen dollar bill. After all, she did have to deal with their antics; laughing so hard they couldn’t breathe, accidentally spilling a salt shaker, and almost running into her while they got up to leave after cleaning their mess up.

All in all, it was just… a nice conversation. Yeah. That’s it.

They decide to leave in David’s car; David will bring Jack back to his truck when they’re done, and when Sarah and Kath give them the go-ahead to come pick Sarah up. When they leave the diner, though, Jack gulps and rests his hands on his lap. “So… Uh, I just-- I know we’re already past it, but you… You did really good on Friday.”

David glances over at Jack, then grins. “Thanks,” He says simply, and shakes his head, “But I was pretty out of it, too. That wasn’t my best.”

“At least you guys won,” Jack offers, though it feels bittersweet, considering they won against Jack.

David shrugs. “Yeah, I guess, but… I don’t know. I think all of us put too much pressure on ourselves for that game,” David admits, then looks back at Jack as he stops at a stoplight. Jack tries not to stare, but David has one hand resting on his knee and the other gripping the steering wheel and, well, it’s nearly distracting. “...Are you sure you were alright during the game?”

Jack blows out a sigh and turns, meeting his gaze. “I… I don’t know,” He confesses, rubbing his arm. Why he feels the need to talk to David like this, he’s not sure, but… but David feels safe. “I guess I just psyched myself out after we, uh, lost to you guys last year.” Jack looks down at his lap as David starts driving again. “We lost after I got hurt, and I just… I didn’t want to be the reason we lost again, y'know?”

“I think I understand,” David says after a moment, and then shoots Jack an easy-going, teasing smirk, trying to break the tense atmosphere. “I’d say I’m sorry, but winning was kind of the plan, so…”

Jack can’t stop his grin from forming. “Oh, you’re a real jerk.”

David laughs- a heavenly sound, one that Jack finds himself longing to hear again. “Sorry we didn’t suck, I guess?”

“Apology accepted,” Jack murmurs as he leans back in his chair. “I’m sorry I didn’t give you a better run for your money.”

David nods, slowly, then says in a slightly deeper voice, “How about you make it up to me?”

***

Lying on the grass in the middle of Plumber Park isn’t exactly what Jack had in mind, but he can’t say he’s disappointed- not when David and himself are lying close to each other, staring up at the clouds and talking softly between themselves. It’s something oddly domestic; Jack had never been expecting this. He had expected maybe working out together, or throwing a few passes to each other, or, hell, even playing a game of one-on-one. Maybe running a mile together or something.

Not… this.

But somehow, this is better.

There’s a lull in the conversation, but the silence is welcome. It’s not awkward, not upsetting; it feels natural, like they could sit here for hours and not talk, just watch the clouds floating up ahead. For someone who is constantly on the move, someone whose mind will never just shut up and take a break, someone who always has to be moving or tapping or talking or shaking or something, it’s a very pleasant surprise, this feeling of complete calmness.

Eventually, though, Jack’s brain kicks back into overdrive, and he slowly moves to lie on his side, resting his chin in his hand as he does so. For a moment, he lies like this; sideways, with one arm draped over his own torso and the other supporting his weight, and he takes in David’s appearance.

The soft planes of his face. The angled nose and plush lips, which contrast beautifully with his sharp jawline and muscled body. He’s the perfect mixture of hard lines and easy curves, the most beautifully imperfect person Jack has ever seen, and Jack is content to stare at him and take in all the details, like his long eyelashes and freckles dotting his cheeks and the barely noticeable scar on his chin.

His observation comes to an end, though, when David says, without opening his eyes, “I can feel you staring at me.”

Jack’s eyes widen, and his face flushes- he prays it’s not noticeable. Thank you, Mami and Papi, for not being white. “I- I, uh- I just--” He stammers for a moment before shaking his head and abruptly sitting up. “I’m sorry, I just--”

He’s cut off, though, by David’s hand wrapping around his wrist. 

“It’s okay,” David says with a light, airy laugh, and a smile so wide his eyes crinkle up a bit. Jack sees how rosy his cheeks are, too, and something tugs in his chest. “You didn’t have to run away like that.”

Jack swallows, his throat dry. “Would you believe me if I said I just… spaced out for a sec, ‘nd started thinkin’ about somethin’ else?”

“Not in the slightest, no,” David responds with a sideways grin, dropping his gaze for a moment before looking back up at Jack. “Wanna tell me what that was about?”

Jack shrugs, a careful, calculated movement, and after a few moments he says, “Just never gotten to see you up close like this.”

David gulps and meets Jack’s eyes again. The tips of his ears are pink- cute- but his smirk is still as playful and teasing as ever. “You… like what you see?” He asks, raising a brow.

Without hesitation, Jack whispers, “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

David is still holding his wrist.

***

Surprisingly, there’s no Katherine-Sarah proposal at the end of the night, but their date was still five hours long.

Five hours long. Jack can’t even imagine doing the same thing for five hours.

Unless, he realizes on the ride back to the diner, those five hours are spent with David Jacobs.

“I knew their date would last forever,” Jack says with a chuckle as they pull up to a stoplight. It’s ten o’clock now, late enough for Jack to go to bed, but he doesn’t want to think about saying goodbye to David right now- not yet, at least. All he wants is to keep living in this moment, in the dark with lights all around them, with David’s face being illuminated by stoplights and neon bar signs as they drive. “The first time Katie and I went out, like, on a proper date, it lasted for… Seven, I think? Seven hours?”

David hums in response, though after a moment or so, he suddenly casts a glance toward Jack. “You dated Katherine?”

Jack blinks, then nods. “Uh, yeah. Just for, like, three months, though. It wasn’t… We were basically just friends who kissed, y’know?” Jack explains, then cringes. “I just-- Okay, we, uh, it was a summer thing, but we broke up, obviously, because- ‘cause she came out, y’know?”

After not even two seconds of silence, Jack sucks in a deep breath. “Not that-- I didn’t break up with her ‘cause she came out! I ain’t an asshole, I wouldn’t-- I just, y’know, talked to her and we came to a mutual decision that we work best as friends and then she starters experimenting with girls, and then, y’know, now she met your sister, and-- Well, not that Sarah’s an experiment, per se, I just--”

“Jack.”

Jack groans in response, his hands covering his face, and the heat of his cheeks increases tenfold as he hears David’s barely-contained laughter from the driver’s side. “Stop makin’ fun of me!”

“H-Hey, I’m not, it’s just--” David cuts himself off with another giggle, and as Jack looks over at him, he can’t help but grin; David’s smile is tight, and his shoulders are shaking, like he’s about to burst. “I just… I’ve never heard anyone talk that f-fast--”

The last word comes out as this broken little wheeze, and suddenly, they both burst into laughter. It doesn’t last long; at least, until Jack looks back at David, and another round hits them so hard that David just barely swerves the car over the centerline. Jack’s laughter is silent at this point, and he’s bent over, hitting his hand on the dash, and when Jack is finally able to look back up, he sees tears streaming down David’s face from just how hard he was laughing.

It wasn’t even that funny, and Jack figures he should be embarrassed or offended, but in reality, he feels… oddly honored to be the reason David let himself go for a moment.

David lets out a high pitched sigh and shakes his head once he’s calmed down, clearing his throat and carefully wiping the tracks of any tears away from his cheeks. “I-- Wow, I’m sorry, that was--”

“No, no, it’s- heh, it’s fine, don’t worry,” Jack reassures him, and runs a hand through his curls. “It was cute.”

David shuts his mouth, hands tightening on the wheel, before he slowly repeats, “...It was cute?”

Jack gulps hard. Shrugs, then glances off to the side, refusing to make eye contact. “Yeah.”

David takes his answer, his blunt, to-the-point answer, and considers it for a few moments. Then, he takes a deep breath and says, “I’m… I’m assuming Katherine wasn’t the only one who came out after you broke up, then.”

Jack barks out a laugh, and looks over at David with a soft little grin. “Kath said dating her made me ‘fruity,’ but I don’t think I’m gonna give her all the credit. I came out as bi, like, two weeks after we broke it off.”

David shakes his head and laughs, and all too soon, he’s pulling into a parking spot at the diner, right next to Jack’s truck. “You are somethin’ else, Jack,” David says as he parks.

“Somethin’ good, I hope?” Jack asks, and as David makes deliberate eye contact with him, it feels like all of the air is punched out of his lungs.

For a long while, David and Jack continue their constant eye contact. Jack only ever breaks the gaze when he feels David’s fingers brush against his own, letting out a soft gasp as he instinctively looks down, but then he’s looking back up- straight into David’s eyes again.

They’re so…

And he swears that, for a moment, David’s eyes drop down to his lips. Jack’s lips part instinctively and he leans ever closer, and he can feel his heart damn near beating out of his chest as David comes closer, closer, closer…

And then David’s phone goes off between them.

David jumps back like he’s been burnt, and Jack’s eyes go wide. He scrambles to lean away and hurries to unbuckle his seatbelt as David answers the phone.

“Hel-- Sar, hey, I’ll be there in, like, seven minutes,” David says with a deep groan of annoyance, rubbing his forehead. “No, I had to drop one of my friends off at his car… No! No, we didn’t--” David cuts himself off to glance over at Jack, then sighs. “I’ll just be a few minutes, I’m sure Katherine won’t mind you staying a few minutes late. Mhm. Okay. Bye.”

David hangs up, and the silence between the two of them is tense. 

Slowly, Jack rubs his arm, and glances off to the side. “Well, I guess I’ll… Let you go pick up Sarah,” Jack says with a forced, nervous chuckle.

“Yeah, I should… I should probably go do that,” David murmurs. They make eye contact one last time before David unlocks the door, and Jack climbs out of the car, but once he takes a step away, he hears David’s window roll down. “Hey-- Jack?”

Jack turns around, tilting his head. “Yeah, Davey?”

David gulps, then shoots him a nervous smile. “I, uh-- I had a lot of fun today. I… I’ll see you around,” He says as he rubs the back of his neck.

“Yeah, that… I’d love to do it again sometime, if you’re down,” Jack grins.

David nods, and bites his lip to hide his smile. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Jack replies easily, laughing softly. “I’ll see you, Davey.”

“Bye, Jack.”

And as David pulls out of that parking space, Jack feels like he’s on top of the world.

Chapter Text

The whistle blows and Jack feels himself drop to the ground. 

He lands on his back. The sun is beating down on him, making him feel so incredibly good, both physically and emotionally, and he takes a few moments to bask in the light until he’s suddenly shrouded in a shadow. Slowly, Jack opens his eyes, and grins as he looks up. “Hi, Mama.”

“This is your water break,” Medda says with an amused grin. “Go hydrate, Kelly. You can soak up the sun after practice.”

Jack groans, but dissolves into a fit of giggles as Medda’s shoe hits his side- far from being hard enough to hurt, but enough to tickle, at least. He rolls over onto his stomach and pushes himself up, a wide grin on his face. “You’re the worst, Coach!”

“Nah, baby, I’m the best!” She calls out after him, and he laughs and nods his head as he jogs over to the water table.

He’s been on a high for two weeks now. The season is nearly over- the championship game is coming up, and it's shaping up to be another face off between the Knights and the Lions- and Jack and his boys have won their last two games, so he's feeling pretty fucking good about their chances.

The Knights had their first fuck up last week, though. They were leading the score for the first two quarters, but after halftime, shit hit the fan- or so Jack heard from David. The Knights ended up losing by nearly thirty points, the worst game ever of David's career, and when Jack met up with on Sunday, he didn't look anything like his usual self.

On one hand, Jack felt terrible for him from a friend's perspective. On the other hand, though, from a captain's perspective, Jack kind of hopes the Knights choke like that at the championship game. Is that mean? Probably. But the thing that matters is that, by the time David went back home on Sunday, he was smiling and his demeanor was back to normal, thanks to Jack taking his mind off of things and making him feel good.

Not in– okay. Okay, Jack has accepted the fact that David is attractive. Jack has accepted the fact that he is attracted to him. Jack has accepted the fact that he wants to climb that man like a tree and give him the night of his life.

That's not what happened on Sunday, and that's not what's going to happen any time soon.

He wonders, though, what it would be like. That first desperate kiss, hands roaming across skin, finally getting to see all of those muscles hiding underneath David’s clothing, a fight for dominance ending in--

"Jack!"

He nearly jolts out of his skin, gasping as the water in his cup sloshes over the side. "What the–"

Albert pats him on the shoulder, eyeing him with a smirk. "Zoned out again?"

"Shut up," Jack replies, but he's given up by the grin on his face. "Get out on the field, man."

The redhead snickers and backs up, holding his hands in the air. "You gonna tell me what ya were thinking about, or am I just gonna have to pester you until I find out?"

"It's… inappropriate," Jack says, raising his eyebrows. "Sexy. Filthy. Downright disgusting. Delicious. Perf–"

Albert makes a face, shaking his head. "Are you seriously horny right now? Dude- thats disgusting. I'm- I'm appalled. Flabbergasted. You're sick, Jack Kelly. My poor, innocent ears--"

"Didn’t you fuck your boyfriend during lunch break today?”

"Hey!" Albert points a finger at Jack, cheeks aflame, but he doesn't deny the accusation. "At least we went off-campus! We were at my house, and–"

"Right, that’s why Racer walked into class with a hickey. I don't need a play-by-play of your sex life, Al, just get on the field," Jack smirks as he walks past, jogging to catch up to the rest of the team. He passes Romeo and Finch, making his way back to Medda, and within a minute or so, the whistle is blowing and Jack is speeding down the field.

***

He has a dream that night.

Bodies on a bed. Kissing, biting, rocking against each other. He sees an angled nose and stunning blue eyes and freckles dotting high cheekbones. Dark hair and pale skin, strong hands.

Jack wishes he never had to wake up from it.

***

Thursday rolls around sooner than Jack expects. Tomorrow is supposed to be a pretty challenging game; if they win this, it secures their spot in the championships, and though it’s gonna be hell out there on the field tomorrow, Jack is confident in their chances. It’s why he works himself so hard at practice after school, but then everything is done and over with and he’s able to hit the showers with no wait.

The thing that surprises him, though, is that when Jack walks out to the practice field parking lot, a car is parked next to his truck. 

A car belonging to David Jacobs.

“Davey?” Jack calls out, raising a brow as he walks closer, his duffle bag swinging at his side. He wishes he would have known David was coming, then he’d try to look better; right now, he’s just wearing some athletic shorts and a cutoff t-shirt with slits in the sides that go all the way down to his waist, plus some beat up Nikes. “What’re you doin’ here?”

David looks out the window of his car, and Jack sees him mutter something to himself before opening the door and climbing out. He doesn’t feel that bad now that he sees David’s appearance- damp hair, a hoodie, and some gray sweats. He must have showered recently. Do the Knights even have practices on Thursdays? Jack doesn’t know.

What he does know, though, is that David looks off.

His fists are rapidly clenching at his sides, and his stare is practically boring a hole in the asphalt at his feet. He’s tense. Not talking.

Jack takes a breath as he stops about five feet away. “What are you doin’ here, Dave?” He repeats, gulping. “Everything okay?”

“No,” David says with no hesitation. He drags in a ragged breath, and when he finally looks up, Jack sees the telltale sign of tears in his eyes. “No, it’s- everything is not okay. Everything is going to shit, and my coach is constantly on my ass about the championships and my team isn’t fucking listening to me and no one– You’re the– you– I can’t–”

“Woah, woah, okay,” Jack surges forward, putting his hands on David’s shoulders; he’s well-versed in panic attacks, and this looks suspiciously like the start of one. “Hey, look at me, Davey, look at me,” He whispers, meeting David’s eyes.

But David’s eyes are unfocused, and he’s shaking so much, and behind him, Jack can hear the other boys heading to the parking lot; if David is already this overwhelmed, then Jack really doesn’t want to see what happens next.

Jack gulps, then gently guides David forward. “Okay, I’m gonna get you out of here, yeah? But we need to go,” He says, walking around to the passenger’s side of his truck with his hand plastered against David's lower back. He opens the door with one hand and coaxes David into the seat with the other, and after dropping his own duffle into the bed of the truck, Jack hurries to the front seat and climbs in.

He spots Albert across the parking lot. Albert cocks his head to the side.

All Jack can do is shrug before turning the key and starting the truck.

“Seatbelt,” Jack says gently,  watching as David, distracted and in his own head, fumbles with the belt for a moment. Once Jack hears the click, he nods to himself and puts the truck in drive.

And for five minutes, David doesn’t say a single word, despite Jack’s soft attempts to drag him into conversation.

So… they sit. They sit in silence. Jack gives David his cooldown time; whatever he’s dealing with isn’t great, and Jack can see that from a mile away. When Jack finally pulls off the main road, he parks in the lot of an old abandoned workshop on the edge of town. 

There are a few seconds of tense, heavy breathing, until David whispers, “I don’t know why I ever agreed to be captain.”

“What?” Jack asks, turning to look over at David as he takes his seatbelt off. He’s not sure he heard him right, but then–

“I don’t know why I agreed to be captain,” David says louder this time, and when he turns in the seat to face Jack, Jack sees his eyes welling with tears that refuse to spill over. “It’s… It’s too much. My classes are overloading me, I can barely- barely function on the field right now, I- I work out while doing homework, and I just never have a- a break. It’s never been this… this bad.”

And Jack wishes he could relate, he does, but he… can’t. Football has always come first to him, but Davey is struggling with so many extracurriculars and obligations- it’s a wonder he hasn’t dropped dead yet. Still, Jack says, “I understand. I– not to… not to the extent of what you’re goin’ through, ‘cause I don’t really worry about being the smartest, but just… I don’t know. Bein’ captain is a bigger deal than I thought it’d be.”

“Y-Yeah,” David agrees, wiping his eyes. “My ma, she keeps- she keeps telling me that I need to take it easy, because I ain’t even playing in college, but… If I don’t do my best, then I’m letting every single teammate down. You know? The- the freshmen look up to me, the juniors need this to be their big year to get ready for next year, but I just… I’m done with it.”

“You said your team don’t listen to you?”

“They don’t respect me,” David says with a frown. “I was late to practice once because I had to make up an A.P. test, and now all of ‘em think I just get to- get to slack off whenever I want. They think that I don’t care because I have a life outside of football, like they fucking don’t even though they’re the ones going to parties and having fun and I’m just- I’m just stuck being this perfect person in every aspect of my life... It’s exhausting. I’m tired.”

“...Come with me,” Jack says softly after a moment. The truck is too cramped. He gives David a look, one that says trust me, and gets out of the truck just a few moments after. When he’s sure that David is following, he walks around back and climbs into the bed of the truck- one foot on the hitch and the other swinging up over the tailgate. He holds out a hand for David and helps him in, then takes a seat with his back against the cool metal below the back window.

It’s a nice evening. The sun is setting behind them, illuminating the sky with brilliant pinks and oranges, and Jack can see the moon rising in front of them; the stars are slowly starting to peek out of the steadily growing darkness and everything feels good. 

Especially David’s body heat against Jack’s side.

“I love coming out here,” Jack says softly. “There’s a bridge a few minutes south of here. Great place to watch the sunset.”

David makes a soft noise of confirmation and rests his head against the back window.

Jack takes a moment to look up at him. He seems less stressed now, and he’s not shaking anymore, but his resting face… It’s not necessarily relaxed. His eyebrows are just slightly furrowed. A soft, barely-there frown still etched into his face.

Slowly, Jack takes a deep breath, and without really thinking about it, he says, “Have you tried a friends with benefits situation?”

One eye opens. “What?”

“I’m just sayin’,” Jack says with a shrug, shooting David a playful, joking grin- anything to relieve some tension. “Y’know, find someone to take the frustrations out on who also has some shit to get out. It’s better than therapy, man, let me tell ya.”

David rolls his eyes, and finally- finally- lets out a soft, breathy laugh. “There’s not a lot of people who want to be with me in that way.”

“Bullshit,” Jack says, eyeing David with an amused smirk. “Have you seen yourself? You’re hot. Legitimately hot. And, I mean, c’mon, you’re the quarterback. People love us.”

“People expect me to have an ego,” David says with a shrug. “I just… I don’t know, I don’t have much interest. My last one moved anyway, so…”

“Your last one?” Jack asks with wide eyes, leaning back in shock. “You had a fuck buddy?”

“I hate that phrasing,” David says, cringing. It’s not a necessarily attractive facial expression, but Jack ignores it, considering the fact that David is blushing now, and David looks incredible when he blushes. “But, uh, yeah. I did.”

Not the most in-character thing Jack has ever expected, but not bad to hear. Jack smirks, giving David a deliberate once over- playing around, obviously- before smacking his shoulder. “Damn, Jacobs. You fuck? I’m proud of you. That is quite literally the biggest surprise you ever could’a given me.”

“I hate you so much,” David replies with an eyeroll, grinning and turning to face Jack. “You’re an ass.”

“And you need to get laid,” Jack says easily. 

He wishes the words were harder to get out, though, because now there’s a new tension in the air and it's an instant kind of suffocation.

There’s really nowhere to go from there. David is staring at him, so close, and Jack is staring right back. From the way that David turned just seconds ago, their faces are right in front of each other; Jack has to fight back the urge to stare directly into those blue eyes and memorize every shade, every reflection of light, the darkness and the constant push and pull of Davey.  

At least Jack has the decency not to stare, though he can’t say the same for David.

It’s a long few moments before Jack is able to look back, and when he meets David’s gaze again, his breath stutters in his throat. “I, uh… I was just jokin’ around, y’know. Didn’t mean to make you upset or nothin’.”

“I’m not upset,” David says slowly, searching Jack’s face. His hand shifts and Jack gulps as he feels warmth on his shoulder. “I was going to say… I agree.”

“Oh?” Jack asks, taking a deep breath. Fuck, okay. He licks his lips absentmindedly and watches, enraptured, as David’s gaze falls to the movement.

Oh. So they’re doing this.

Distantly, Jack feels the nerves hit hard. Sure, he’s had… encounters before, but before Katherine he wasn’t even out, and he hasn’t been with anyone since her, and suddenly his heart is pounding and his mind is racing and he feels like he’s going to scream with the way David is subtly checking him out.

Even so, his voice is calm and steady as he asks, “You… You got someone in mind?”

David takes one last look at him, raises a brow, and says: “Stop me if this isn’t what you want.”

Jack has no other warning before David leans in and kisses him. It’s gentle, it’s calculated- it’s enough to make Jack freeze, though, eyes wide and hands held up in front of his chest as David’s hand moves from his shoulder to his cheek.

He freezes because this is new. This is everything. This feels right, this feels like electricity shooting down his spine, butterflies in his chest, limbs already trembling just at the feeling of David touching him, and Jack short circuits for a moment. He wonders distantly again, always distant, if this is okay, and that’s what kicks his brain back into overdrive, finally realizing that this isn’t just a dream.

This is David Jacobs actually kissing him.

He must not move soon enough, because David pulls back, but Jack follows him. There are no words spoken as Jack presses forward, kissing him gently, softly, knowing that this is what David needs. David is the one who’s stressed, David is the one who needs comfort, and David–

David is the one pulling Jack into his lap, breaking the kiss for just long enough to breathe before diving back in and staking his claim.

The dam bursts and Jack is living for it.

David’s hands are everywhere. Tangling in Jack’s hair, sliding down his chest, his back, groping his ass- at the last movement, Jack pulls back from the kiss and groans, fully straddling David’s lap now. “Dave,” Jack says breathlessly, mind reeling. “Davey, are you– What are we– Do you wanna–?”

“Calm down,” David says gently, staring up into Jack’s eyes, lips red and cheeks flushed. “Was that okay? Are you–?”

“I’m fine,” Jack says quickly, nodding his head. His cheeks are burning, eyes already unfocused; part of him wants to kiss him again, but a larger, more nervous part holds back. “That’s– Yeah, I’m- I’m fine and I want… How… How far are you wantin’ to take this?”

“As far as you’re willing to go,” David answers immediately, and Jack spots his hands spasming at his sides; he’s desperate to touch, and watching him battle with his lust and desire to be a gentleman… it sends a shiver down Jack’s spine. “Something. Anything. Have you ever…?”

Jack swallows and shakes his head. “Not with another guy.”

“Okay,” David says, the look in his eyes softening. “Okay. We don’t have to do anything, we can ju– oh, fuck,” He whispers, letting his eyes flutter close and his head lean forward as Jack rocks down in his lap. “Jack…”

“Not all the way,” Jack says slowly, lifting David’s chin to look into his eyes. “Not tonight. But I want– I need somethin’. Anything you’re willin’ to give.”

“You’re sure?” David asks, gently biting his bottom lip. Fuck, he’s gorgeous. It should be illegal to look so good. His pupils are blown wide, the brilliant blue barely even noticeable against the deep black. His lips part on their own accord, Jack notices, and he has such a beautiful blush against his pale skin…

Instead of responding, Jack leans back in and crashes their lips together, whining as David’s hands slot against his hips, guiding him to grind down- and with the sound David makes in response, Jack knows there’s going to be a lot more where that came from.

***

“He’s running, he’s- he’s doing it, there we go– and DaSilva’s done it again! Touchdown for the Lions!”

The final whistle blows. The band begins playing the fight song. The final game of the season and they’ve just won it 48 to 30.

It takes a moment for reality to set in. It’s their last game of Jack’s last year and they've won it. Fair and square. They’ve won it and they’re going to the championships and maybe the Knights will be there and maybe Davey will be there and if he’s not playing maybe Davey will cheer him on and things will be good and fun and Jack–

He’s knocked out of his thoughts by the feeling of someone crashing into his chest, and when he looks down and sees Romeo hugging him, Jack remembers that he has a team here. He hugs back as a loud laugh leaves his lungs, barely audible over the roaring of the crowd. With that, Jack follows Romeo back to the home side, basking in the feeling of adrenaline and pride washing over him in the warm glow of the spotlights.

They’re going to the championships.

Jack makes eye contact with Albert, who has tears in his eyes and a smile on his face. He scans the crowd and sees Katherine with her notebook, Charlie with his cardboard cutout of Jack’s face, and Sarah Jacobs right between them, taking a video.

He sees her mouth David’s name and point to the camera, and before Jack knows what he’s doing, he’s ripping his helmet off, blowing a kiss to the camera, and turning right back around to cheer with his boys.

***

‘From: @david_jacobs:
Good game today. Can’t wait to beat you at state’

‘From: @jkelly0702:
aww we’re getting cocky now?? good to know
oh my god wait did yall win your game tonight ?? congrats, that’s great’

‘From: @david_jacobs:
Why is that great? You excited to lose?’

‘From: @jkelly0702:
nah, just excited to whoop y’alls asses :)’

‘From: @david_jacobs: 
What do I get if we beat you huh??’

‘From: @jkelly0702:
the satisfaction of seeing me be wrong for the first time in my life
what about me ?? what do i get if we beat you ??’

‘From: @david_jacobs: 
Hmm that's a hard one.
Do you deserve anything?? I'm having a hard time figuring it out
Oh, wait, I got it:
I guess you’d get a kiss on the field, right? Seems fair to me. I still win either way.’