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Jake’s been unpacking for nearly three hours when he finds it– he’d made it to their closet boxes after he’d finished their bathroom, all of them meticulously labeled and taped. It’s three boxes deep, no small feat, and Jake almost tosses it to the sleepwear pile without thinking twice.
The edge of a cartoon cowboy hat catches his eye, though, and Jake can’t stop himself from pulling it out all the way for a look.
(“You wouldn’t stand a chance.”
“Wanna put money on it, Seresin? I’ll buy the whole meal and yours, no complaints.”
“Without hesitation, and I’m buying the most expensive steak on the menu. I’m no cheap date, Rooster.”
“Don’t I know it,” Bradley had said, winking as he made his way up to the stage.)
The shirt itself is nothing too remarkable– a Gildan fabric, white all around save the barbeque sauce stain on the bottom hem. Over the chest is an off-center logo, the cartoon design of a cowboy digging into an overflowing plate. In big, blocky red letters, it reads:
I Ate It All! The 72 oz Steak Challenge
The Big Texan, Amarillo, TX
The sleeves are worn and the collar is loose; the logo is cracked and fading, signs of wash-wear evident all over. Bradley’s worn this, Jake thinks. Bradley’s worn this a lot, enough to keep it and pack it away as carefully as he’d bundled up all their other clothes. He tries to think of any moment that he might’ve seen Bradley wearing it around the house but comes up blank– it’s clear that if Bradley wears it – when Bradley wears it – it’s some time after Jake’s gone home.
The memory is as potent to Jake as his morning’s breakfast– Bradley had taken one look at the challenge of eating all seventy-two ounces of steak, full sides included, in under an hour and all but ran right in. They’d been tipsy to start, drunk by the end, and by the time Bradley had stumbled back to their table from the fanfare of being a winner, his cheeks were bright and splotchy with the grin that spread across his face.
(“I fucking told you, I’m the master–”
“You’re insane, and you’re gonna regret every second of this when the hangover hits you in the morning, shut the fuck up.”
Bradley had smirked across the table, leaning back in his chair until Jake could see the wide spread of his thighs. “Don’t be like that, baby. I’m still buying your dinner.”
Baby. It had stunned Jake enough to ensure Bradley caught the way he bit his lip, fumbling as he rolled his eyes. “You won, fair and square. I’ll pay my own–”
“Nope,” Bradley had replied, popping the last syllable. “On me, Seresin. My dates dine with class.”)
By the time they’d started their journey back to the motel, Bradley was groaning with how full he felt, but he’d won, and Jake wasn’t sober enough to give him shit for it. His eyes had been focused squarely on the ground, fighting off the image of the exposed skin of Bradley’s hip where his shirt had ridden up from his mind.
Jake had snuck a picture right when Bradley had stood up at the finish– fork and knife raised in the air like trophies, the smear of barbeque on his chin and in his mustache. He’d never shown anyone that photo – not even Javy – but he’d kept it saved. He supposes they both remember more about that night than they’ve ever talked about with each other.
He folds the shirt gently in his hands and steps into their hallway, smiling when he hears the soft sound of humming coming from the kitchen. Bradley’s rummaging through their silverware when Jake rounds the corner and for a moment, Jake just leans against the frame– he’s content to watch Bradley as long as he’s able. Nothing so far has dulled the giddiness Jake feels when he remembers they’ve moved in together; it’s a quaint little home, and it’s theirs.
The moment is broken when Bradley stands back up, and Jake hides the shirt in his hand behind his back before Bradley properly turns around.
“Hey,” Bradley starts, giving Jake a warm smile. “Done with the bathroom already?”
“We had less than I expected. I moved on to the clothes boxes, decided to get some of them ready for a wash.”
“Mm. So your vast array of hair creams and skincare bottles didn’t take hours to arrange?”
“Hush,” Jake replies, rolling his eyes. Bradley’s smile widens, and Jake’s heart flutters when Bradley steps into his space, close enough to reach out and tug Jake towards his chest. “You’ll be thanking me when I’m young and gorgeous forever, Bradshaw.”
“Can’t imagine you’ll ever lose that, baby. Wrinkles and all,” Bradley murmurs, and Jake knows that there’s no way he hides his own blush this time. He tucks his face under the hinge of Bradley’s jaw and slips his free arm around Bradley’s waist, tugging him closer.
“You’ve got a lot of faith in moisturizer,” Jake mumbles, huffing. “Which, by the way, you need to start remembering for your face.”
“What if I just like waiting for you to put it on me?” Bradley replies, the smile on his lips morphing into a knowing smirk. Jake’s heart flutters in spite of it, and he kisses Bradley— slow and sweet— in lieu of responding.
Bradley’s wandering hands eventually find their way to Jake’s wrist, and he feels the questioning hum in Bradley’s throat as he dances his fingers over Jake’s fist. “Got a surprise for me?” Bradley asks, smirking against Jake’s temple.
“Something like that,” Jake replies. “More of a reminder.”
He holds the shirt out tentatively, holding his breath when Bradley finally takes it. His eyes track over the print of the shirt before recognition blooms in his expression— a blush mixed in, too, to Jake’s surprise. “I’m honestly shocked there’s not more barbecue stains on it.”
“I do know how to wash my own clothes,” Bradley chides, but there’s no bite to his tone. Jake laughs under his breath and swats gently at Bradley’s shoulder.
“Just— it was a while ago, you know,” Jake says, heat rising in his cheeks. His voice is soft, a little awestruck as he catches the fond expression on Bradley’s face. “You kept this?”
“Of course I kept it,” Bradley mumbles back. His fingers trace over the faded logo with a familiar gentleness, tightening his arm around Jake’s waist. “It was sort of our first real date? Something beyond morning-after breakfast.”
“I never complained about those breakfasts,” Jake points out, the corner of his mouth twitching up in a smirk.
“I know you didn’t,” Bradley shoots back, rolling his eyes. “Even if you always tried to derail them.”
“You never wore a shirt, what was I supposed to do!” Jake exclaims, shoving lightly at Bradley’s chest. Bradley’s laugh is as bright as he’s ever heard it, and Jake can’t help the broad grin that transforms his own expression as Bradley kisses the corner of his lips, the shirt still clutched in fist of the hand that’s not smoothing circles at the small of Jake’s back.
They sway together like that for a moment, wrapped up in the center of the kitchen with their foreheads pressed gently together. Jake’s eyes are open as he stares into Bradley’s, basking in the wave of adoration that he’s come to finally receive in peace after all these years.
“I liked going home with you that weekend,” Bradley murmurs, pressing a kiss to Jake’s temple. “You’re a vision in the sky, baby– but I like you on the ground, too.”
Jake’s heart stutters with the confession. There’s an earnestness in the words that Jake’s always taken aback by— something he knows he’ll never get used to, that’ll never stop feeling like the first time. The breadth of Bradley’s heart never ceases to amaze him, still.
“Home’s here,” Jake whispers. The gravity of the words isn’t lost on him. “With you. I’ll take you to the ranch any time you want, but this–” he says, his fingers coming up to trace the line of Bradley’s jaw. “This is my home. You are. Always.”
Bradley’s eyes are warm, pools of an endless brown that Jake can’t look away from, not that he tries, and Bradley doesn’t say anything before he leans in to kiss him. It’s a languid, indulgent thing— Jake winds his arms around Bradley’s shoulders to cradle the back of his head, and Bradley slides his arm up Jake’s spine in a motion that pulls a shiver from him.
(“So,” Bradley had started, flopping down next to Jake on the couch. Jake had showered first once they’d clambered back into the hotel room, and he’d put on a game while Bradley was taking his turn. “Impressed yet?”
“By the fact that you didn’t manage to fall asleep in the shower? Honestly, I probably am,” Jake had teased. “You’re always the first to nod off when we go out.”
“Not what I meant, dickhead,” Bradley had laughed. Their shoulders brushed as Bradley shifted closer.
“And what, exactly, did you mean?” Jake had said. The words had come out softer somehow— still joking, but with an uncharacteristic lilt of hope, a bit of nervousness.
Within moments, Bradley’s arm was draped over the back of the couch, fingertips brushing gently over the seam of Jake’s t-shirt. Jake had shifted closer; neither of them spoke a word of it.
“I’m wooing you, Hangman,” Bradley had murmured. “Get with the program.”)
“Sky or ground, baby,” Bradley whispers, the words barely a breath against Jake’s lips. “I’m on your wing.”
I love you, Jake hears.
“Sky or ground,” Jake repeats, brushing his fingers over the nape of Bradley’s neck. I love you too.