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Jack dragged his hands down his face. Exhaustion had clawed its way down his throat and into body. How long had he been sitting in this shitty motel room? It felt like years. Realistically, it was only for a few minutes, at most. Dave had only just left after all, to get some more booze for them both. Yet as soon as he had left the room, all the energy of the room had been sucked out, leaving behind the dark shadows repressed in Jack’s mind. All the booze in the world couldn’t scrub this from Jack’s mind.
Normally when the dark bile of regrets climbed up his spine, he turned to Dave for distractions. He was great at providing those. Even if he wasn’t physically there. Jack had no one else to turn to, after all. So rather than try to wrangle his thoughts in a healthy and meaningful manner, he thought about Dave.
It started simple. He pictured Dave striding down the hall. His overly worn sneakers clomped down the hall, laces untied flying about. He’d have his chest puffed out, arms flapping at his sides as he went down to the lobby.
He’d place some poor schmucks credit card on the counter of the bar, fingers curved as he slid it to the bartender. Dave’d say to give him a whole bottle of jack whiskey and vodka. His smile would curve as the bartender raised an eyebrow, but didn’t ask any questions. Why would he, so long as the payment went through?
As the card was swiped, the two bottles would be slid over to Dave, who’d wrap his slender fingers around each neck. His knuckle bones would pop out a little as he lifted them with a manic grin.
“Keep th’ card.” He’d say, “‘M coming back as soon as we’re done wit’ these puppies!”
And with a sharp laugh he’d turn on his heel and head back to the motel room.
This is where Jack’s mind began to wander. He imagined Dave coming back up to the motel, bottles in hand. Jack would grunt in greeting as Dave plopped beside him on the bed. When he’d pass Jack his bottle their fingers would brush. A tingle would go down Jack’s spine. He always liked Dave’s hands. They were long and slender, like blades of grass. And despite them being covered in callous’, every time he touched Jack was gentle as a breeze.
It drove Jack mad. He imagined reaching up, grabbing Dave’s empty hand. Their fingers would interlock almost perfectly. Like it was meant to be. Jack sure hoped it was, with how Dave haunted his every waking moment.
Dave would stare at him, chuckle quietly, his eyes flicking away shyly.
“Th’ fuck you doin’, Sportsy?” He’d ask, smiling lopsidedly.
And Jack would smile tiredly at him, pulling his hand to his face. His hands would feel cool against his skin. He never knew how Dave stayed so cold, but it was nice in moments like this. When the head of Vegas seeped into his very veins. It felt nice.
The cold was sobering. It pulled Jack from the fuzz of his imagination. Only as the room around him sharpened into focus, Dave didn’t move. Nor did his hand, which Jack held in his own against his cheek.
A mixture of horror and embarrassment sink into Jack’s gut. Dave simply stared at him. Well, stared at the floor by his feet, his cheeks flushed red. Quick as a whip, Jack yanks his hand down. Except he forgot to let go of Dave’s hand, leading him to drag the tall man down with it. Their foreheads clashed with a resounding thunk, followed by Dave spouting out some profanities as he finally pried away from Jack’s hold.
“Th’ fuck was that fo’?!” He exclaims, leaning back just enough to look Jack in the eyes.
He stared at Dave, his heart hammering in his chest. He tried to say something, but his throat felt impossibly dry. Dropping his gaze, he reaches over and opens his bottle of whiskey.
“S’ nothing, don’t worry about it.”
Dave shakes his head, “Don’ try t’ lie t’ me, Sportsy! C’mon, you can tell yer buddy Davey anythin’!”
Jack shifts, taking a swig of whisky. The drink burns the whole way down. He wonders how Dave would react, if he knew what he thought. If he knew that softness was what he wanted. Closing his eyes, Jack shakes his head.
“Like I said, s’ nothi-“
Dave cuts him off, bashing his forehead against Jacks.
“Dave, what the hell?!”
Dave stares at Jack, wincing from the impact of the headbutt. “Tell me! Or I’ll bash your skull in to find out myself!”
Jack snorts, “I’d like to see you try.”
Glaring, Dave starts to reel back again. Realizing how serious he was being, Jack backpedals, raising his hands defensively.
“God! Alright, alright! I just think your hands are nice. You happy?”
Dave stops, staring at Jack. He fidgets under his gaze, taking another sip of whiskey.
“Yer lying.”
“I’m not.”
Dave hesitates, eyes searching for something that Jack wasn’t sure he would find. Whatever he does find, it makes him break into a wild smile once more.
“Yer freaky Old Sport! It’s a good thing I’m here to be freaky with ya!”
He turns, plopping beside Jack on the edge of the bed. He holds up the bottle of Vodka, awaiting Jack. With a small smile, he clinks his whiskey bottle against Dave’s bottle, the glass chime echoing in the small room.
“To us?” Jack says, reaching his free hand around Dave’s shoulder.
And to his surprise, Dave smiles, nodding. “To Us! Tangerine n Aubergine!”
Jack didn’t remember much from that night. Between the drinks and the buzz from being around Dave, he wasn’t sure how much he wanted to remember. One thing he made sure to hold onto was Dave. The feeling of their fingers interlocked, the way his skin felt against Jack’s. Jack was certain that as long as he had that, he would be just fine.