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“Wanna know your future?”
James’ voice is right by his ear, breath on his neck making Jack shiver. It’s for no reason beside the noise, but he’s still aware of the closeness. He pulls his head back when he turns to look at him.
“What?”
James nods ahead, and Jack looks over to see a small purple tent among the various booths—the sign out front says, Glimpse into the future. Ms. Rousseau the Fortune Teller. $5 .
He just lets out a laugh. He looks back at James. He’s grinning like he always seems to be, his face painted with blue and gold squiggles and dots. (He’d gotten it done at one of the earlier booths, rolling his eyes when Jack refused.)
“You ain’t curious?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
“It’s bullshit. It’s a waste of money.”
“Well, you got plenty of that. No reason to worry.”
He narrows his eyes, but James is nothing but upbeat. Jack wonders sometimes if he even knows what it’s like to be sad. He’s sure he does, it’s a stupid thought. But he’s never seen it, and it’s hard for him to imagine.
He’s only known James for two months, and that’s also hard to think about. It feels like he’s known him forever, sometimes.
He shakes his head. “What’s the point?”
“It’s fun,” James shoots back, like it’s obvious. “You don’t gotta have another reason.”
“But I don’t get what’s fun about it.”
He studies him a moment, and then dons a teasing smirk. “Right. I forgot you don’t know what fun is.”
“Yes, I do.”
“Mhm,” James brushes him off, looking away innocently.
It’s so frustrating how easily he can get under his skin. Why does he hang out with him? They have nothing in common aside from the fact that they’re roommates. He doesn’t even think he likes him that much. He’s so obnoxious.
(Except the thing is, he does like him. He’s the antithesis of everything Jack is, in a way that he’s so drawn to. It’s like he possesses all the traits that Jack doesn’t think he could ever express, the good and the bad. Maybe it rubs off on him a little. Maybe he likes it.)
(Maybe James just drags Jack everywhere with him, and he lets it happen because he knows he’d never leave his room or make any friends if he didn’t.)
“You’re insufferable, James,” he says, and he just grins. He knows he won. Jack reaches into his pocket and pulls out his wallet. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”
“Have fun,” James teases, earning a glare as Jack heads toward the tent. This is so stupid. He’s only doing it to show James that he can be fun. That he doesn’t have a stick up his ass like he claims. It’s a stupid reason to waste five bucks, but he did have a point. He could ask his mom and have a hundred bucks in cash by tomorrow.
He pushes back the flap to the tent, meeting eyes with the woman inside. She isn’t dressed in some ridiculous costume as he’d expected. She doesn’t even have a crystal ball. She looks like a normal woman, though he swears there’s a wiseness to her gaze as she watches him.
She smiles. “Hello.”
Jack shifts awkwardly on his feet. “Hey. Uh . . . can I get my fortune or whatever?”
She nods. “Sit.”
He does as she says, putting his five dollars in the bowl she gestures to. He hopes he can at least come out of this with something that’ll make James laugh.
“What is your name?” she asks him.
“Shouldn’t you know that? If you’re psychic.” She simply smiles, and with a sigh he tells her, “Jack.”
“Jack. Give me your hands.”
He does as she says and sets them on the table, watching with a scrutinizing gaze as she takes his hands in hers and closes her eyes.
“Hm,” she hums softly. “I sense great sorrow in you. A sizable weight hangs over you.”
He almost lets out a laugh at that. God, she has no clue.
“But there is light in your future,” she muses, and even though he doesn’t believe a word she’s saying, he listens intently. “I can feel it on you.”
“Am I getting a new lamp?” he asks dryly. He knows he should humor her; he’s the one who walked in here, she’s just doing her job. But he can’t help himself.
She doesn’t seem offended, though. Simply opens her eyes and gives him a peculiar smile. “There is someone in your life.”
Jack thinks that this is probably a script. It won’t work on him, because she doesn’t realize that there is nobody in his life.
“A person who has brought great joy. And will continue to brighten your life.” She squeezes his hands. “Love surrounds them. It is between the two of you.”
It’s a classic fortune, something that gets people's hopes up. Something that has them recommending it to their friends. It’s all just a scheme to make more money.
“Great. Do I get a name or something?” Jack asks, uninterested.
She shuts her eyes again. “I see . . . a J. It is hard to make out.”
“Forget it.” Jack pulls his hands away. “Thanks for your time.”
He gets up out of the chair, ready to rub it in James’ face that he was right, that it was a bunch of cliche nonsense that meant nothing.
“James?”
Jack whips his head around, staring at her. “What?”
“Does that name mean anything to you?”
He blinks, and then scoffs, shaking his head. “You heard me say his name. Out there.”
“Is that what you’d like to believe?” she asks, cooly, getting into his head. “Often those who resist magic are the ones who need it the most.”
This is absurd. His chest feels tight, ribs caging in his lungs. James is . . . he’s his friend, sure. He can admit that he’s happy he’s in his life. But he isn’t whatever this woman is claiming he is. Jack doesn’t love him. That’s crazy, and it doesn’t make sense.
This woman must’ve walked by them outside, heard them talking. Maybe she knows James somehow, and when she saw the two of them together took a wild guess. Or maybe she could simply hear them through the thin tent shadowing her from the outside world. It’s nothing more than that, an exploitative trick used to convince people to believe.
“This is a scam,” he says. “It’s insulting.”
She doesn’t say anything. Her smile doesn’t even fall.
Frustrated, he turns and storms out, unable to stand the low light and cryptic air anymore. When he gets outside, James is sucking on a lollipop, raising an eyebrow at him.
“How was it?” he asks.
Jack ignores the question. “Where’d you get that?”
He gestures his head over to one of the booths. “Ariel over there gave it to me.”
He looks over and sees a redheaded girl manning a table with all sorts of treats. Jack can’t help the annoyance that festers inside him. It annoys him, often, the flippant way that James speaks of women. How easy it is for him to get one wrapped around his finger, and how easily he can discard her afterward.
“How was it?” he asks again. “You’re avoiding the question.”
He huffs. “No, I’m not. It was fine. It was stupid.”
“What’d she say?”
“The same thing she tells everybody. That my life is sad or something, and it’s going to get better.”
“Well, that ain’t so bad, is it?” James slings his arm around Jack’s shoulder, pulling him close as they begin to walk again, and he can’t help thinking back to her words. It’s so stupid.
What a waste of five bucks.
He and Juliet share a lot of classes. (By a lot, he means two.) He likes her. There aren’t many people who seem actually dedicated to the work, but she’s one of the ones who is. He appreciates it. Not to mention she is pretty; she reminds him of Sarah, the girl he brought to prom.
So when she mentions, casually, while they’re studying for their exam in the library, that James—who she’s apparently friends with—asked her to come to some party on Saturday, Jack noted that it was the same party James had been begging him to go to. And so he told her he'd be there.
It was easy to lose James when they got there. He headed straight for the alcohol, and Jack headed straight for her. They’d never really hung out outside of school, and he found himself enjoying her company. By the time they’d both gotten a drink in them—or three drinks, in her case—they were in the hallway with her tongue in his mouth and his hands sliding up under her shirt.
He thinks this is good for him. James is right about him not getting out enough, and this seems like a reasonable next step to take. Juliet seems like a good option for him. They run in similar academic circles, she’d understand how much time he has to dedicate to studying, and his dad would love her. That’s probably a weird thing to think about while they’re actively making out, but it’s true and it’s something he needs to consider.
It’s the sound of James’ voice that breaks them up.
“Jack.”
He pulls away from Juliet and turns, meeting his eyes. “What?”
“Let’s go.”
He frowns. “Why?”
He speaks like it’s obvious, like he’s right. “This party sucks. And I got an early class tomorrow.”
“Ok. You go.”
James blinks, genuinely taken aback. “What?”
“You go,” he says. “I wanna stay.”
He frowns and looks almost like he’s going to get angry. But when he speaks, he’s only bitter. “Fine. Have fun.”
He turns and leaves, and Juliet finally speaks up. “Aw, you should go with him. He looks so sad.”
He shakes his head. “He’ll be fine.”
“If you say so.”
And then they’re kissing again. It doesn’t last long, because then she wants to go see some friend of hers play beer pong, and then she says she wants to go, so he walks her back to her dorm. She kisses him goodbye, and if he’s being honest, he’s already brainstorming ways to let her down gently as he walks back to his room.
He doesn’t have the words to explain why it feels wrong. It just does. It’s like something’s missing between them. It wouldn’t be fair to string her along; it would be a waste of time.
When he gets back to the room, James is up in his bed reading. He looks up when the door opens and then returns to the page. Jack silently changes into his pajamas and then leaves again, down the hall to brush his teeth in the bathroom.
When he gets back this time, the book is gone, and James is laying in bed staring at the ceiling. Jack flicks the light off and gets into bed.
“How was the party?”
He turns to face the other bed, but James isn’t looking at him. “It was fine.”
There’s silence for a long time, and Jack thinks the conversation is done. And then he starts up again.
“That was kinda fucked up ‘a you, you know?”
Jack frowns. “What was?”
“Getting with Juliet.”
“Why?”
“Because I like her.”
“What?” Jack sits up. James doesn’t look at him. “You never said that.”
“I invited her to the party,” he says, like that’s definitive.
“Because you’re friends.”
“Because I like her.” He exhales deeply. “Guess that window’s closed.”
Jack grimaces. He’s acting like he’s an awful person, like it was some big known fact that he liked Juliet. He never said that. For all Jack knew, they were simply friends.
“You can have her,” Jack says, “I’m not going to date her. I don’t have time for that.”
He shakes his head. “You ruined it.”
Jack scoffs. “What does that mean?”
“It means you got in the middle ‘a things and now it’s too complicated to actually go for.”
“If you cared that much, why didn’t you say anything?”
He turns, facing the wall. “I don’t care.”
“Clearly you do.”
“Just let it go.”
“You’re the one who isn’t letting it go.”
He doesn’t say anything, and Jack sighs, turning to face his own wall. This is so stupid. It’s childish, honestly. If it was that big of a deal, then he should’ve something. And if it was so important to him, then he could still go after her. It almost feels like he just wants to pick a fight.
Jack isn’t going to humor him. It’s pointless.
Jack tells Juliet he likes her but that he doesn’t have the time for a relationship a couple of days later, after their biology class. She takes it well, says she feels the same, and they go their separate ways.
James didn’t shoot his shot like Jack expected. He didn’t even bring her up again. Maybe he meant it when he said Jack ruined it for him, or maybe he simply moved on as fast as he always does.
For some reason, Jack’s thankful. He isn’t sure why.
James grew up in the system after his parents died, so he had nowhere to go for Thanksgiving break. Jack invited him back home without even thinking. It was on the drive to his parents’ house that the dread began to creep in. James taps his fingers on the dashboard in time to the music and all Jack can think is that his dad is going to kick him out of the house before dinner. He’s unrefined, and while it’s refreshing for Jack to be around that, he knows his dad won’t feel the same way.
But then, everything goes differently than he expected.
His dad loves James. Or at least, spends all afternoon and night talking to him as if they’re best friends. James is charming and intelligent and laughs at all of his jokes. He’s witty and quick and he talks about sports. The only issue that his dad brings up later is with his major. ( It’s so unfortunate that boy is wasting his time on an English degree. He’s going to regret it, eventually. You should convince him to switch to something more practical .)
Jack is thankful, but resentment festers underneath his relief. To watch his dad be so delighted by a person who’s the opposite of Jack in every way, who seems to be everything his dad should hate, is maddening. It proves, almost, that it doesn’t matter if he does everything right. His dad doesn’t hate him because he isn’t good enough; he hates him because he’s his son. He hates him because he’s Jack. It’s the most awful thing to recognize; it’s devastating.
He spends most of their second day there in bed, listening to the distant noise of muffled conversation. When he does come out, he stays quiet, and no one seems to notice. At least he doesn’t think they do until later that night when James comes knocking on his door.
“Wanna watch a movie or something?” he asks, and Jack’s not doing anything else besides contemplating his sad excuse for a life, so he says sure.
As he looks through his DVDs, James carefully inspects the items around his childhood bedroom. He already looked at it the day before, when they arrived. He’d been talking about it all week, how eager he was to see it. Jack didn’t quite understand the interest.
“Cute,” James teases, picking up a picture of Jack as a little kid at a Red Sox game with his grandpa.
He walks over and takes the frame from him, setting it back down. “My room is boring.”
“Yeah, to you.”
He shakes his head. He doesn’t want him to keep looking—at the Nirvana poster on his wall or the debate trophy on the dresser or the medical books on the shelf that his dad insisted he read at fourteen. He feels naked and exposed, and it has his heart pounding in his chest.
“Do you want to watch Back to the Future ?” he asks, in an attempt to distract him.
It works because he nods. “Sure.”
He puts the DVD in, and they sit on Jack’s bed and watch. James makes relentless comments, and though Jack tries not to laugh, a couple slip out. He’s so stupid, but it’s amusing. He’s grown less resistant to letting himself enjoy it.
It’s when he goes quiet that Jack looks over and finds him leaned back against the headboard, asleep. He watches him more closely than the movie. He seems so calm, a peacefulness to his expression that he doesn’t often possess. He’s learned now that James’ upbeat nature is purely an act. There’s a lot of conflict there in his permanently furrowed brow. But it’s gone soft now, and Jack is mesmerized.
A little while later, he shifts, and his head ends up on Jack’s shoulder. He tenses, going still, but James seems so relaxed and settled so Jack tries to do the same. It’s hard when he’s so aware of the body against his—warm and heavy. It’s comforting, almost, the longer he sits there.
When the movie ends, he looks back down at James. He doesn’t want to wake him, he looks so calm and he thinks he needs the rest. But he doesn’t know what else to do. Though it’s nothing but innocent, the idea of his parents walking in on them sleeping in the same bed makes his stomach churn.
He shakes him gently. “ James .”
It doesn’t take much for his eyes to flutter open. He quickly sits up, rubbing his hands over his face. “Shit. Did I fall asleep?”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry.”
He shakes his head. “It’s okay.”
He stretches his arms with a soft groan, and then gets to his feet.
“Let me walk you to your room,” Jack says, and all of a sudden James is laughing.
“Why not?” he says, and they walk out into the hall. They’re quiet until they get to the guest room.
“Thanks,” James says with a nod, a smile tugging on his lips.
Jack nods. And then, looking at the floor, “I’m happy you’re here.”
He grins now. “Well, so am I, Dexter.”
And then he’s inside and he shuts the door.
Jack doesn’t get his nicknames, most of the time.
He walks back to his bedroom and shuts off the TV and the light. He pulls the blanket up over his body and tries to find comfort in the bed he spent so much of his life sleeping in. It shouldn’t be so hard.
He tosses and turns, and when he stares at the ceiling, he begins to wish he hadn’t woken James up.
Jack shivers. It’s too cold for LA, but it is December. Maybe it’s on him for not bringing a sweater.
UCLA gets their touchdown, and the stands erupt in cheers. Jack joins in, clapping his hands and shouting. He’s spurred on by James’ excitement beside him.
When they settle down and return to the game, he turns to him. He has the school colors painted in stripes on both his cheeks, face flushed from the chill and the excitement.
“You cold?”
Jack’s face grows red and warm. He hates how easy he is to read. (Or, really how easy it is for James to read him. He’s not sure anyone else can so effectively.) “I’m fine.”
“I told you ya shoulda brought a sweater.”
“I said I’m fine.” But he’s already pulling his own sweatshirt off and reaching it toward him. Jack insists, “I don’t need that.” He can’t comprehend why he’d take it and leave him cold when he’s the one who was smart enough to bring another layer.
But then James reaches over and basically shoves the sweater over his head. Jack makes a sound in protest, struggling where he’s caught inside the fabric.
“Stop it,” he says, reaching up and effectively pulling it on. “I said I didn’t need it.”
“Well, neither do I.”
He wants to keep arguing, but then Hugo—James’ friend, seated on his other side—returns from the bathroom, and he turns to update him on the game.
The sweatshirt smells like him. It’s all he can think about for the rest of the night. It’s like he’s completely wrapped up in James’ atmosphere—his cologne and his body wash and everything that makes him him.
James doesn’t ask for it back, even in their room. He must’ve forgotten. Jack doesn’t say anything.
It’s after winter break when Kate comes into their lives like a tornado. She works at the school’s bookstore with James, and the two act as if they’ve known each other all their years despite the mere month they’ve been friends. As if they were meant to find each other, or some other bullshit like that. That’s what they seem to believe, at least.
She’s undecided on her major, she skips class, she drinks and she smokes, and she goes to more parties than even James does. She’s always been nice to Jack when they’ve been around each other, but something about her bothers him. He doesn’t like her. She seems to believe she’s above the rules, as if they don’t apply to her. And even though James can be the way sometimes, it doesn’t bother him as much. It’s different.
But whatever. Jack doesn’t care. James can do what he wants with his time.
He’s on his way back to their room, exhausted and hungry, when he runs into Kate.
“Hey, Jack,” she says, with a toothy grin. She seems truly pleased to see him, and Jack tries to smile.
“Hey.” But his expression falls when he glances down and takes note of the too-big shirt she’s wearing. It’s James—the blue Nike one he always wears when they go and play basketball. He stares at it, hard. “Is that James’ shirt?”
Kate blinks, and then laughs. “Oh, yeah. I love that you know that.”
“Mmm.”
“I gotta go, but it was nice to see you,” she says, already heading down the hall. He doesn’t say anything, just picks up his pace and hurries down toward their room. When he opens the door, James is pulling a shirt on, standing there in his boxers.
“Oh, hey,” he says, flashing a smile when he sees Jack. “What’s up?”
He wants to point out that he’s well aware James usually has a class at the same time, and that he shouldn’t have already been here. He wants to point out that Kate was wearing his shirt and his pants are off and it doesn’t take a lot of critical thinking to put together what was happening. He wants to point out that he’s being incredibly stupid and reckless and that he’s making a huge mistake.
But he doesn’t do any of that. He nods his head and goes and sits on his bed. He watches him get his jeans on.
“You wanna come eat?” James asks.
Jack shakes his head. “I’m not hungry.”
“Suit yourself.”
He leaves, and Jack is alone.
He shouldn’t care so much about what James does in his free time, who he’s friends with and who he fucks. It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter.
He’s just looking out for him. He just wants what’s best for his friend, and he knows for a fact that Kate isn’t the best option. He thinks of maybe suggesting he go and try again with Juliet, but even that makes his stomach hurt.
He shouldn’t care so much.
He doesn’t know why he does.
They’re eating in the dining hall one night when he can’t take it anymore.
“I don’t like Kate.”
James lifts his eyes from his noodles, brow shot up. “What?”
“I don’t like her. I don’t think she’s good for you.”
He blinks, and then he chuckles like it’s funny. “Okay.”
Jack frowns when he looks back at his food. “I just think that you could do better. She’s a bad influence. You’re so smart, and you need to focus more on your classes—”
“God, can you shut up?”
Jack presses his mouth together. It isn’t often James is truly, directly mean to him. Not like he really means it and really intends to hurt him. It’s startling; he doesn’t like it.
He shakes his head. “We ain’t even together.”
“But—”
“But what?” His eyes are big, questioning. Jack looks away. “Yeah. Like I thought. You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“I’m just trying to help you,” he says, and it’s the truth. That’s all he’s doing. He just wants good things for him, and he worries that if he doesn’t step in he won’t get them.
“I don’t need your help. I know she ain’t exactly the kind of person you tend to associate with, Mr. Moneybags, but you know what? Neither am I.”
“That’s not what I mean. Stop taking my words out of context.”
“Whatever, Jack.” He brings the bowl up to his mouth and slurps the remaining soup, not even looking at him as he picks up his tray and goes to return it. He doesn’t come back.
Why can’t James just see that his intentions are good? Why can’t he just listen?
The plastic cup crackles, squeezed tight in Jack’s fist. He doesn’t even notice. He’s too busy staring—glaring—across the room.
James is sitting on the couch, Kate sitting on the floor with her chin resting on his knee and his friend Miles sits beside him, thigh to thigh. The three of them are deeply engrossed in some conversation, both looking up at James like he’s a king. All Jack can do is watch, crushing the beer cup in his grasp.
He could probably go over there if he wanted. But he’d be forcing himself in the middle of a dynamic he doesn’t belong in. He doesn’t even want to.
He turns away and finds himself in the kitchen, heart pounding so loud he can feel it pulsing in his ears. His blood courses, hot and angry. He fills another cup with beer and downs it far too quickly.
Everybody loves him, and Jack hates it. The minute he meets someone they’re all over him. It’s like he’s a siren, putting everyone under their spell. The worst thing is that Jack gets it. He’s a victim of the same curse. He sees everything that they see in him.
But why can’t it just be him? Why does he have to share?
It’s stupid. He doesn’t even like James. They argue half the time they’re together. It’s good he has other people to keep him busy.
He fills the cup again.
He doesn’t want James to be busy. He wants to argue with him, every second he can.
“Oh, hey Jack.”
He turns, spotting a face he recognizes. “Dan. Hey. Didn’t expect to see you here.”
He nods, fidgeting nervously. He lets out an awkward laugh. “My girlfriend brought me.”
Isn’t that great? This guy has a girlfriend and Jack doesn’t. (Such a strange thing to think when he explicitly nipped anything with Juliet in the bud before it could happen. But he’s angry right now, so it’s going to pour out into everything.)
“While I have you,” Daniel says, eyes flitting around as they always do, “I wanted to ask your thoughts on that calculus exam.”
Jack sighs. He doesn’t want to think about calculus or any other class. But he supposes it’s better than growing bitter over James having other friends. He uninterestedly engages in the conversation, only turning away when he hears the loud cheering in the other room.
He excuses himself, making his way over to the dining room to see what all the fuss is about.
He stumbles to a stop in the doorway, eyes going wide.
James is standing on top of the dining room table, head just narrowly avoiding the chandelier as he slowly and seductively slips off his flannel shirt. The people surrounding the table cheer, as if he’s some Vegas show they paid for. Jack’s face flushes with embarrassment for him as he grabs the bottom of his t-shirt and carefully lifts it up to reveal his chest, pulling it off his head.
“James,” he says, unable to keep watching it happen.
He turns, and his eyes light up when he spots him. His words come out slurred, clearly more drunk than Jack had realized before. “Hey. Catch.”
He tosses the shirt toward him, and Jack recoils back as he catches it. “Fuck. James, get down from there.”
“No!” Kate shouts against him, supported by all the others around her. This is like a nightmare. Except it’s James’ nightmare and Jack’s just watching it happen. He has to stop this before it goes any further.
“Stop it, James. Let’s go,” he says, walking over to the table.
He sticks out his tongue and reaches down to the button of his jeans.
“No, don’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re embarrassing yourself.”
“The people want it,” he retorts, and as if to prove he’s right, the other kids clap and shout in encouragement.
He can’t take it anymore. He reaches his hand up and grabs his leg.
“Hey,” James says, trying to shake him off and in the process slamming his head into the chandelier. “Ow. Fuck.”
“Please get down.”
He doesn’t argue this time, running his fingers over his head and taking Jack’s hand as he climbs down. Jack helps pull the shirt back over his head as the people boo in disappointment.
“I’ll be back,” James shouts, but he’s following Jack in the direction of the door.
“How much did you drink?” Jack mutters as they step outside, not really expecting an answer.
“A lot,” he says, and he’s laughing like it’s really funny.
Jack drank a lot too, though clearly not as much. He’s preparing for the headache in his future; the dread runs deep.
James stumbles over the sidewalk and Jack reaches out to catch him. He puts his arm around his shoulders to help steady him. He’s wobbling everywhere, having lost all spacial awareness and balance.
He leans into him, and Jack writes it off as him needing something sturdy to hold onto.
And then, suddenly, “I love you, man.”
Jack turns to look at him. There’s no note of teasing or joking in his face. He seems to be one hundred percent serious. It makes something indescribable settle in Jack’s stomach. The words have reached their hands deep into his chest.
Does he say this to everyone, or just him?
“Yeah,” he says, looking at their feet. “You too.”
James shakes his head. “‘M serious. You take good care of me.”
He doesn’t know what to say to that. It seems to be one of the most honest admissions James has ever made to him, and he doesn’t take that for granted.
“I try,” he says, and James grins. The solemness is gone.
But it’s true, he does try. He tries so hard, maybe too hard. It’s nice to know James notices it, because he acts like he doesn’t most of the time.
(And it’s true that he loves him too. Even if he can’t say it.)
Jack’s cousin is getting married, and he invited James to the wedding. He’d asked his cousin first, unsure if he could bring a plus one as he was invited with his parents. But she said sure and put James on the list.
He doesn’t talk at all during the ceremony, surprisingly quiet and respectful. Jack watches him more than he watches anything happening. He can’t help himself. He looks good, put together for the event.
The reception is held in a restaurant on the beach where the ceremony was. After the first dance and after they’ve eaten, Jack follows James outside—there’s a porch for outdoor seating, though the party’s been kept indoors—and watches him pluck a box of cigarettes and a match from his pocket. He leans his elbows on the railing and lights the cigarette, and after taking a puff he reaches it out toward Jack.
He hesitates.
He’s smoked before. That isn’t what’s stopping him. (It’s the thought of his mouth, wrapped around the same spot James’ had been moments ago. It’s the thought of tasting him on it. It’s what that means.)
He takes it and puts it between his lips.
“I love weddings,” James says, looking out at the water. The moon reflects on the ocean’s surface, light twinkling over the gentle waves.
“Really?”
He nods, and then smiles. “I ain’t ever been to one before now.” Jack’s eyes widen, and he adds, “Always wanted to. So thanks.”
He nods. It’s funny to him that he likes weddings, when it seems so against who he is. That he’s never been to one.
“You’re a romantic,” Jack says. “Even if you like to hide it.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Well, I think I’m pretty open with it.”
He shakes his head. “No, not . . . not the flirting and stuff. Something deeper.”
James watches him curiously. He doesn’t let off whether he agrees or not, just nods and takes the cigarette back. “And what ‘bout you?”
“What about me?”
“Are you a romantic?”
Jack thinks about it. “I don’t know. I don’t really have the time for that stuff.”
He laughs at him. “Right. Busiest nineteen year old there is.”
He doesn’t know what to say to that. James doesn’t get it. He doesn’t have a plan, he doesn’t have things to work towards. He doesn’t have a dad with expectations for him to live up to.
“Guess I’m lucky you let me waste your time, then,” James says, taking a drag and reaching the cigarette back to him.
Jack holds it between his fingers, watching the end burn. “You don’t waste my time.”
“Sure.”
He doesn’t appreciate the way James brushes it off. He means it. He doesn’t find the time he spends with him to be a waste. He thinks he wouldn’t survive if it weren’t for him. He’s the only reason Jack eats sometimes, the only reason he closes the textbook and goes to sleep. He’s the only reason Jack leaves their room at all apart from his classes.
It isn’t just that. Jack has a hard time with the words and the feelings, but he thinks James brings out in him the things he needs to have more of. He feels more confident. He laughs more. He feels more alive.
Suddenly, he’s reminded of a night months ago. Of that carnival and the fortune teller and her words. He’ll bring great joy. He’ll brighten your life.
His thoughts are interrupted when James reaches over and takes the cigarette from his hand.
“You’re my best friend,” he says impulsively.
James’ eyes widen, but it’s the only indication that he’s thrown by the statement. He stares at him, something deep in his gaze that Jack can’t figure out. “Yeah. And you’re mine.” He looks down, puffing out the smoke. It takes a while before he speaks again, his voice low. “You’re gonna hate me one day.”
Jack frowns. He can’t imagine ever hating James. Really hating him. More than the annoyance that flares up under his skin when he’s being especially annoying. “What?”
He puts out the cigarette on the balcony, and then flicks it from his fingers off into the sand below.
Jack huffs. “Don’t do that. You—”
He can’t finish his thought, because James has leaned over and kissed him. It’s so short that Jack can barely comprehend it until it’s over. (But he can feel it, deep in his stomach.)
He won’t meet his eyes, afterwards.
“Oh,” Jack says, a mindless noise that falls out of his mouth.
James lets out a laugh, and a mocking, “ Oh .”
It’s like suddenly he’s been doused in a bucket of cold water. Suddenly the last six months have shifted and come into focus. Suddenly James isn’t just his best friend. (He’s so much more.)
“James.”
He shakes his head. He won’t look at him. “Sorry, man. I don’t know what—”
“ James .”
He turns his head just enough that Jack is able to take his face in his hands and kiss him, harder now. Really kiss him, like he hadn’t been able to the last time. James reacts quicker, melting into it.
When it breaks, James mutters—condescendingly teasing and far too fucking seductive, “Eager, huh?”
Jack hits him in the chest. “I hate you.”
But James is laughing, and he knows it isn’t true. It could never be true. He’s coming to terms now with how every single thing from the time he’s known James has unknowingly revolved around how much he wanted him. He didn’t even know he wanted him until now. Maybe he should’ve.
“Let’s go dance,” he says.
James is still laughing. “What?”
“Let’s go dance. I love this song.” He can hear it, muffled through the wall of the restaurant. He grabs James’ arm and pulls him toward the door.
“You gonna try and catch the bouquet later,” he asks as they go inside.
“Shut up,” Jack says, but he doesn’t mean it. He wants him to keep talking forever.