Chapter Text
Jasper opened his eyes.
The ceiling loomed over him, washed in the dim amber from the streetlamp outside. It wasn’t a comforting kind of dark. It was just... weight. The kind of silence that felt like it was pressing in from all sides. He wasn’t sure when he’d drifted off. Not that it mattered - Carl hadn't been around for days, and no one else was here to care where he ended up. The blanket had slipped halfway off the sofa, and the glass of water he’d meant to drink was still there, untouched.
He stared at it, but couldn’t summon the energy to move. The TV was still on standby, the screen blinking like it was waiting for something. He couldn’t remember what.
Carl’s coat still hung on the chair, like it had for the past two nights. The same one Jasper had thrown there days ago in a half-joking, half-pissed-off gesture after Carl had left without a word.
Jasper had been trying. That was the worst part.
He’d been trying to meet Carl where he was, to keep the peace, to give him space when he needed it. And Carl, for a while, had seemed like he was trying too. But nothing ever really changed. And it never felt like enough. He kept hoping that if he made the effort, Carl would eventually meet him halfway, or at least pretend to. But now, it felt like he was just waiting. Waiting for Carl to prove something that never came.
The front door creaked open.
Jasper didn’t move. He didn’t need to. He could feel the weight of Carl’s presence, the faint shift in the air, the small sounds that told him exactly what Carl was doing. The keys hitting the bowl by the radiator, the rustle of the bag hitting the floor.
Carl’s voice came then. Low, smooth. Phone voice. The one that didn’t belong to him, not really. The version of Carl that got polished up for strangers. For associates. For anyone who didn’t know him.
“No, I just got in. An hour ago, maybe less.”
Jasper’s throat tightened.
He tried to breathe through it. Tried not to react. But it was like he could feel the denial this phone call would inevitably become before it was even spoken. The words he didn’t say, the things Carl kept hidden, were becoming as familiar as his own thoughts.
Carl’s footsteps padded into the kitchen on the far side of the room, and he flicked the light on-soft, warm, but not quite reaching Jasper, still motionless on the sofa in the half-light. The soft click of the kettle. A drawer opening, then closing. Then Carl’s voice again. This time, lighter. Almost teasing.
“Not everything’s a disaster. Just most things.”
Jasper’s stomach twisted. He didn’t want to hear this. He already knew who Carl was talking to, and the soft, teasing rhythm of Carl's voice sealed it.
He’d seen them.
Carl and Akram. Last week, outside the flat. Nothing overt. Just a quick exchange, a smile that wasn’t tight or controlled but easy, natural. And when Carl touched Akram’s arm, it wasn’t the way you touched a friend, a colleague. It wasn’t a gesture that said, I’m here because I care about you. It was something else. Something Jasper didn’t want to admit to himself.
He hadn’t said anything. He hadn’t asked. He hadn’t needed to.
But the silence between them now felt heavy with all the things they hadn’t said.
The kettle clicked off. Another small sound. Another small piece of the distance.
“You’re not helping,” Carl said now, that familiar, low drawl creeping into his voice. “That smug tone? Completely unearned.”
Jasper closed his eyes, briefly. His chest was tight, a slow, sinking kind of pressure building up inside of him. It wasn’t anger. Not exactly. Anger felt too... simple. This was something else. This was the quiet ache of disappointment that starts when someone keeps proving they’re not the person you’ve been trying to believe in.
The sound of Carl’s laughter lingered. Low. A real laugh, the kind Jasper hadn’t heard in ages.
A brief pause.
And then Carl’s voice again. Soft, like a secret he’d forgotten he was saying aloud.
“I keep thinking about your mouth.”
Jasper’s body stiffened. Jesus Christ. No. No, no, no. The words landed like cold water, sharp and unwanted. He couldn't listen to this anymore, didn’t need confirmation of what he already knew. But it was there, solid and inescapable. The knot tightening in his chest, spreading further into his gut.
He stretched up quickly, then flicked the living room light on.
From the opposite end of the flat, Carl froze mid-sentence, mid-smile, like he'd been caught in the act. His lips parted, eyes wide for the briefest moment — a perfect second of vulnerability before the mask fell back into place.
Silence.
Carl’s thumb tapped quickly across the phone screen. Ended the call in one quick motion. But the tension didn’t break. The distance between them didn’t shrink.
Jasper said nothing.
He just sat there, watching Carl try to fix it, try to wipe away whatever had just slipped out.
Carl didn’t even look at him. He turned away, his back stiff, his shoulders rigid with that old, familiar way of pretending.
“Something wrong with your room?” he called out, too casually.
Jasper stared after him. “What?”
Carl turned, mug in hand, not quite looking at him. “I said — is this where you sleep now?”
Jasper didn’t respond. His gaze stayed fixed on Carl’s, weighing up his unique blend of bland deflection. Like nothing was wrong, like nothing ever was, nearly tipped him into laughter. But there was nothing funny left in it.
He rose off the sofa, a small breath escaping from his lips. He had to get this over with.
“You know I saw you, right?” His voice didn’t sound like it belonged to him. It sounded too tired.
Carl blinked. That same neutral look, like he hadn’t been expecting it. But there was something in the way he looked away, something too quick, too defensive.
“You and Akram,” Jasper added. “Last week. Outside the flat.”
Stillness.
Carl didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His silence said everything.
Jasper’s chest felt tight. His breath, shallow.
He watched Carl stand there, watched the moment pass. Carl looked away. Guilt or boredom, it was hard to tell with him.
“You don’t have to lie,” he said, quieter now. “You don’t even have to explain.”
He wasn’t sure why he was saying it aloud, except that it was starting to ache. Like the weight of all the things left unsaid was finally catching up to him, and he couldn’t hold it in anymore.
“I asked you, remember?” he continued. “That night. I said, ‘Did you meet someone?’”
Carl had laughed, deflected. Said, “Just work stuff.” Shrugged it off.
Jasper had let it go.
“And the next morning, I brought him up. I said his name, like it was nothing. Like it didn’t matter. You could’ve said something then.”
Carl hadn’t said anything. He’d barely blinked. Changed the subject.
“Two days ago, I gave you another chance. I said, ‘If you’re seeing someone, I don’t care. Just don’t pretend I can’t tell.'”
Carl had looked at him like he was being dramatic. He’d brushed it off. Then he’d left the room.
“You had all the chances, Carl,” Jasper murmured. “All of them. And I wasn’t even trying to trap you. I just wanted you to be honest.”
The silence between them felt unbearable now. Carl was still holding his mug, not even looking at him.
Jasper took a step forward, his voice falling lower.
“You didn’t have to explain. You didn’t have to justify it. You just had to say it.”
He paused. The air felt thick. Not with words, but with the things Carl refused to say.
Jasper leaned against the doorframe. His arms were heavy. His chest was too tight to breathe easily.
“I don’t know why you think I’m that fucking clueless. I can see it. I’ve seen it all along.”
Carl didn’t look at him. His fingers brushed against the back of his neck, the scar, the place he always went to when he wanted to disappear without leaving the room.
Jasper’s eyes softened. Not out of pity. Not even out of anger. Just... something hollow. Something exhausted.
“You say you want things to be better between us,” he said, voice softer now, quieter. “But when I gave you the chance to be honest, when I made it so easy, you still couldn’t do it.”
Carl didn’t speak. He just leaned back against the worktop, eyes closing briefly. He shook his head, as if the weight of it all was too much. Then, in a soft exhale, he muttered, "Fuck."
Jasper stood there for a moment, letting the silence stretch between them. The word hung in the air, a half-acknowledgement of everything unsaid. He felt something in him loosen, like he was letting go of a rope he’d been holding onto for far too long.
“Anyway,” he said, his voice a tired sigh. “Don’t worry. I won’t bring it up again.”
And with that, he turned, walking slowly down the hall. Not slamming the door. Just shutting it, quietly, like the end of a conversation they were never really going to have.