Fic: paper.planes (1/6)
Title: paper.planes (1/6) aka Sky in a Box v2.0
Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Author: aeroport_art
Rating: eventual NC-17
Warnings: None
Word Count: 3,125 (24,000)
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money being made.
Notes: At first I didn't want to rewrite my old uni!AU because it seems cheap to milk a story with some washed out redux. BUT. It bothered me for ages that I never gave Sky in the Box a proper ending, so whatever--I don't expect people to throw themselves all over this story, it's more for my own closure. That, and I did wind up doing some heavy-duty editing, so at least it's not something completely lame like simply swapping out the names. In any case, thanks to nativestar and lavendervamp for brit-picking this round. Yay, I'm so happy I finally finished this baby!
Summary: In which Jared is a wee British undergrad, and Jensen, American postgrad extraordinnaire, seduces him with how great his ass looks in a pair of jeans.
Braxton University, England
“C’mon, please? It’s on your way to the library.”
“I don’t know which library you’re talking about,” Jared complains. The crumbling look Damon sends him, however, is so pathetic that Jared has no choice but to relent. He sighs. “Fine. Hand it over, already, before you start blubbering on your homework.”
“Knew I could count on you, Jay,” his friend brightly replies as he hands over his assignment.
“I’ll take payment in booze. Now sod off before she leaves without you.” Jared plucks the white folder out of his friend’s hands and waves him off with it, smile playing on his lips as he watches Damon go.
Jared glances down at his watch, groaning inwardly. Gonna be late for class. Hurrying across campus, Jared cuts through the Student Union, dodging the kids streaming in and out, when he hears his name called out over the outdoor din.
“Jared!”
He turns around, breaking out into a toothy grin when he catches sight of his best friend, Sandy; tiny and cute as a button, with long swaying hair and a smile bright enough to wage war against Jared’s own, the two have been family friends since they were in nappies.
Jared’s pleased to see her but he calls out, “Get a gallop on, Sandy!” as he maintains his pace. She jogs towards Jared and falls in step with him, albeit with difficulty.
“Where you off to?”
“Been conned into running errands for Damon. I’m just stopping by Kern to drop this off for him.”
“Again?” Sandy asks, jogging two steps for every one of Jared’s long strides.
Jared laughs. “Yeah, again.”
“Sucker,” she smirks. Before Jared can deliver a rebuttal, Sandy changes the subject- “So anyway, is anything going on for the weekend? I was thinking Sols Arms.”
“I like the way your mind works,” Jared says, grinning large. “Not tomorrow though, I’ve got that thing-you know, the debate meeting.”
“Yeah, I remember. Friday then?” Sandy jogs a few steps ahead again, letting Jared’s stride engulf her own as he makes an assenting noise. After a couple more minutes she finally sighs, “It’s like pacing a giraffe, I can’t keep up with you.” Sandy slows down-yells after him, “I’ll call you about Friday!”
“Friday!” Jared throws back, even as he glances down at his watch, which informs him that he’s late for class. Again. Eurgh, he hopes the professor will be in a forgiving mood that day.
Jared upgrades his walk to more of a shuffling jog, cursing the sprawling size of Braxton University.
-----
Situated on the outskirts of London, Braxton University was Jared’s top choice during the application process due to its highly competitive law program and proximity to the city; thus he entered the Law department sans the deliberation that plagued his school mates. Now taking only law classes, Jared finds himself largely restrained to Trotter Hall. Unfortunately in this case, this means that his classes are clear across campus from Damon’s. But still, a favor’s a favor.
Ah, shortcut, he thinks as he spies Vitton, home to all the administrative offices and adjunct of the Architecture department. It stands in front of Kern, nearly flush against it, and with any luck Jared can go through instead of circumventing the long, narrow building.
Jared pushes the tall glass doors of Vitton open and heads in the general direction of Kern, hoping for a direct route to the other building.
No, no, no, not this way, he groans as the hallway quickly bends away from his destination. Where the bloody hell is the exit?
Jared plows his way past classroom after classroom, finding himself deeply entrenched in the hallways that are decorated with students’ work; AutoCAD printouts and miniature models glorify the architecture wing but all Jared wants to see is a bright, beautiful way out.
He’s staring up at the ceiling, completely oblivious to what’s in front of him as he searches for a green-lit exit sign, when Jared collides into something solid and pointy.
“Oof,” he grunts as the corners from three stacked textbooks jam into his stomach. The heavy books scatter to the ground in protest, empty whumps echoing down vacant halls. “Sorry,” Jared automatically says, bending down to help pick them up.
“What were you looking at?”
The voice that rings out-lazy and playful-it stops Jared in his tracks, his hand stilling on a thick tome that reads Neo-Classicism and its Many Incarnations. Jared looks up.
The man in front of him is crouched down as well, gathering the thinner two of the three books and meeting Jared’s surprised gaze.
“…you’re American?” Jared asks, the question out of his mouth before he has a chance to rein it in.
“Born and raised,” the man replies, quirking a polite smile that reeks of over-use. He sits back on his haunches.
“Well yeah, you’ve got that um…” Jared trails off, wondering how to describe that slow, easy accent, almost exaggerated in its thick drawl, in a way that won’t make him sound completely dim or redundant. Only, he soon realizes that there is none so Jared shuts his mouth and stares back.
The other man blinks, smile still playing on his lips as he looks expectantly at Jared.
“Oh!” Flustered, Jared finally picks up the textbook he has his hand on and thrusts it at the other man. “Sorry.”
“No problem,” the man says. He cradles the books against a black, T-shirt-clad chest and rises, eyes still amusedly trained on Jared.
When he finally makes to step aside, Jared blurts, “Wait.”
Wait, what? he asks himself in a mild panic. “Er.” The other man lifts an eyebrow, looking more comfortable in own his skin than anybody has the right to be. Especially when Jared is currently feeling a confusing mash-up of rushed, embarrassed, and intrigued.
The man slowly blinks again, and Jared skeptically wonders if those lashes are entirely natural. When full lips open to speak, Jared hastily interrupts, “Er, how do I get to Kern from here?”
Jared sees a flash of very straight teeth before he hears, “You passed the door a few classrooms back. It kind of blends in with the wall, but it’ll be on your left.”
“Right-o, thanks,” Jared blurts. He mentally slaps himself, thinking, Right-o? What am I, Hugh Grant?
“Don’t go running into anymore strangers, okay? They’re not all as nice as me,” the man teases and Jared wants to stop fidgeting, but he can’t. Instead he pulls his lips into a passable smile (he hopes, though he’s feeling vaguely sickly) and turns around, going back the way he came.
Unfortunately, the other man is going the same way and walks beside him, languid swagger in dark denims, and Jared spends an excruciating minute debating whether or not it would be rude to speed-walk (run) away before he finally spies the painted side door and pushes into it, hurtling out into the cool air.
Jared hears a small chuckle before the heavy door slams shut. He takes a moment to stare at the innocuous door, curses Damon so harshly he blushes himself, then checks his watch again.
Fuck. Ten minutes late and he hasn’t even dropped off the damned folder yet. Damon, it’s gonna be your shout down the boozer all night, he swears before dashing into Kern and maneuvering through more familiar territory.
Only after he’s slipped Damon’s assignment under the office door, power-walked through Kern and past Vitton with a generous, wide berth, does he give himself a moment to let the niggling thing at the back of his mind bubble to the surface.
Really, really green eyes, Jared thinks, hands shoved deep in his pockets as he outstrips any passerby with his hurried gait and long legs. He thinks about the color and clarity of them, thinks about the man’s languid accent and lopsided smirk, and the image spins like a reel through his mind until he’s reached his criminology lecture and is weakly shrugging at his professor’s annoyed gaze as he slinks in through the back.
There aren’t any empty seats in the last five or so rows so Jared awkwardly smushes past shifting legs to get to one near the front. He hears the girl behind him sigh with displeasure and so he slumps down, trying not to block the view of the presentation.
“As I was saying,” the professor pointedly continues. But although Jared eventually has his notebook out, pen diligently copying down the notes off the slides, his finds himself unable to pay proper attention. Instead he keeps half an ear out for the lecture, and the rest of his focus on sketching eyes and girly-looking lips in the margins of his notes.
-----
He thinks that by the weekend, he’ll have long forgotten that awkward encounter in the architecture block. But he hasn’t.
In fact, Jared is so far removed from forgetting about it that he finds himself doing a double-take at every dark-haired crew cut, every echo of an American accent, and it gets to the point that even his friends have become subjected to his recent… preoccupation.
“What are you on about, Jared?”
“You know, like… do you ever just hang out at Vitton?”
Damon looks at Jared like he’s two cards short of a deck, then takes another bite out of his sandwich. “No,” he mumbles between lettuce and ham.
“Ever clocked a guy, an American? Kinda yay-high-“ he waves his hand over his own shoulder- “Green eyes. Tight shirt and jeans, maybe.”
“For the love of- look mate, I haven’t seen the guy. So stop asking and let me finish my lunch.”
“Alright, don’t pitch a hissy,” Jared huffs. He pokes at his curry with a plastic spork, but is less interested in the brown goop than in finding somebody who will stop patronizing him.
Sandy arrives at the boys’ table, throwing down her backpack on the bench and slumping in.
“I hate fucking Mythology in Ancient Mycenaean Culture,” she says in a high falsetto that is probably supposed mimic her professor. “Worst module. Ever.” She folds her arms and buries her face in them, dark hair streaming over hunched shoulders.
Jared perks up. “Sandy, hey Sandy.”
“What,” comes the muffled reply.
“Oh god, not this again,” Damon groans, warily eyeing his friend who leans forward and narrowly misses planting his elbow in the plate of curry.
Jared ignores him and proceeds to unleash a barrage of questions at Sandy, who looks up only after he offers food as bribery.
“C’mon Sandy, chin up, eat this. So you have seen him around?”
She unfolds her arms and agreeably takes the largely uneaten meal, digging in. “Mmm… I love it when they use real ginger.” Jared makes pleading eyes. “Okay, okay. Yeah, I think I’ve seen him a couple times before. Kind of hard to miss the bloke, looking like that-“ she punctuates with a coy lick of her spork. “I think it was at the library. Yeah, over at Westborough, I remember him with books. The ones he had looked awfully dull.”
Something akin to giddiness, only manlier, rushes through Jared like a volt. “I study at Westborough sometimes,” he gushes.
Sandy rolls her eyes. “Jared, love. It’s the largest library on campus. Hardly a sign of cosmic intervention, sorry.”
“No worries,” Jared replies, oblivious to the sarcasm. He suddenly feels the void in his stomach like a punch to the gut, remembering that he hadn’t eaten since the night before. He tugs the Styrofoam plate back.
“Hey-“
“I’m famished,” Jared says, reaching for the plastic utensil that Sandy twists away from his grabby hands. She snaps up one more bite before relinquishing it.
“Indian giver,” she pouts.
“Oh, give it a rest. You ate half of it already,” Jared says through a mouthful of rice as Sandy scrunches her face up in distaste. Damon watches the exchange with vague disinterest, utterly accustomed and immune to their childish banter.
“So,” Damon says as he brushes sandwich crumbs off his shirt. “What’s the big deal, anyway? Does the guy owe you money or something?”
Jared chews thoughtfully, taking a moment to let the words sink in. Good question, he eventually realizes with a little pang of alarm. “It’s not like that,” he eventually says. His friends watch him chew through three more spoonfuls before he elaborates, “He’s ah, he’s got something of mine. When we bumped into each other, I think he accidentally took my notebook. I have an exam on Wednesday, so I’ve got to find him.” Jared swallows the last of his lunch and leans back, tossing the empty plate and spork into a nearby bin.
“I see,” Sandy muses, though Jared can tell she doesn’t quite believe him. Twenty years of close friendship will hone the radar, and Sandy is no exception to the rule. Jared plasters on his best facsimile of a reassuring smile, but this only makes her neatly shaped eyebrow raise. He can almost hear her saying oh, c’mon in his head.
“Alright ladies, I’ve got to go,” Jared says with discomfort as Sandy’s pinning gaze doesn’t let up. Damon mumbles something that sounds like not the one with the girly hair, here as Jared stands up and hoists his bag onto his shoulder. “Drinks later, yeah?”
They quickly confirm a time to meet and then Jared is off, scuffed Converses briskly carrying him towards Westborough Library.
It’s just studying, that’s all. Jared has a bit of paperwork to do before his next class anyway, so why not in a suitable environment? Green Eyes, as he’s dubbed him, may or may not be there but that is entirely beside the point. Entirely, entirely.
-----
Only, two weeks later when Jared finally meets Green Eyes again, he kind of can’t bring himself to actually make eye contact, much less attempt coherent conversation. Which would maybe help in solving that all-consuming question of why the hell he even cares so much, but seeing as how he can barely manage to hold it together while the guy just stands there, hip casual against Jared’s table, Jared reckons that the answer will just have to wait.
It figures that after two weeks of unsuccessful reconnaissance, two weeks of wanting to at least know the guy’s name, that the first day Jared actually goes to the library to get some work done is the day he shows up. Of course.
“Was it all it was cracked up to be?”
“M’sorry?” Jared guiltily lifts his head from behind his textbook. Damned political science courses and their little paperbacks. No proper coverage at all.
“Kern. That’s where you were going, right?”
“Oh right, yeah. It was, er, just fine. Thanks,” Jared frowns as he listens to himself.
Green Eyes smiles, too amused for Jared’s comfort, and says, “It’s just that you looked a little lost. Thought I’d follow up on you.” He pushes himself off Jared’s table with his hip in one smooth undulation, arms still crossed, and smiles down at Jared.
Probably practiced that at home, Jared thinks as he feels his ears warm. What a poser.
“Well okay, I’ll leave you alone with-“ the man peers down and reads, “The Powers of War and Peace. See you around, kid.” He nods his head goodbye as Jared blinks in bewilderment, then walks past him to venture further into the library.
Considering how thoroughly and often Jared had envisioned their re-acquaintance, when it actually happens he can’t help but wonder if he’d imagined it (although this definitely would’ve registered as one of the more undesirable scenarios). Belatedly, Jared jerks around to look over his shoulder and spies the retreating back of a worn, olive green T-shirt that dips between shoulder blades and skims below the waistband of distressed jeans. Unfortunately, it would appear that Jared really had just made a right prat of himself.
Bloody hell. Jared turns back around, disengages his fingernails from the pages of his book, and sets it facedown. Only hesitating for a moment, Jared soon eschews whatever schoolwork needs to be done in favor of reclaiming the honor of owning any balls, and gathers his belongings.
He vaguely wonders what he’s doing as he follows along the narrow aisle that the American turned down. But Jared quickly brushes all misgivings aside, because he really wants to re-write his undoubtedly lackluster first impression.
It takes a minute or two, but Jared eventually finds him by a large, clear-paned window. Green Eyes has a PowerBook set up and rimless glasses perched on his straight nose. Jared swallows.
“Hey uh-” Jared starts, as the guy looks up. “I was just, um, thinking about how, well, I don’t know your name, um, or anything,” Jared says smoothly. He kind of wants to cry by this point, but takes a steadying breath anyway and simply states, “I’m Jared.”
Small grin in place, the man replies, “Jensen.” He takes his right hand off the keyboard and holds it out.
Firm grip, but not too hard, Jared instructs himself as he takes it, letting the heat of Jensen’s palm pool into his own. He tries not to feel bereft when the handshake ends.
“I’ve got lecture now,” Jared says, proud when his voice holds its own. Jensen leans back in his chair and his smile dims ever-so-slightly, and Jared wants to cheer when he sees the disappointment etched on Jensen’s face. Feeling slightly more courageous, he says, “But I’m always about.” At least I will be. “Alright, that’s all. Cheers.”
“Bye, Jared,” Jensen says, husky voice savoring his name and Jared feels something like thrill course through him.
Later on that night, amidst a group of four or five of their friends, Damon gets the first round of drinks for everybody. By Jared’s fourth stout, he’s telling everybody and everything that will listen about Jensen, American-accented Jensen and how he kind of looks he works the night shift, but he’s smart because he has glasses and a laptop and by the seventh drink, everybody at Sols Arms that night knows that Jared is sporting the largest man-crush ever known to Braxton University.
Not that anyone perceives it as threatening; no, everybody pretty much assumes that Jared Padalecki, son of television mogul Gerald Padalecki, is dating heiress Sandra McCoy. The two of them never really bothered to correct the general misconception so while everybody indulges Jared’s infatuation with amusement, only Sandy gets the honor of realizing the truth.
The truth being, her best friend is head over heels for a man named Jensen, and this worries her. This worries her a lot.
Next
Pairing: Jensen/Jared
Author: aeroport_art
Rating: eventual NC-17
Warnings: None
Word Count: 3,125 (24,000)
Disclaimer: Not mine, no money being made.
Notes: At first I didn't want to rewrite my old uni!AU because it seems cheap to milk a story with some washed out redux. BUT. It bothered me for ages that I never gave Sky in the Box a proper ending, so whatever--I don't expect people to throw themselves all over this story, it's more for my own closure. That, and I did wind up doing some heavy-duty editing, so at least it's not something completely lame like simply swapping out the names. In any case, thanks to nativestar and lavendervamp for brit-picking this round. Yay, I'm so happy I finally finished this baby!
Summary: In which Jared is a wee British undergrad, and Jensen, American postgrad extraordinnaire, seduces him with how great his ass looks in a pair of jeans.
Braxton University, England
“C’mon, please? It’s on your way to the library.”
“I don’t know which library you’re talking about,” Jared complains. The crumbling look Damon sends him, however, is so pathetic that Jared has no choice but to relent. He sighs. “Fine. Hand it over, already, before you start blubbering on your homework.”
“Knew I could count on you, Jay,” his friend brightly replies as he hands over his assignment.
“I’ll take payment in booze. Now sod off before she leaves without you.” Jared plucks the white folder out of his friend’s hands and waves him off with it, smile playing on his lips as he watches Damon go.
Jared glances down at his watch, groaning inwardly. Gonna be late for class. Hurrying across campus, Jared cuts through the Student Union, dodging the kids streaming in and out, when he hears his name called out over the outdoor din.
“Jared!”
He turns around, breaking out into a toothy grin when he catches sight of his best friend, Sandy; tiny and cute as a button, with long swaying hair and a smile bright enough to wage war against Jared’s own, the two have been family friends since they were in nappies.
Jared’s pleased to see her but he calls out, “Get a gallop on, Sandy!” as he maintains his pace. She jogs towards Jared and falls in step with him, albeit with difficulty.
“Where you off to?”
“Been conned into running errands for Damon. I’m just stopping by Kern to drop this off for him.”
“Again?” Sandy asks, jogging two steps for every one of Jared’s long strides.
Jared laughs. “Yeah, again.”
“Sucker,” she smirks. Before Jared can deliver a rebuttal, Sandy changes the subject- “So anyway, is anything going on for the weekend? I was thinking Sols Arms.”
“I like the way your mind works,” Jared says, grinning large. “Not tomorrow though, I’ve got that thing-you know, the debate meeting.”
“Yeah, I remember. Friday then?” Sandy jogs a few steps ahead again, letting Jared’s stride engulf her own as he makes an assenting noise. After a couple more minutes she finally sighs, “It’s like pacing a giraffe, I can’t keep up with you.” Sandy slows down-yells after him, “I’ll call you about Friday!”
“Friday!” Jared throws back, even as he glances down at his watch, which informs him that he’s late for class. Again. Eurgh, he hopes the professor will be in a forgiving mood that day.
Jared upgrades his walk to more of a shuffling jog, cursing the sprawling size of Braxton University.
-----
Situated on the outskirts of London, Braxton University was Jared’s top choice during the application process due to its highly competitive law program and proximity to the city; thus he entered the Law department sans the deliberation that plagued his school mates. Now taking only law classes, Jared finds himself largely restrained to Trotter Hall. Unfortunately in this case, this means that his classes are clear across campus from Damon’s. But still, a favor’s a favor.
Ah, shortcut, he thinks as he spies Vitton, home to all the administrative offices and adjunct of the Architecture department. It stands in front of Kern, nearly flush against it, and with any luck Jared can go through instead of circumventing the long, narrow building.
Jared pushes the tall glass doors of Vitton open and heads in the general direction of Kern, hoping for a direct route to the other building.
No, no, no, not this way, he groans as the hallway quickly bends away from his destination. Where the bloody hell is the exit?
Jared plows his way past classroom after classroom, finding himself deeply entrenched in the hallways that are decorated with students’ work; AutoCAD printouts and miniature models glorify the architecture wing but all Jared wants to see is a bright, beautiful way out.
He’s staring up at the ceiling, completely oblivious to what’s in front of him as he searches for a green-lit exit sign, when Jared collides into something solid and pointy.
“Oof,” he grunts as the corners from three stacked textbooks jam into his stomach. The heavy books scatter to the ground in protest, empty whumps echoing down vacant halls. “Sorry,” Jared automatically says, bending down to help pick them up.
“What were you looking at?”
The voice that rings out-lazy and playful-it stops Jared in his tracks, his hand stilling on a thick tome that reads Neo-Classicism and its Many Incarnations. Jared looks up.
The man in front of him is crouched down as well, gathering the thinner two of the three books and meeting Jared’s surprised gaze.
“…you’re American?” Jared asks, the question out of his mouth before he has a chance to rein it in.
“Born and raised,” the man replies, quirking a polite smile that reeks of over-use. He sits back on his haunches.
“Well yeah, you’ve got that um…” Jared trails off, wondering how to describe that slow, easy accent, almost exaggerated in its thick drawl, in a way that won’t make him sound completely dim or redundant. Only, he soon realizes that there is none so Jared shuts his mouth and stares back.
The other man blinks, smile still playing on his lips as he looks expectantly at Jared.
“Oh!” Flustered, Jared finally picks up the textbook he has his hand on and thrusts it at the other man. “Sorry.”
“No problem,” the man says. He cradles the books against a black, T-shirt-clad chest and rises, eyes still amusedly trained on Jared.
When he finally makes to step aside, Jared blurts, “Wait.”
Wait, what? he asks himself in a mild panic. “Er.” The other man lifts an eyebrow, looking more comfortable in own his skin than anybody has the right to be. Especially when Jared is currently feeling a confusing mash-up of rushed, embarrassed, and intrigued.
The man slowly blinks again, and Jared skeptically wonders if those lashes are entirely natural. When full lips open to speak, Jared hastily interrupts, “Er, how do I get to Kern from here?”
Jared sees a flash of very straight teeth before he hears, “You passed the door a few classrooms back. It kind of blends in with the wall, but it’ll be on your left.”
“Right-o, thanks,” Jared blurts. He mentally slaps himself, thinking, Right-o? What am I, Hugh Grant?
“Don’t go running into anymore strangers, okay? They’re not all as nice as me,” the man teases and Jared wants to stop fidgeting, but he can’t. Instead he pulls his lips into a passable smile (he hopes, though he’s feeling vaguely sickly) and turns around, going back the way he came.
Unfortunately, the other man is going the same way and walks beside him, languid swagger in dark denims, and Jared spends an excruciating minute debating whether or not it would be rude to speed-walk (run) away before he finally spies the painted side door and pushes into it, hurtling out into the cool air.
Jared hears a small chuckle before the heavy door slams shut. He takes a moment to stare at the innocuous door, curses Damon so harshly he blushes himself, then checks his watch again.
Fuck. Ten minutes late and he hasn’t even dropped off the damned folder yet. Damon, it’s gonna be your shout down the boozer all night, he swears before dashing into Kern and maneuvering through more familiar territory.
Only after he’s slipped Damon’s assignment under the office door, power-walked through Kern and past Vitton with a generous, wide berth, does he give himself a moment to let the niggling thing at the back of his mind bubble to the surface.
Really, really green eyes, Jared thinks, hands shoved deep in his pockets as he outstrips any passerby with his hurried gait and long legs. He thinks about the color and clarity of them, thinks about the man’s languid accent and lopsided smirk, and the image spins like a reel through his mind until he’s reached his criminology lecture and is weakly shrugging at his professor’s annoyed gaze as he slinks in through the back.
There aren’t any empty seats in the last five or so rows so Jared awkwardly smushes past shifting legs to get to one near the front. He hears the girl behind him sigh with displeasure and so he slumps down, trying not to block the view of the presentation.
“As I was saying,” the professor pointedly continues. But although Jared eventually has his notebook out, pen diligently copying down the notes off the slides, his finds himself unable to pay proper attention. Instead he keeps half an ear out for the lecture, and the rest of his focus on sketching eyes and girly-looking lips in the margins of his notes.
-----
He thinks that by the weekend, he’ll have long forgotten that awkward encounter in the architecture block. But he hasn’t.
In fact, Jared is so far removed from forgetting about it that he finds himself doing a double-take at every dark-haired crew cut, every echo of an American accent, and it gets to the point that even his friends have become subjected to his recent… preoccupation.
“What are you on about, Jared?”
“You know, like… do you ever just hang out at Vitton?”
Damon looks at Jared like he’s two cards short of a deck, then takes another bite out of his sandwich. “No,” he mumbles between lettuce and ham.
“Ever clocked a guy, an American? Kinda yay-high-“ he waves his hand over his own shoulder- “Green eyes. Tight shirt and jeans, maybe.”
“For the love of- look mate, I haven’t seen the guy. So stop asking and let me finish my lunch.”
“Alright, don’t pitch a hissy,” Jared huffs. He pokes at his curry with a plastic spork, but is less interested in the brown goop than in finding somebody who will stop patronizing him.
Sandy arrives at the boys’ table, throwing down her backpack on the bench and slumping in.
“I hate fucking Mythology in Ancient Mycenaean Culture,” she says in a high falsetto that is probably supposed mimic her professor. “Worst module. Ever.” She folds her arms and buries her face in them, dark hair streaming over hunched shoulders.
Jared perks up. “Sandy, hey Sandy.”
“What,” comes the muffled reply.
“Oh god, not this again,” Damon groans, warily eyeing his friend who leans forward and narrowly misses planting his elbow in the plate of curry.
Jared ignores him and proceeds to unleash a barrage of questions at Sandy, who looks up only after he offers food as bribery.
“C’mon Sandy, chin up, eat this. So you have seen him around?”
She unfolds her arms and agreeably takes the largely uneaten meal, digging in. “Mmm… I love it when they use real ginger.” Jared makes pleading eyes. “Okay, okay. Yeah, I think I’ve seen him a couple times before. Kind of hard to miss the bloke, looking like that-“ she punctuates with a coy lick of her spork. “I think it was at the library. Yeah, over at Westborough, I remember him with books. The ones he had looked awfully dull.”
Something akin to giddiness, only manlier, rushes through Jared like a volt. “I study at Westborough sometimes,” he gushes.
Sandy rolls her eyes. “Jared, love. It’s the largest library on campus. Hardly a sign of cosmic intervention, sorry.”
“No worries,” Jared replies, oblivious to the sarcasm. He suddenly feels the void in his stomach like a punch to the gut, remembering that he hadn’t eaten since the night before. He tugs the Styrofoam plate back.
“Hey-“
“I’m famished,” Jared says, reaching for the plastic utensil that Sandy twists away from his grabby hands. She snaps up one more bite before relinquishing it.
“Indian giver,” she pouts.
“Oh, give it a rest. You ate half of it already,” Jared says through a mouthful of rice as Sandy scrunches her face up in distaste. Damon watches the exchange with vague disinterest, utterly accustomed and immune to their childish banter.
“So,” Damon says as he brushes sandwich crumbs off his shirt. “What’s the big deal, anyway? Does the guy owe you money or something?”
Jared chews thoughtfully, taking a moment to let the words sink in. Good question, he eventually realizes with a little pang of alarm. “It’s not like that,” he eventually says. His friends watch him chew through three more spoonfuls before he elaborates, “He’s ah, he’s got something of mine. When we bumped into each other, I think he accidentally took my notebook. I have an exam on Wednesday, so I’ve got to find him.” Jared swallows the last of his lunch and leans back, tossing the empty plate and spork into a nearby bin.
“I see,” Sandy muses, though Jared can tell she doesn’t quite believe him. Twenty years of close friendship will hone the radar, and Sandy is no exception to the rule. Jared plasters on his best facsimile of a reassuring smile, but this only makes her neatly shaped eyebrow raise. He can almost hear her saying oh, c’mon in his head.
“Alright ladies, I’ve got to go,” Jared says with discomfort as Sandy’s pinning gaze doesn’t let up. Damon mumbles something that sounds like not the one with the girly hair, here as Jared stands up and hoists his bag onto his shoulder. “Drinks later, yeah?”
They quickly confirm a time to meet and then Jared is off, scuffed Converses briskly carrying him towards Westborough Library.
It’s just studying, that’s all. Jared has a bit of paperwork to do before his next class anyway, so why not in a suitable environment? Green Eyes, as he’s dubbed him, may or may not be there but that is entirely beside the point. Entirely, entirely.
-----
Only, two weeks later when Jared finally meets Green Eyes again, he kind of can’t bring himself to actually make eye contact, much less attempt coherent conversation. Which would maybe help in solving that all-consuming question of why the hell he even cares so much, but seeing as how he can barely manage to hold it together while the guy just stands there, hip casual against Jared’s table, Jared reckons that the answer will just have to wait.
It figures that after two weeks of unsuccessful reconnaissance, two weeks of wanting to at least know the guy’s name, that the first day Jared actually goes to the library to get some work done is the day he shows up. Of course.
“Was it all it was cracked up to be?”
“M’sorry?” Jared guiltily lifts his head from behind his textbook. Damned political science courses and their little paperbacks. No proper coverage at all.
“Kern. That’s where you were going, right?”
“Oh right, yeah. It was, er, just fine. Thanks,” Jared frowns as he listens to himself.
Green Eyes smiles, too amused for Jared’s comfort, and says, “It’s just that you looked a little lost. Thought I’d follow up on you.” He pushes himself off Jared’s table with his hip in one smooth undulation, arms still crossed, and smiles down at Jared.
Probably practiced that at home, Jared thinks as he feels his ears warm. What a poser.
“Well okay, I’ll leave you alone with-“ the man peers down and reads, “The Powers of War and Peace. See you around, kid.” He nods his head goodbye as Jared blinks in bewilderment, then walks past him to venture further into the library.
Considering how thoroughly and often Jared had envisioned their re-acquaintance, when it actually happens he can’t help but wonder if he’d imagined it (although this definitely would’ve registered as one of the more undesirable scenarios). Belatedly, Jared jerks around to look over his shoulder and spies the retreating back of a worn, olive green T-shirt that dips between shoulder blades and skims below the waistband of distressed jeans. Unfortunately, it would appear that Jared really had just made a right prat of himself.
Bloody hell. Jared turns back around, disengages his fingernails from the pages of his book, and sets it facedown. Only hesitating for a moment, Jared soon eschews whatever schoolwork needs to be done in favor of reclaiming the honor of owning any balls, and gathers his belongings.
He vaguely wonders what he’s doing as he follows along the narrow aisle that the American turned down. But Jared quickly brushes all misgivings aside, because he really wants to re-write his undoubtedly lackluster first impression.
It takes a minute or two, but Jared eventually finds him by a large, clear-paned window. Green Eyes has a PowerBook set up and rimless glasses perched on his straight nose. Jared swallows.
“Hey uh-” Jared starts, as the guy looks up. “I was just, um, thinking about how, well, I don’t know your name, um, or anything,” Jared says smoothly. He kind of wants to cry by this point, but takes a steadying breath anyway and simply states, “I’m Jared.”
Small grin in place, the man replies, “Jensen.” He takes his right hand off the keyboard and holds it out.
Firm grip, but not too hard, Jared instructs himself as he takes it, letting the heat of Jensen’s palm pool into his own. He tries not to feel bereft when the handshake ends.
“I’ve got lecture now,” Jared says, proud when his voice holds its own. Jensen leans back in his chair and his smile dims ever-so-slightly, and Jared wants to cheer when he sees the disappointment etched on Jensen’s face. Feeling slightly more courageous, he says, “But I’m always about.” At least I will be. “Alright, that’s all. Cheers.”
“Bye, Jared,” Jensen says, husky voice savoring his name and Jared feels something like thrill course through him.
Later on that night, amidst a group of four or five of their friends, Damon gets the first round of drinks for everybody. By Jared’s fourth stout, he’s telling everybody and everything that will listen about Jensen, American-accented Jensen and how he kind of looks he works the night shift, but he’s smart because he has glasses and a laptop and by the seventh drink, everybody at Sols Arms that night knows that Jared is sporting the largest man-crush ever known to Braxton University.
Not that anyone perceives it as threatening; no, everybody pretty much assumes that Jared Padalecki, son of television mogul Gerald Padalecki, is dating heiress Sandra McCoy. The two of them never really bothered to correct the general misconception so while everybody indulges Jared’s infatuation with amusement, only Sandy gets the honor of realizing the truth.
The truth being, her best friend is head over heels for a man named Jensen, and this worries her. This worries her a lot.
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