RPS Fic: Cohabitation (1/1)
Cohabitation
SPN RPS: Jared/Jensen
Rating: PG-13
4,244 words.
Unbeta'ed. A little bit of fic because who can resist Jared and Jensen living in the same effing house. Oh, to be a fly on that wall. A sort of ode. :)
Jensen memorized his list last night. When he wakes up, he goes straight to the kitchen to recite it. He doesn't want to forget. Jared's on the stool at the counter, eating. Of course.
"I have ten reasons you should move out."
Jared barely looks up from his bowl of cereal. "Okay, well cull that down for me, yeah? I'm not--" He gulps down a spoonful, wipes milk off his chin. "Don't really have the time to listen to ten."
"You're listening to ten," Jensen states.
"Hey, start with the first one."
Jensen takes a deep breath. "You're a huge pain in my ass."
"Oh." Jared nods. "Pretty damning stuff."
Jensen shrugs. "You said it."
"I mean. Not much room for argument there."
"I hear the truth is cold and hard."
Jared sucks his teeth, hands braced on his knees. "I'm chilled," he admits. "And--hardened?"
"That's what she said." Jensen pauses. "He said?" He nods. "That's what he said."
"Well, great. Just. Something to think about?" Jared walks around the counter, rinses out his bowl in the sink. "This is kinda my house."
"I pay rent."
"Yeah, but--to me. I'm your landlord. Right? So."
Jensen narrows his eyes. "You said we'd be roommates. That I would have equal say. Mi casa es su casa, were your exact words."
Jared laughs. "Well, yeah. And don't get me wrong. I meant it at the time."
Jensen sighs, makes his way into the kitchen. He tugs open the refrigerator, squats down to inspect his neatly labeled shelf. His mozzarella's been opened. "Did you open this?"
Jared cranes over Jensen's shoulder on his way back to his seat at the counter. "I wanted to smell it. Anyway. At the time, you also promised you wouldn't try to run me out of my own house."
Jensen rolls his eyes. "I'm pretty sure I didn't promise that."
"Okay, technically." Jared peels a hardboiled egg, pieces of shell showering onto the kitchen tile. "But it's implied, don't you think? Just one of those unspoken rules. Like, agreeing to keep a respectful distance from strangers, or not to strip in public, or not, you know, down-the-line stage a takeover and kick your best friend out of the home he took you into."
Jensen raises a skeptical eyebrow at the romaine heart he pulls from the crisper. "Would you say, according to your own personal experience only, that unspoken rules get broken a lot?"
Jared eats his egg messily. "Hm."
Jensen turns finally, lettuce, tomatoes and mozzarella in hand. Jared's a picture. Heavily in thought, yolk crumbles clinging to his lower lip, smeared over his chin.
Jared grins, sunny, mouth wide open and filled with mashed up egg.
Jensen grimaces. "Thanks for that."
Jared winks. He swallows, then concedes. "You've got a point."
Jensen nods. "Glad you agree." He unties the bread bag, pulls out four slices.
"We own a cutting board." Jared wrinkles his nose as Jensen slices the tomatoes directly onto the marble countertop, guts a puddle around the red fruit flesh.
"Do you know where it is?" Jensen asks, concentrating on the shiny knife in his hand. It's sharp enough to cut through a penny.
Jared shuts up, watches him assemble the sandwiches until: "No meat?"
Jensen eyes Jared's midsection showily. "Donna says they don't have the budget to buy Sam a whole new supply of fat jeans."
Jared hums happily, flips him the middle finger. "Mayo?" he asks, hopefully.
Jensen sighs. "If you want it--" He looks Jared in the eye patiently. "Go get it your damn self."
Jared grins wider. Like he won something. Ridiculous.
He gets up and Jensen hears the refrigerator door open up behind him, a lot of rustling. He winces. He has a system. And that is the sound of shit getting messed up. He knows it.
Jared's arm reaches over his shoulder, a jar of mayonnaise plunked down directly in front of him. He stands next to Jensen, palms spread against the marble, one finger drawing out little lines of tomato water from the puddle. He points. "It's low-fat!"
"You should move out. I have nine more reasons." Jensen can see Jared open his mouth from the corner of his eye, and he cuts him off. "And the first one was that you're a huge pain in my ass."
Jared's mouth snaps shut. Then opens again. "Nothing wrong with needing a reminder. Hey, we can take a vote. Harley and Sadie should get a say."
"Oh, they did." Jensen scrapes a thin layer of mayo across a couple slices of bread. Then, off the sound of a throat clearing, rolls his eyes and dollops on a little more. "This morning. After I took them on their walk. While feeding them the scraps of bacon from last night's brinner." He fakes a wince. "Should I say how that went, or--?"
"No fair!"
"Oh, come on, Jay. Nobody likes a sore loser." Jensen slaps the sandwiches together and Jared scoops them into the Ziploc bags he'd gotten ready.
Jared squeezes his lightly. Lays it flat against the counter and pokes the soft bread. "This isn't toasted. And it's wheat." He sounds pretty morose.
Jensen grabs his sandwich from Jared's other hand, an apple from the fruit bowl. He hums sympathetically. "It's like the world's out to get you." He rummages through a cupboard. He hates rummaging. He hates a kitchen that requires rummaging. "Well, look." He emerges triumphant with a protein bar and turns back to Jared.
He looks up hopefully from poking the sandwich.
Jensen smiles kindly. "I'll completely help you move."
Jared laughs. "See, if I'd known that from the beginning."
****
On the phone to Josh, he says, "We have two Wii's, two Playstation 3's, two plasma TV's and one dented frying pan."
"I've known you your whole life," Josh says immediately. "Longer than Chris. Longer than anyone."
Jensen sighs. "Fine. You can have the pan."
****
Jared keeps his bedroom door closed. The first two weeks, Jensen sits in the living room and doesn't stare at Jared's closed door. He reads scripts, Paula Deen chattering low in the background.
He breaks eventually. He knocks on Jared's door, bellows, "Jesus Christ, you horny bastard, give it a rest before it falls off."
He can hear Jared laugh through the door. "It's open, asshole."
Jensen pushes the door open, leans against the jamb. He grins. Jared's sprawled on top of the covers of his bed, script in hand. "What are you doing in here?"
Jared waves the script.
"I'm doing that out there, too."
Jared smiles, nods. "I know. Just--"
"Worried I'm getting sick of you? Because I passed that point two years ago, so."
Jared laughs again, scratches his nose. "I just need some time to unwind."
"What?"
"It's not about you, it's--"
"No, I'm not mad." Jensen chuckles. He raps the doorjamb with his knuckles. He shakes his head, still smiling. "You're telling me I still don't know all there is to know about Jared Padalecki?"
Jared winks. "I like to keep 'em guessing. Switch it around."
"They zig, you zag." Jensen drags the back of his hand over his smile. "Alright, I'm gonna head back to my corner. Leave you in peace."
"Aw." Jared's eyes go gooey with empathy. "Jen Jen. Do you miss me out there?"
Jensen sighs. He examines his fingernails. "Fuck. I woke the beast." This is his own damn fault.
Jared jumps up, digs into his laundry basket. He holds out a worn t-shirt. "Look, take this. You can cuddle up to it and pretend I'm with you. So you don't get scared, all alone in the big ol' living room."
Jensen snatches the shirt and throws it back in Jared's face. He grabs Jared's shoulder, twists him around a little, searching. "Turns on so damn easy, it's the off button giving me issues."
Jared laughs. "Out of my room, asshole."
****
Jensen floats the idea of getting rid of some of their redundant shit. Jared is, predictably, horrified.
"No way!"
Jensen sighs. It's not like he hadn't anticipated this. "Jared, we don't need duplicate video game consoles. One of each is enough. You can take yours to your trailer, or we can sell the extras."
"There's no room to--" Jared waves an imaginary Wiimote. "--In the trailer."
"So eBay it is."
Jared grinds his teeth. "Fine. But sell yours. Not mine."
"What difference does it make?"
Jared glares mutinously. "If it doesn't make a difference, then just sell yours."
It's so stupid. Jensen chews his lip. He forces out, "I like mine."
Jared smirks. He rattles off: "Mine runs quieter, and Chad bought it for me, and Donny drew on it on the bottom."
"Great, it'll go for more as a custom Supernatural model."
"I'll fight it," Jared declares, drawing himself up to his full height. "I'll fight it, and drag your ass to court and never give in until the day I die."
Jensen stares. "Did you--I didn't even--Did you learn to use my espresso machine?"
"Fuck, no." Jared laughs, quiets. "I don't know. I'm very tired."
Oh. "Loopy." He pats Jared on the shoulder.
"I'll probably still put up a struggle. Just less epic."
Jensen shrugs. "I'll probably just slip it to Kim or someone when your back is turned."
Jared rolls his eyes. "Oh, look at the bigshot with his plan."
****
A lot of times, Jensen will go out into the kitchen in the morning and Jared will be watching the dogs eat, bowl of cereal in hand and Jensen will say, "Aw fuck. You again."
And Jared will grin and spit a Cheerio at him, and say, "You're dragging my perfect attendance record down with all these tardies, lazy ass. Move it."
****
Probably the third week, Jensen walks past Jared's room to go to bed and sees a sign on the door. It's on three hole punched, blue-lined paper.
It's scotch-taped lengthwise, and it says, 'Jared Padalecki's Room. KEEP OUT.'
There's a post-it. 'That means YOU. Guy. Initials JRA.'
Jensen snorts. He rips off a corner of the sign, scribbles, 'You're twenty-six years old' and slides it under the door with a quiet knock.
He hears footsteps from inside. Jared threatens softly through the door, "This better not be part of my sign."
****
Jared takes pride in the house. Jensen does too, but differently. He didn't pick it out, or fill out the paperwork, or sign his name on a deed. He doesn't even really know if deeds are involved. House-buying is a mysterious process, to him.
Jared cleans out the gutters in the fall, fishing dead leaves and brown sludge out with his hands. He clomps around the house in work boots on the weekends, knocking on things. Measuring shit.
Jensen buys a portable basketball hoop and sets it up in the driveway.
"Where am I gonna park my car?" Jared asks.
"Uh." Jensen stares at the garage, basketball resting on his hip.
"I wanted to put, like, a workshop in there."
Jensen squints. "What do you mean? Like a jigsaw and shit?"
Jared shrugs, blows on his hands and rubs them together.
"So you can make me a rocking chair?" Jensen asks, looking on the bright side.
"What? No. Dumb."
Jensen glares. "You're dumb."
"My dad had a workshop in the garage at home," Jared says. Jensen's pretty sure Jared thinks that's an explanation.
"If there's no rocking chair, I'm not really seeing a purpose."
Jared shivers, stamps his feet. "What do you want a rocking chair for. You don't look sixty-five."
Jensen flashes a grin. "Annie does good work, doesn't she? Wonder with a make-up brush." He preens.
Jared laughs then goes serious. "I want a table saw. So I can saw things."
Jensen eyes Jared. He's not wearing a jacket and it's pretty much winter in Vancouver. "Go put on a jacket."
"Bzzzzzz." Jared saws his arm back and forth.
"Yeah." Jensen bounces his basketball speculatively, crouches. "No."
Jared sighs. "I'll make you your damn rocking chair."
"No thanks." Jensen shoots.
"You miss I get my table saw and the hoop goes around back!" Jared throws after the ball.
Jensen's basketball drops straight down through the net. Jensen smiles, all teeth. "Swish."
Jared bites the inside of his cheek. "I never get anything I want."
Jensen laughs, jogs after the ball. "Maybe you can take up whittling. I'll buy you a knife."
"I'll play you Horse for the saw."
Jensen sighs. He tosses the basketball from hand to hand. "If you can promise me you'll still be using your table saw a month from now, we can talk about it."
Jared squints into the winter sun, one eye closed more than the other. "You know. You're a lot more like Jeff than I'd have bet."
****
Jared's sign's been patched with a new corner from another sheet of paper and a Band-aid.
Jensen marches into the living room and pulls out the folder on the bottom shelf of the bookcase. He takes out one of Jared's headshots and colors in some teeth, draws horns, a goatee, penises. A lot of penises.
He slides it under Jared's door. He sits with his back to the wall next to the door for a while. When he hears Jared get up and move around, he waits. He hears Jared's choked back laugh, then his exaggerated gasp of horror.
He laughs into his elbow, knees drawn up, breath shuddering out through his nose.
****
Some mornings, Jared tiptoes into his room and gently sits on the edge of Jensen's bed.
Jensen tries to ignore him. Ignore the smell of the coffee Jared has in hand, the rustle of the newspaper as he folds it out. Usually, at that point, he pulls his pillow over his head.
Jared clears his throat. "The major stock indexes were up Friday. The S&P 500 index gained .61% to finish at 1,232.04 and the Dow--" All sonorous and booming and impossible to ignore.
Jensen throws his pillow. Not in any particular direction. Just an instinct to fling. "Probably I'll kill you."
Jared sips his coffee. "Mm. Right now?"
Jensen blinks up at the ceiling, throws himself onto his back. "Did you do the dishes last night?"
"No."
"After that, then."
Jared hums, places the mug within arms reach on the night stand. "Great. Let's eat at Rosie's today."
"Why?"
Jared grins, lazily. "No clean dishes, remember?"
****
They don't really have a housewarming or anything. But everyone they know eventually sees the place over the next few months.
"This is a shithole," says Mike.
"What are you still doing here?" asks Jensen. "Didn't your ass get canned?"
"Fucker, shut up." Mike doesn't look at Tom.
Tom looks around at the lingering boxes, the empty beer bottles, wires upon wires corded in front of the TV. "It's not a shithole."
Mike rolls his eyes. "Fine. It's not a shithole. Great. Take it as a compliment if you want."
Jared laughs. "Thanks." He's easy.
Jensen shrugs. He can be easy, too.
Mike spins in place, soaking everything in, lips pursed. Chews his cheek, then whines, "Fuck, it's so damn BORING. Where are the posters of naked women? Fuck, where are the naked women? This is what the term 'bachelor pad' was invented for!"
"Jesus Christ." Jared chews on a hangnail. "This isn't Greek Row, Mike."
Tom laughs. "He's just having a hard time. I told him you two had been domesticated."
Mike collapses into an armchair. "Everything's falling apart."
Jensen jumps up. "Fine. I'll get a keg. Jared?"
He sighs wearily. "Yeah, yeah. I'll call the hookers."
****
One night, Jensen's sitting facing Jared's door, scrawling a crude sketch over last month's FHM, when it opens.
Jensen looks up at Jared, who's in his boxers. "Sup?"
"Holy mackerel."
Jensen makes a brief 'what-the-fuck' face at that and Jared grins, shrugs.
"You're so obsessed with me."
"Please." Jensen stands, brushing his thighs off.
"You're writing me little love notes outside my bedroom door."
"Dear Jared. Fuck off. Love, Jensen."
Jared grins, one arm bent up behind him, scratching at his broad back. "What were you planning on pushing under my door this time?"
Jensen shrugs. "Nothing. Whatever. It's not fun this way."
Jared pulls a serious face. "Jensen. You're thirty years old."
"Fuuuck." Jensen turns and knocks his forehead against the wall.
Jared snickers.
Jensen rests his head against the wallpaper. It smells glue-y. He hears Jared slide down to the floor.
"Hey."
Jensen turns to look at Jared who's cross-legged, arms holding his weight as he leans back.
"Do you get sick of me?"
Jensen shrugs. "Yeah. And then I go out on my own, or hang with someone else for a few hours."
Jared looks down at his chest, then sits up, scratching at a bite on his pec, chin scrunched down to get a better look at it. "Cuz. I was just thinking. Man, if we ever fight. We'd be screwed."
Jensen thinks about it. He'd have to move. Find a new place. Probably back to the hotel. Find a new best friend, a new co-star, shit. He licks his lower lip, watches Jared. "Yeah," he sighs.
Jared leans back, his head thunks against the wall.
****
Every once in a while, he'll wake up and Jared will be in this mood, like his run was amazing, or the sun was shining particularly bright that day. It's just--it's kind of like this wind that sweeps through the place and Jared will crow, "It's Jensen! Here in my kitchen. Morning, Jensen," and pull him into this bear hug, and they'll both hold on a little longer than they should and Jensen will fight the urge to smell Jared more than necessary.
****
"Another one of my reasons," Jensen begins. "Is that Harley keeps stealing my socks."
"A reason for what? Your reeking feet?"
Jensen shoves Jared with his boot. They're sprawled out in the backseat of Danny's van but there's not much room because Jared's there. Something thunks.
"Hey, guys, c'mon. I have equipment in here," complains Danny.
"Sorry," they say.
"A reason you should move. Out." Jensen stares hard. He doesn't look at the hickey on Jared's neck. "You have a hickey, by the way."
"Aw fuck." Jared slaps a hand over the mark. "She had a mouth like a fucking remora."
"You bring up remoras more than anyone I know."
Jared half-bows. "Thank you."
Jensen glowers. "Harley steals my socks. He shreds them on my bedroom floor. So I'll know. Like a serial killer who leaves a business card so the cop will bug out."
"Shit." Jared presses his knee to Jensen's side. Jensen thinks it's meant to be soothing. It's mostly uncomfortable. "I'm sorry. He has a bad habit."
"Maybe if he'd had better training--"
Jared stiffens. "Whoa."
"Look, I'm just saying. You're really busy and they don't get much time with you. You can't help their backsliding or whatever, just--"
"Shut up, Jensen."
Jensen clenches his jaw. He shoves up against the window. "Dude, what're you getting angry for--"
"Fuck you. You're just bitching at me because I let that chick--" Jensen can hear Jared's teeth click he shuts his mouth so fast.
Jensen doesn't know where he should be looking, but he can't help staring at Jared. Jared, who's got his nose buried in his shirt all of a sudden, just running his teeth over his bottom lip angrily and Jensen has to tell himself to breathe. Silence is--is a good thing right now. A good, safe thing.
Danny starts to whistle quietly in the front. Jensen really hates that guy.
****
They don't talk for half a day until Jared breaks. "Can we just forget it happened?"
Jensen passes him the script. "Let's just run this, okay?" He's tired as hell. Hadn't slept the night, freaking out in bed until he'd gotten up, looked up the phone number of the hotel he'd stayed in and dialed it a few times.
He can feel Jared watching him. Jared finally sighs, sits. "Okay."
Ten minutes in, Jensen mutters, "Nice," after one of Jared's lines and Jared's eyes fly up before he forces them down.
"Thanks."
Then. "Okay, wait, I like that, but then Dean's gonna turn into a shithead and this part doesn't make--here, see?"
Jared looks where Jensen's pointing, nods. "Yeah, yeah, but if Sam says that, then maybe you could do a nonverbal thing? We could take a beat, and then you go into--"
Jensen thinks Jared's head is too close to his and he backs away quickly. "Yeah, that makes a lot of sense. That's. Shit. I've been--Yeah, okay. Yeah."
And Jared's grinning, all proud, and Jensen looks at him and decides to just kind of let it go.
****
Things are weird for a week. Not different, exactly. Heavier? Or something. Jensen likes to ignore it. He falls asleep in front of the TV and wakes up to Alton Brown or Les Stroud.
He's nicer to Harley, too. Little bits of turkey, an extra rib bone. He carefully balls up all his socks and makes sure they end up in his hamper.
Jared's bigger, all the time. He leaves his door open at night, now, but Jensen doesn't go in. They play Mario Kart, but Jensen's pretty sure Jared's letting him win.
He keeps the hotel's number on his phone.
One morning, he walks out and Jared's not eating cereal. He's making sandwiches, and there are like. Muffins. And remnants of squeezed-out orange halves, all pulpy and white inside. Jensen laughs. "What are you doing?
Jared freezes, nervous smile on his lips. "Making a lot of food. For breakfast and, you know. To eat later."
"Why?"
And Jared kind of shrinks down a little and--he doesn't whisper exactly, but. "Look, I thought it--" he waves a hand around emptily "--would be better by now and. Maybe--I said what I said, and it was. I didn't mean to--"
"Augh." Jensen winces, smiles over at Jared wryly. "Can we not talk about it?"
Jared taps his fist against his mouth three times. "Yeah. Yes. Okay."
****
That night Jensen wakes up, because his bedroom door swings open. Jared's standing there. Jensen can see the nightlight in the hallway glowing behind his silhouette. The nightlights are stupid, Jensen thinks. Why would the dogs need nightlights? They sleep just like we do.
He thinks about that until Jared gets on the bed and curls up behind him and then really, he can't not think about what the hell is going on anymore. "Uh." Jared shifts closer, one arm falling over Jensen's chest. "Jared?"
Jared grunts, chin on Jensen's shoulder. "I'm sleepwalking," he explains.
Jensen raises an eyebrow. "Interesting."
"Not really." Jared's breath is warm.
"You sound awake." He waits for a response that doesn't come, lying still as he can. "Jared?"
"Urgh." Jared presses his face to Jensen's upper arm. His lips brush against Jensen as he talks. "You're not supposed to wake up a sleepwalker. I'll get brain damage or something."
"How much more damaged could your brain get?" Jensen asks.
"Haha. Good thing I'm asleep and not awake to take these blows to my fragile ego."
Jensen huffs, relaxes. He taps a finger against the wrist on his hip. "Good thing."
****
In the morning, Jensen wakes up alone. He stumbles out into the kitchen, boxers low on his hips. Jared beams at him through a mouthful of cereal.
"Jensen Ackles! Here in my kitchen." He looks like he's about to spout off the word delighted, or peachy, or gee whillikers. He gets to his feet and wraps one arm around Jensen's waist, the other holding his bowl up a safe distance away.
"Alright, alright." Jensen pushes at Jared's chest. He twists a nipple hard, in passing. "Freak."
Jared won't stop smiling. "Honey ham, today, please."
"Do I look like a deli service?" Jensen pulls open the refrigerator, tugs out the honey ham. "God, one day that metabolism's gonna turn off and you're gonna get so damn fat."
"Amount you talk about it, starting to think you're hoping for it."
"I'm just looking to the day the earth rumbles every step you take. It's gonna be neat."
"Neat," Jared repeats.
Jensen gathers up the sandwich supplies, a barrier of food between him and Jared. He plants his hands, looks straight at Jared. "You don't sleepwalk, do you, Jay?"
Jared grins. He takes a huge spoonful of Cheerios. "I've heard that can kick in out of nowhere, sometimes," he says, milk dribbling down his chin.
****
Jared sleepwalks for a few more days.
Thursday, Jensen turns Jared onto his back and leans over him, elbows on either side of Jared's head. It's six in the morning, and Jared's actually asleep, knocked out so hard an earthquake couldn't wake him.
Jensen breathes with him. Long pulls of air, chest rising and falling, until, all of a sudden, he's there, lips against Jared's and he has to think, kiss him, you fucking weirdo.
Jensen kisses him, slow and waiting, until Jared starts to respond, until he tastes tongue and teeth and feels firm, amazing pressure.
When he pulls away, his hand's on Jared's face, thumb sweeping just under Jared's eyelid. He says. "Wake up."
THE END
SPN RPS: Jared/Jensen
Rating: PG-13
4,244 words.
Unbeta'ed. A little bit of fic because who can resist Jared and Jensen living in the same effing house. Oh, to be a fly on that wall. A sort of ode. :)
Jensen memorized his list last night. When he wakes up, he goes straight to the kitchen to recite it. He doesn't want to forget. Jared's on the stool at the counter, eating. Of course.
"I have ten reasons you should move out."
Jared barely looks up from his bowl of cereal. "Okay, well cull that down for me, yeah? I'm not--" He gulps down a spoonful, wipes milk off his chin. "Don't really have the time to listen to ten."
"You're listening to ten," Jensen states.
"Hey, start with the first one."
Jensen takes a deep breath. "You're a huge pain in my ass."
"Oh." Jared nods. "Pretty damning stuff."
Jensen shrugs. "You said it."
"I mean. Not much room for argument there."
"I hear the truth is cold and hard."
Jared sucks his teeth, hands braced on his knees. "I'm chilled," he admits. "And--hardened?"
"That's what she said." Jensen pauses. "He said?" He nods. "That's what he said."
"Well, great. Just. Something to think about?" Jared walks around the counter, rinses out his bowl in the sink. "This is kinda my house."
"I pay rent."
"Yeah, but--to me. I'm your landlord. Right? So."
Jensen narrows his eyes. "You said we'd be roommates. That I would have equal say. Mi casa es su casa, were your exact words."
Jared laughs. "Well, yeah. And don't get me wrong. I meant it at the time."
Jensen sighs, makes his way into the kitchen. He tugs open the refrigerator, squats down to inspect his neatly labeled shelf. His mozzarella's been opened. "Did you open this?"
Jared cranes over Jensen's shoulder on his way back to his seat at the counter. "I wanted to smell it. Anyway. At the time, you also promised you wouldn't try to run me out of my own house."
Jensen rolls his eyes. "I'm pretty sure I didn't promise that."
"Okay, technically." Jared peels a hardboiled egg, pieces of shell showering onto the kitchen tile. "But it's implied, don't you think? Just one of those unspoken rules. Like, agreeing to keep a respectful distance from strangers, or not to strip in public, or not, you know, down-the-line stage a takeover and kick your best friend out of the home he took you into."
Jensen raises a skeptical eyebrow at the romaine heart he pulls from the crisper. "Would you say, according to your own personal experience only, that unspoken rules get broken a lot?"
Jared eats his egg messily. "Hm."
Jensen turns finally, lettuce, tomatoes and mozzarella in hand. Jared's a picture. Heavily in thought, yolk crumbles clinging to his lower lip, smeared over his chin.
Jared grins, sunny, mouth wide open and filled with mashed up egg.
Jensen grimaces. "Thanks for that."
Jared winks. He swallows, then concedes. "You've got a point."
Jensen nods. "Glad you agree." He unties the bread bag, pulls out four slices.
"We own a cutting board." Jared wrinkles his nose as Jensen slices the tomatoes directly onto the marble countertop, guts a puddle around the red fruit flesh.
"Do you know where it is?" Jensen asks, concentrating on the shiny knife in his hand. It's sharp enough to cut through a penny.
Jared shuts up, watches him assemble the sandwiches until: "No meat?"
Jensen eyes Jared's midsection showily. "Donna says they don't have the budget to buy Sam a whole new supply of fat jeans."
Jared hums happily, flips him the middle finger. "Mayo?" he asks, hopefully.
Jensen sighs. "If you want it--" He looks Jared in the eye patiently. "Go get it your damn self."
Jared grins wider. Like he won something. Ridiculous.
He gets up and Jensen hears the refrigerator door open up behind him, a lot of rustling. He winces. He has a system. And that is the sound of shit getting messed up. He knows it.
Jared's arm reaches over his shoulder, a jar of mayonnaise plunked down directly in front of him. He stands next to Jensen, palms spread against the marble, one finger drawing out little lines of tomato water from the puddle. He points. "It's low-fat!"
"You should move out. I have nine more reasons." Jensen can see Jared open his mouth from the corner of his eye, and he cuts him off. "And the first one was that you're a huge pain in my ass."
Jared's mouth snaps shut. Then opens again. "Nothing wrong with needing a reminder. Hey, we can take a vote. Harley and Sadie should get a say."
"Oh, they did." Jensen scrapes a thin layer of mayo across a couple slices of bread. Then, off the sound of a throat clearing, rolls his eyes and dollops on a little more. "This morning. After I took them on their walk. While feeding them the scraps of bacon from last night's brinner." He fakes a wince. "Should I say how that went, or--?"
"No fair!"
"Oh, come on, Jay. Nobody likes a sore loser." Jensen slaps the sandwiches together and Jared scoops them into the Ziploc bags he'd gotten ready.
Jared squeezes his lightly. Lays it flat against the counter and pokes the soft bread. "This isn't toasted. And it's wheat." He sounds pretty morose.
Jensen grabs his sandwich from Jared's other hand, an apple from the fruit bowl. He hums sympathetically. "It's like the world's out to get you." He rummages through a cupboard. He hates rummaging. He hates a kitchen that requires rummaging. "Well, look." He emerges triumphant with a protein bar and turns back to Jared.
He looks up hopefully from poking the sandwich.
Jensen smiles kindly. "I'll completely help you move."
Jared laughs. "See, if I'd known that from the beginning."
****
On the phone to Josh, he says, "We have two Wii's, two Playstation 3's, two plasma TV's and one dented frying pan."
"I've known you your whole life," Josh says immediately. "Longer than Chris. Longer than anyone."
Jensen sighs. "Fine. You can have the pan."
****
Jared keeps his bedroom door closed. The first two weeks, Jensen sits in the living room and doesn't stare at Jared's closed door. He reads scripts, Paula Deen chattering low in the background.
He breaks eventually. He knocks on Jared's door, bellows, "Jesus Christ, you horny bastard, give it a rest before it falls off."
He can hear Jared laugh through the door. "It's open, asshole."
Jensen pushes the door open, leans against the jamb. He grins. Jared's sprawled on top of the covers of his bed, script in hand. "What are you doing in here?"
Jared waves the script.
"I'm doing that out there, too."
Jared smiles, nods. "I know. Just--"
"Worried I'm getting sick of you? Because I passed that point two years ago, so."
Jared laughs again, scratches his nose. "I just need some time to unwind."
"What?"
"It's not about you, it's--"
"No, I'm not mad." Jensen chuckles. He raps the doorjamb with his knuckles. He shakes his head, still smiling. "You're telling me I still don't know all there is to know about Jared Padalecki?"
Jared winks. "I like to keep 'em guessing. Switch it around."
"They zig, you zag." Jensen drags the back of his hand over his smile. "Alright, I'm gonna head back to my corner. Leave you in peace."
"Aw." Jared's eyes go gooey with empathy. "Jen Jen. Do you miss me out there?"
Jensen sighs. He examines his fingernails. "Fuck. I woke the beast." This is his own damn fault.
Jared jumps up, digs into his laundry basket. He holds out a worn t-shirt. "Look, take this. You can cuddle up to it and pretend I'm with you. So you don't get scared, all alone in the big ol' living room."
Jensen snatches the shirt and throws it back in Jared's face. He grabs Jared's shoulder, twists him around a little, searching. "Turns on so damn easy, it's the off button giving me issues."
Jared laughs. "Out of my room, asshole."
****
Jensen floats the idea of getting rid of some of their redundant shit. Jared is, predictably, horrified.
"No way!"
Jensen sighs. It's not like he hadn't anticipated this. "Jared, we don't need duplicate video game consoles. One of each is enough. You can take yours to your trailer, or we can sell the extras."
"There's no room to--" Jared waves an imaginary Wiimote. "--In the trailer."
"So eBay it is."
Jared grinds his teeth. "Fine. But sell yours. Not mine."
"What difference does it make?"
Jared glares mutinously. "If it doesn't make a difference, then just sell yours."
It's so stupid. Jensen chews his lip. He forces out, "I like mine."
Jared smirks. He rattles off: "Mine runs quieter, and Chad bought it for me, and Donny drew on it on the bottom."
"Great, it'll go for more as a custom Supernatural model."
"I'll fight it," Jared declares, drawing himself up to his full height. "I'll fight it, and drag your ass to court and never give in until the day I die."
Jensen stares. "Did you--I didn't even--Did you learn to use my espresso machine?"
"Fuck, no." Jared laughs, quiets. "I don't know. I'm very tired."
Oh. "Loopy." He pats Jared on the shoulder.
"I'll probably still put up a struggle. Just less epic."
Jensen shrugs. "I'll probably just slip it to Kim or someone when your back is turned."
Jared rolls his eyes. "Oh, look at the bigshot with his plan."
****
A lot of times, Jensen will go out into the kitchen in the morning and Jared will be watching the dogs eat, bowl of cereal in hand and Jensen will say, "Aw fuck. You again."
And Jared will grin and spit a Cheerio at him, and say, "You're dragging my perfect attendance record down with all these tardies, lazy ass. Move it."
****
Probably the third week, Jensen walks past Jared's room to go to bed and sees a sign on the door. It's on three hole punched, blue-lined paper.
It's scotch-taped lengthwise, and it says, 'Jared Padalecki's Room. KEEP OUT.'
There's a post-it. 'That means YOU. Guy. Initials JRA.'
Jensen snorts. He rips off a corner of the sign, scribbles, 'You're twenty-six years old' and slides it under the door with a quiet knock.
He hears footsteps from inside. Jared threatens softly through the door, "This better not be part of my sign."
****
Jared takes pride in the house. Jensen does too, but differently. He didn't pick it out, or fill out the paperwork, or sign his name on a deed. He doesn't even really know if deeds are involved. House-buying is a mysterious process, to him.
Jared cleans out the gutters in the fall, fishing dead leaves and brown sludge out with his hands. He clomps around the house in work boots on the weekends, knocking on things. Measuring shit.
Jensen buys a portable basketball hoop and sets it up in the driveway.
"Where am I gonna park my car?" Jared asks.
"Uh." Jensen stares at the garage, basketball resting on his hip.
"I wanted to put, like, a workshop in there."
Jensen squints. "What do you mean? Like a jigsaw and shit?"
Jared shrugs, blows on his hands and rubs them together.
"So you can make me a rocking chair?" Jensen asks, looking on the bright side.
"What? No. Dumb."
Jensen glares. "You're dumb."
"My dad had a workshop in the garage at home," Jared says. Jensen's pretty sure Jared thinks that's an explanation.
"If there's no rocking chair, I'm not really seeing a purpose."
Jared shivers, stamps his feet. "What do you want a rocking chair for. You don't look sixty-five."
Jensen flashes a grin. "Annie does good work, doesn't she? Wonder with a make-up brush." He preens.
Jared laughs then goes serious. "I want a table saw. So I can saw things."
Jensen eyes Jared. He's not wearing a jacket and it's pretty much winter in Vancouver. "Go put on a jacket."
"Bzzzzzz." Jared saws his arm back and forth.
"Yeah." Jensen bounces his basketball speculatively, crouches. "No."
Jared sighs. "I'll make you your damn rocking chair."
"No thanks." Jensen shoots.
"You miss I get my table saw and the hoop goes around back!" Jared throws after the ball.
Jensen's basketball drops straight down through the net. Jensen smiles, all teeth. "Swish."
Jared bites the inside of his cheek. "I never get anything I want."
Jensen laughs, jogs after the ball. "Maybe you can take up whittling. I'll buy you a knife."
"I'll play you Horse for the saw."
Jensen sighs. He tosses the basketball from hand to hand. "If you can promise me you'll still be using your table saw a month from now, we can talk about it."
Jared squints into the winter sun, one eye closed more than the other. "You know. You're a lot more like Jeff than I'd have bet."
****
Jared's sign's been patched with a new corner from another sheet of paper and a Band-aid.
Jensen marches into the living room and pulls out the folder on the bottom shelf of the bookcase. He takes out one of Jared's headshots and colors in some teeth, draws horns, a goatee, penises. A lot of penises.
He slides it under Jared's door. He sits with his back to the wall next to the door for a while. When he hears Jared get up and move around, he waits. He hears Jared's choked back laugh, then his exaggerated gasp of horror.
He laughs into his elbow, knees drawn up, breath shuddering out through his nose.
****
Some mornings, Jared tiptoes into his room and gently sits on the edge of Jensen's bed.
Jensen tries to ignore him. Ignore the smell of the coffee Jared has in hand, the rustle of the newspaper as he folds it out. Usually, at that point, he pulls his pillow over his head.
Jared clears his throat. "The major stock indexes were up Friday. The S&P 500 index gained .61% to finish at 1,232.04 and the Dow--" All sonorous and booming and impossible to ignore.
Jensen throws his pillow. Not in any particular direction. Just an instinct to fling. "Probably I'll kill you."
Jared sips his coffee. "Mm. Right now?"
Jensen blinks up at the ceiling, throws himself onto his back. "Did you do the dishes last night?"
"No."
"After that, then."
Jared hums, places the mug within arms reach on the night stand. "Great. Let's eat at Rosie's today."
"Why?"
Jared grins, lazily. "No clean dishes, remember?"
****
They don't really have a housewarming or anything. But everyone they know eventually sees the place over the next few months.
"This is a shithole," says Mike.
"What are you still doing here?" asks Jensen. "Didn't your ass get canned?"
"Fucker, shut up." Mike doesn't look at Tom.
Tom looks around at the lingering boxes, the empty beer bottles, wires upon wires corded in front of the TV. "It's not a shithole."
Mike rolls his eyes. "Fine. It's not a shithole. Great. Take it as a compliment if you want."
Jared laughs. "Thanks." He's easy.
Jensen shrugs. He can be easy, too.
Mike spins in place, soaking everything in, lips pursed. Chews his cheek, then whines, "Fuck, it's so damn BORING. Where are the posters of naked women? Fuck, where are the naked women? This is what the term 'bachelor pad' was invented for!"
"Jesus Christ." Jared chews on a hangnail. "This isn't Greek Row, Mike."
Tom laughs. "He's just having a hard time. I told him you two had been domesticated."
Mike collapses into an armchair. "Everything's falling apart."
Jensen jumps up. "Fine. I'll get a keg. Jared?"
He sighs wearily. "Yeah, yeah. I'll call the hookers."
****
One night, Jensen's sitting facing Jared's door, scrawling a crude sketch over last month's FHM, when it opens.
Jensen looks up at Jared, who's in his boxers. "Sup?"
"Holy mackerel."
Jensen makes a brief 'what-the-fuck' face at that and Jared grins, shrugs.
"You're so obsessed with me."
"Please." Jensen stands, brushing his thighs off.
"You're writing me little love notes outside my bedroom door."
"Dear Jared. Fuck off. Love, Jensen."
Jared grins, one arm bent up behind him, scratching at his broad back. "What were you planning on pushing under my door this time?"
Jensen shrugs. "Nothing. Whatever. It's not fun this way."
Jared pulls a serious face. "Jensen. You're thirty years old."
"Fuuuck." Jensen turns and knocks his forehead against the wall.
Jared snickers.
Jensen rests his head against the wallpaper. It smells glue-y. He hears Jared slide down to the floor.
"Hey."
Jensen turns to look at Jared who's cross-legged, arms holding his weight as he leans back.
"Do you get sick of me?"
Jensen shrugs. "Yeah. And then I go out on my own, or hang with someone else for a few hours."
Jared looks down at his chest, then sits up, scratching at a bite on his pec, chin scrunched down to get a better look at it. "Cuz. I was just thinking. Man, if we ever fight. We'd be screwed."
Jensen thinks about it. He'd have to move. Find a new place. Probably back to the hotel. Find a new best friend, a new co-star, shit. He licks his lower lip, watches Jared. "Yeah," he sighs.
Jared leans back, his head thunks against the wall.
****
Every once in a while, he'll wake up and Jared will be in this mood, like his run was amazing, or the sun was shining particularly bright that day. It's just--it's kind of like this wind that sweeps through the place and Jared will crow, "It's Jensen! Here in my kitchen. Morning, Jensen," and pull him into this bear hug, and they'll both hold on a little longer than they should and Jensen will fight the urge to smell Jared more than necessary.
****
"Another one of my reasons," Jensen begins. "Is that Harley keeps stealing my socks."
"A reason for what? Your reeking feet?"
Jensen shoves Jared with his boot. They're sprawled out in the backseat of Danny's van but there's not much room because Jared's there. Something thunks.
"Hey, guys, c'mon. I have equipment in here," complains Danny.
"Sorry," they say.
"A reason you should move. Out." Jensen stares hard. He doesn't look at the hickey on Jared's neck. "You have a hickey, by the way."
"Aw fuck." Jared slaps a hand over the mark. "She had a mouth like a fucking remora."
"You bring up remoras more than anyone I know."
Jared half-bows. "Thank you."
Jensen glowers. "Harley steals my socks. He shreds them on my bedroom floor. So I'll know. Like a serial killer who leaves a business card so the cop will bug out."
"Shit." Jared presses his knee to Jensen's side. Jensen thinks it's meant to be soothing. It's mostly uncomfortable. "I'm sorry. He has a bad habit."
"Maybe if he'd had better training--"
Jared stiffens. "Whoa."
"Look, I'm just saying. You're really busy and they don't get much time with you. You can't help their backsliding or whatever, just--"
"Shut up, Jensen."
Jensen clenches his jaw. He shoves up against the window. "Dude, what're you getting angry for--"
"Fuck you. You're just bitching at me because I let that chick--" Jensen can hear Jared's teeth click he shuts his mouth so fast.
Jensen doesn't know where he should be looking, but he can't help staring at Jared. Jared, who's got his nose buried in his shirt all of a sudden, just running his teeth over his bottom lip angrily and Jensen has to tell himself to breathe. Silence is--is a good thing right now. A good, safe thing.
Danny starts to whistle quietly in the front. Jensen really hates that guy.
****
They don't talk for half a day until Jared breaks. "Can we just forget it happened?"
Jensen passes him the script. "Let's just run this, okay?" He's tired as hell. Hadn't slept the night, freaking out in bed until he'd gotten up, looked up the phone number of the hotel he'd stayed in and dialed it a few times.
He can feel Jared watching him. Jared finally sighs, sits. "Okay."
Ten minutes in, Jensen mutters, "Nice," after one of Jared's lines and Jared's eyes fly up before he forces them down.
"Thanks."
Then. "Okay, wait, I like that, but then Dean's gonna turn into a shithead and this part doesn't make--here, see?"
Jared looks where Jensen's pointing, nods. "Yeah, yeah, but if Sam says that, then maybe you could do a nonverbal thing? We could take a beat, and then you go into--"
Jensen thinks Jared's head is too close to his and he backs away quickly. "Yeah, that makes a lot of sense. That's. Shit. I've been--Yeah, okay. Yeah."
And Jared's grinning, all proud, and Jensen looks at him and decides to just kind of let it go.
****
Things are weird for a week. Not different, exactly. Heavier? Or something. Jensen likes to ignore it. He falls asleep in front of the TV and wakes up to Alton Brown or Les Stroud.
He's nicer to Harley, too. Little bits of turkey, an extra rib bone. He carefully balls up all his socks and makes sure they end up in his hamper.
Jared's bigger, all the time. He leaves his door open at night, now, but Jensen doesn't go in. They play Mario Kart, but Jensen's pretty sure Jared's letting him win.
He keeps the hotel's number on his phone.
One morning, he walks out and Jared's not eating cereal. He's making sandwiches, and there are like. Muffins. And remnants of squeezed-out orange halves, all pulpy and white inside. Jensen laughs. "What are you doing?
Jared freezes, nervous smile on his lips. "Making a lot of food. For breakfast and, you know. To eat later."
"Why?"
And Jared kind of shrinks down a little and--he doesn't whisper exactly, but. "Look, I thought it--" he waves a hand around emptily "--would be better by now and. Maybe--I said what I said, and it was. I didn't mean to--"
"Augh." Jensen winces, smiles over at Jared wryly. "Can we not talk about it?"
Jared taps his fist against his mouth three times. "Yeah. Yes. Okay."
****
That night Jensen wakes up, because his bedroom door swings open. Jared's standing there. Jensen can see the nightlight in the hallway glowing behind his silhouette. The nightlights are stupid, Jensen thinks. Why would the dogs need nightlights? They sleep just like we do.
He thinks about that until Jared gets on the bed and curls up behind him and then really, he can't not think about what the hell is going on anymore. "Uh." Jared shifts closer, one arm falling over Jensen's chest. "Jared?"
Jared grunts, chin on Jensen's shoulder. "I'm sleepwalking," he explains.
Jensen raises an eyebrow. "Interesting."
"Not really." Jared's breath is warm.
"You sound awake." He waits for a response that doesn't come, lying still as he can. "Jared?"
"Urgh." Jared presses his face to Jensen's upper arm. His lips brush against Jensen as he talks. "You're not supposed to wake up a sleepwalker. I'll get brain damage or something."
"How much more damaged could your brain get?" Jensen asks.
"Haha. Good thing I'm asleep and not awake to take these blows to my fragile ego."
Jensen huffs, relaxes. He taps a finger against the wrist on his hip. "Good thing."
****
In the morning, Jensen wakes up alone. He stumbles out into the kitchen, boxers low on his hips. Jared beams at him through a mouthful of cereal.
"Jensen Ackles! Here in my kitchen." He looks like he's about to spout off the word delighted, or peachy, or gee whillikers. He gets to his feet and wraps one arm around Jensen's waist, the other holding his bowl up a safe distance away.
"Alright, alright." Jensen pushes at Jared's chest. He twists a nipple hard, in passing. "Freak."
Jared won't stop smiling. "Honey ham, today, please."
"Do I look like a deli service?" Jensen pulls open the refrigerator, tugs out the honey ham. "God, one day that metabolism's gonna turn off and you're gonna get so damn fat."
"Amount you talk about it, starting to think you're hoping for it."
"I'm just looking to the day the earth rumbles every step you take. It's gonna be neat."
"Neat," Jared repeats.
Jensen gathers up the sandwich supplies, a barrier of food between him and Jared. He plants his hands, looks straight at Jared. "You don't sleepwalk, do you, Jay?"
Jared grins. He takes a huge spoonful of Cheerios. "I've heard that can kick in out of nowhere, sometimes," he says, milk dribbling down his chin.
****
Jared sleepwalks for a few more days.
Thursday, Jensen turns Jared onto his back and leans over him, elbows on either side of Jared's head. It's six in the morning, and Jared's actually asleep, knocked out so hard an earthquake couldn't wake him.
Jensen breathes with him. Long pulls of air, chest rising and falling, until, all of a sudden, he's there, lips against Jared's and he has to think, kiss him, you fucking weirdo.
Jensen kisses him, slow and waiting, until Jared starts to respond, until he tastes tongue and teeth and feels firm, amazing pressure.
When he pulls away, his hand's on Jared's face, thumb sweeping just under Jared's eyelid. He says. "Wake up."
THE END