Take 512: Act 3b
Jared kisses Alona in the school parking lot.
For a second, her lips part under his and she sighs into his mouth, but then she’s pushing away. Instinct makes him let go, but his body’s reluctant, the brain sending all sorts of messed up signals.
“Jared,” she says softly, shocked and a little hurt.
Jared looks directly into the sunlight until he feels certain he’s gone blind. He can’t stand it anymore, the itch to get out of his skin and be done with it all.
“Sorry,” he says. “I- that- I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry.”
When his vision readjusts, she’s biting her lip. “I know.” She says, and he’s not sure what she means until she adds, “we both know, Jay. I’m not the one you want.”
He’s shaking his head, not disagreeing, and just trying to get it straight. She’d looked at him, blue eyes heated, and for a second he’d though fuck it and leaned in.
She laughs shakily like she’s read his mind. “I’m an idiot. I knew about… I knew, but I was hoping.” She laughs again, no humor in it. “Bitch of the thing is, if you hadn’t kissed me, I’d probably have kept hoping.
He nods. “I’m sorry,” he says again inanely.
“My first impression of you was that you were this total dick, you know that?”
Jared shakes his head, not sure where this is going.
She smiles sadly. “Jensen was trying to get your attention to clarify some part of set décor, and you kept ignoring him and he looked so dam sad like he’d start crying any second. I bitched about it during word bash and Genevieve flicked me on the forehead and filled me in. But, you know, it kinda made sense after I knew, lik duh, of course they were together.&rdquo She looks rueful. “Wish I knew you back then, Jay. Back when you were…you know.. happy.”
His initial reaction is one of irritation. He hates how the first impression he gives off -like expired cologne, soiled versions of the best memories- is one of absolute heartbreak.
Then what she’s really saying sets in and he realizes that no, he doesn’t actually remember the last time he was less than bone-deep miserable. Doesn’t really think of the time that he was happy in anything more than the most abstract of terms back then, when Jensen was still around.
A year is a long time. Jared is no closer to getting over the bullet wound in his chest that Jensen left behind than he was eight months ago. The prospect of living out an entire lifetime this way -in ragged and torn halves, bleeding ad infinitum- chills his heart.
Alona reaches out and touches the back of his hand. “I feel really corny,” she admits, “but I’ve gotta get this out of the way. Friends?”
He grins at Alona, taking about deep breaths and how he has all the time in the world to get over this. “Yup. Friends.”
It’s a start.
Misha lives on the fourth floor of a building on the respectable end of town. It's hard to associate Misha's beloved scruffy trench coat and pale, worn frame, but his folks are ridiculously well off and willing to pay however much for the prodigal son to stay out of their hair.
Upon habit, Jared bypasses the front entrance and heads for the fire escape once he gets there, after he drops Alona off at her place. A long time ago, he couldn’t stand the other inmates of the building, the curious hostile looks they gave him that itched like mosquito bites on his skin. Now, he isn't sure whether he can handle it any better than he could a year ago, but isn't really willing to risk it. He's got enough to handle already.
He taps on Misha's window.
Misha’s curled up on the sofa, blanket over his legs. “Dying.” He informs Jared as soon as he comes in.
Misha’s -and Jensen’s, Jared has to keep reminding himself- apartment is spacious, messy and smells of weed. “Oh, great, I’ll tell Mike to hold the down payment on the professional assassin.”
“Think you’re so smart, don’t you?” Misha says, and yeah, he sounds pretty bad. “Well, you’re not smart, and I hate you.”
“Good to know.” Jared looks around, tries not to let his gaze hook on Jensen’s green coat, the one that used to be absurdly too big for him. He idly wonders when, exactly Jensen grew into it. “Now, where’s my script?”
Misha’s expression grows devious. The effect’s rendered somewhat pathetic by his gaunt complexion and red-rimmed eyes.
“Jensen!” He yells with no warning in a reedy, high voice that hurts Jared’s ears.
He nearly has a heart attack then and there when a familiar voice calls, irritably, “Just drink your damn soup and go to fucking sleep already!”
“You’re a shitty nurse!” Misha yells back, apparently forgetting the reason for the conversation. Then his eyes fall on Jared, who’s frozen in place with a deer-in-headlights expression. He ca fee it on his face. Misha yells again, “Come on out! And bring your goddamn script!”
Jared fights the urge to bolt when there’s a bitter curse, a shuffling noise, and then it’s too late altogether and Jensen’s coming into the living room.
“Spoiled mother-“ Jensen’s accusing Misha, waving his prompt book in his face, when he notices Jared.
Jensen freezes, eyes going wide, and for a second they just stare at each other, flabbergasted.
Misha coughs petulantly. “I’m literally drowning in sexual tension. Turn it off, for the love of God.”
Jensen and Jared flip him off in unison and they both laugh sheepishly. Jared ca hea Misha roll his eyes, even from across the room. “Your face’ll get stuck that way, and dude, I don’t think you can really afford to get uglier.”
Jensen huffs out a laugh. “Hey,” he says cautiously.
Jared smiles, can’t help it. There will always be a part of him that’s primarily jus happ to see Jensen, broken heart or no. “Hi,” he says.
Jensen’s answering smile is blinding, and relieved, like he was afraid Jared would punch him. “You here for this?” Jensen waves his prompt book vaguely, and Jared notices a sheaf of papers with JARED written on the cover page, stapled to his book. Jensen blushes a little. “Misha asked me to hold on to it, since his end is nigh and all.”
Jared grins, not really processing. “Yeah, I get it.” He clears his throat. “You, um. You should keep it.”
Confusion clouds Jensen’s face. “Why?”
Jared shrugs. “Don’t really need it. I’m done designing, I just wanted to check with Misha before he bitches too much.”
“Hey!” calls a thin voice from behind Jensen, and Jensen starts, flushes like he forgot Misha was here.
“Oh.” He says, turning back to Jared, his eyes bright, spots of crimson on his cheeks. “In that case…” he trails off, and clears his throat.
Jared stares unabashedly for a couple more seconds. Then he grins at Jensen. “Guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Jensen nods, still holding his script awkwardly. “Guess so.”
“See you, Misha!” he calls as he leaves, but Jensen catches him by the wrist as he reaches for the door.
Jared’s eyes widen as he stares at the point of contact, his sleeve riding up at the wrist and Jensen’s long, artistic fingers clamped around it tightly. A surge of electricity runs through him, almost knocking him off his feet, and he raises his eyes to Jensen’s don’t tell me you didn’t feel that.
Jensen’s eyes are huge and shocked. His lips are still half-parted around whatever he was going to say.
“Um, Jen?” Misha’s voice filters in, as if from far away, and Jared fights the urge to kiss Jensen right the fuck now “You two do realize you’re not actually a pair of girls, right?”
“Jared…” Jensen starts, his voice hoarse.
And just like that, Jared’s terrified.
“Okay,” he says too loudly, practically snatching his hand away. He feels the burn marks where Jensen’s fingers made contact, and resists the urge to run for cold water and salve. He makes do with shaking his arm slightly, making the sleeve of his hoodie slide down. His eyes make a hysterical loop around the apartment, a primal instinct of looking for escape routes. “Um. Good meeting. See you around.”
With that, he all but runs for the door.
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