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Jack stares out the car door window as Eric drives. He moves his head, which is leaning pressed upon against the window, and faces the windshield.
It's past midnight, it's got to be, they've been driving for hours. There's no sign of stars, a cloudy November night ensures that there will be no sign of stars for awhile. It's dark and cold, and the only light aside from the car's headlights are from the dingy streetlights spaced out alongside the road. The barely-lit street lamps illuminate the trees and road in an almost horror movie-like manner. The only thing that would make this more horror movie-esque would be a person standing in the middle of the street—and that's just what Jack sees.
"Eric, stop the car. Eric, Eric! Stop the car! Eric!" Jack shouts frantically. Eric slams on the brakes and the car comes to a forceful halt. There’s the terrible screech of metal and suddenly silence, save for the heavy breathing from Eric. Both of the boys are panicked and shaking. Eric's eyes are wide with his foot still slammed against the brake as he inhales large gulps of air. He feels like his heart might've stopped.
Jack's frozen in place, staring at the figure a few yards ahead of the car. A tall, slim man in a bulky coat. He faces the car, but there's too much space and not enough light to see the man's face. Jack can just make out his silhouette as he forgets how to breathe. Who—or what—ever the figure may be is staring at Jack. He can't see the man's face, but Jack can feel the cold stare burning into him. He swallows, feeling his skin begin to itch from the heat of the car.
Jack has no idea how long he's been staring or how long Eric's been shouting his name, but he finally registers the ploy for attention once Eric's hand is waving in front of his face. "Jack! Dude, what the hell was that?!"
"Look." That's all Jack can muster. If he tries to speak anymore, he fears he may throw up. He doesn't give Eric even a glance, still feeling the stare of the figure before him. It burns, physically it seems, into his forehead. The figure seems to be avoiding eye contact and prefers to stare coldly at Jack's forehead. It's sickening, making Jack's stomach twist and turn.
Eric turns his attention to the street in front of them, only to be met with—nothing. He does not spot a figure in the road, it's just road and trees for miles.
"Jack... there's nothing there."
Finally, Jack takes his eyes off the man in the road, his head whipping to face Eric. The same expression of shock and fear still on his face. How could he not see it? "What?" He spits out, his throat feeling dry. "What are you talking about? He's right—he's right there."
"What are you talking about?" Eric questions, turning his attention to the road, still no sight of a figure in the road. "I don't see anything, man."
Jack turns back to the road, only to see the same sight as Eric. An empty road, dim streetlights, and trees. No figure. "No." He shakes his head. "There was a man in the road. He was just there. I'm telling you—he was just there." He's shaking now, and his skin feels like it's burning up. This can't be happening.
"Jack?"
Jack feels like he may be going crazy. Sure, he's seen things before, but not like this. People—he's seen people in the corner of his eye, but when he turned his head, they were never there. He blamed it on a trick of the light. He's felt hands and claws on his skin before, phantom touches, but he's always blamed it on wind or the feel of his clothes. He's heard things, whispers crawling up the side of his neck and into his ears. He didn't have an explanation for that. I'm crazy, he thinks to himself. Crazy.
"He was just there," he whispers. To himself or to Eric, he can't really tell.
Jack hurriedly unbuckles his seatbelt, opens the car door, and throws himself out of it. Before he can really process what's happening, he's on his hands and knees vomiting onto the side of the road. He vaguely registers Eric calling for him, a car door opening and closing, and suddenly, a touch. He doesn't have time to check whether or not the hand on his shoulder is real. His body shakes as he takes in deep gulps of air, using the sleeve of his jacket to wipe the tears that have sprung in his eyes. Whenever he thinks he may be finished, he tries to stand on shaky legs and fails as the hand on his shoulder pushes him back down.
"Don't," Eric orders from beside him. Jack turns to face him, and sees that the hand on his shoulder is real. It's Eric's hand. "Don't try to stand yet."
"Okay," he tries to say, but it comes out croaky. A hand flies up to hold his throat, which is now very sore from throwing up. His mouth tastes bitter and it takes everything in him not to gag. Eric rushes to the car and grabs a water bottle, running back and handing it to Jack. He takes a seat next to Jack, who, instead of trying to speak, nods as a thank you. It's not until after he's chugged nearly the entire water bottle that Jack feels like he can finally breathe. He and Eric sit in silence for awhile, it feels like hours and seconds at the same time. Eric shivers to the side of him, and that's when Jack realizes how cold it really is. He clears his throat and stares at the water bottle in his lap. "We should, um, we should get going."
This throws Eric out of his weird, dazed state. "Hm?"
"I said we should probably leave." Jack's voice is just above a whisper and he refuses to look up from his lap. "It's—uh—it's a long drive back to the apartment so..."
"Oh, yeah, of course!" Eric practically jumps up in order to help Jack stand as well. He spits out some apology for spacing out whilst pulling Jack to a stand. He doesn't let go of Jack's arm until he's safely in the passenger seat of the car. Jack's sort of dazed, slow-moving, and tired in all his motions. Eric decides he won't switch out and have him drive tonight if he wants to live. Once he's officially seated in the driver's seat, Eric fully examines the state of his best friend.
Jack has his head leaned against the window, half asleep. His eyes are somewhat swollen and puffy from the tears he gained after puking. Jack had pulled his jacket off at some point when they were sitting on the side of the road, and he now clutches it—along with the water bottle—tightly in his hands. He looks miserable. Eric doesn't know how to fix it, but he does know that Jack is in desperate need of some rest.
"I can feel you staring," Jack says quietly, not opening his eyes. He shifts a bit, turning his face further away from Eric. There's a bit of shame and embarrassment behind it. "I don't know how to explain whatever... that was."
"You don't have to," Eric states simply. "Just... get some rest, man. Take a nap or something."
"But I thought we were gonna—"
"Dude, you look half-dead. You are not driving tonight." Eric leaves no room for protest as he begins driving, and Jack looks too tired to argue. "Now, go to sleep."
It doesn't take long for Jack to fall asleep as Eric drives. He's always been the type to fall asleep in the car anyway. But this is a side of Jack that Eric has never seen before. He uses his jacket as a blanket, covering his shoulders and torso. His head is pressed against the cold window, but Eric has the better view of his face. Jack has never looked more vulnerable or more soft as he does in this moment.
The dim streetlights and occasional headlights from passing cars light up the sharpness of Jack's face, but the soft lighting and sleepiness of the boy counteract the sharp traits. Jack looks, to put it simply, like a boy. Fair skinned and innocent, with light freckles dusting his nose and cheeks. There are dried tear stains on his cheeks, and this adds to the boyish nature of it all—like a kid who skinned his knee on the pavement of a schoolyard blacktop. Eric smiles softly, taking in the softness of his roommate.
He feels weird—noticing these things. This is his roommate. But then again... this is his roommate. The same roommate that was screaming in the car over a person in the road that wasn't there. Something's wrong, and Eric desperately wants to fix it. He just doesn't know how.
•••
Jack is accustomed to seeing, hearing, and feeling things that aren't there on occasion. But whatever had happened last week... that had triggered something in him. He and Eric still haven't talked about it, leaving it all up in the air. Jack knows he should talk to his roommate about it, but he still doesn't know what it is. Things are getting worse, he's hallucinating more and more, and he doesn't know how to stop it. He's terrified of Eric figuring everything out before Jack can figure everything himself.
Jack has a strange affinity for Eric. He couldn't bear to let him see any poor side of him. If Eric perceived him as stupid, weird, crazy, or anything else, Jack's convinced the world would end. The last thing Jack ever needed was for Eric to see him in such a vulnerable state. He doesn't want it to happen again.
Eric had come to his own conclusions. Well, not conclusions, but he had made observations and began noticing things more and more. Jack jumps at any sudden or loud sounds, he's always looking over his own shoulder, he sits closed off with his arms wrapped around himself, he doesn't let hardly anyone touch him anymore. Sometimes, Eric will catch him moving about the apartment, as if he's trying to see or hear something that isn't there. He seems to be afraid of his own shadow at this point. All of this worries Eric, but he doesn't say anything.
Neither of them say anything as they sit on the living room couch. The television plays in the background, but neither Jack nor Eric are paying attention. Eric, currently, is doodling an image of a dinosaur in a cowboy hat rather than working on his college essay. Jack, however, is reading the same paragraph of a textbook over and over, unable to retain any information.
After some time, Jack gives up and closes the textbook with a sigh. He doesn't even know why he was reading a psychology book, he doesn't take the class. He just thought that—maybe—he'd be able to figure out what the hell is wrong with him. He's tired of feeling unsafe in his own skin.
"Hey, Eric?"
"What's up?" Eric doesn't look up from the notebook he's drawing in, which relieves Jack. At least something is normal.
"You don't think I'm... well..." Jack doesn't know how to word this. "I mean, I'm fine... right? Like—there's nothing wrong with me, right?"
"Of course there's nothing wrong with you," Eric says this like it's the most obvious thing in the world. It takes a minute for him to realize the true weight of the question, finally pulling his attention away from the drawing in his lap. "Why?" Eric stares at Jack, his eyebrows furrowed. Jack doesn't look up from his hands in his lap, an expression on his face that Eric can't quite read. Why would Jack think something's wrong with him?... Oh. "Oh my god, did someone—did someone say there's something wrong with you?"
There's a new kind of fire that embodies Eric. His neck and face burn, and he can't tell if he's red but he sure as hell feels like it. He's upset—angry. There's a strange feeling that accompanies the fire. The want—the need—to protect Jack from whomever told him there's something wrong with him.
Jack's silent for awhile, but it feels like eons. He silently wishes he could disappear right there. God, why did I even ask? "I'm gonna, um, I'm gonna go take a shower." It's awkward and he just wants to leave the situation he put himself in. Leave Eric. As Jack stands, he feels a hand grab his arm.
"Jack." Eric's grip on Jack's arm is firm but doesn't hurt, the touch grounds him. "Who said there's something wrong with you?"
Jack feels sick. He asked a yes or no question, he didn't mean for it to turn into this. He wishes he could go back in time and tell himself to shut up before he got into more trouble. Jack pulls his arm out of Eric's hand, nausea overwhelming him, and starts for the stairs. "I don't want to talk about this anymore."
"Well, I do!" Eric follows him, his voice involuntarily rising, causing Jack to flinch and freeze at the top of the stairs. Eric mentally curses himself and brings his voice to a pleading almost-whisper as he approaches him. "Jack... you can talk to me."
Please, talk to me.
"I don't..." Jack's hand is holding the railing of the stairs with a grip so tight his knuckles are becoming a paralyzing white. "I don't know what there is to talk about."
"Dude." Eric feels uneasy as he moves up the rest of the stairs and pulls Jack's hand off of the railing. He thinks he may have to pry Jack's frozen fingers away from the wooden railing, but he moves his hand the second Eric's hand touches his. Eric pretends this doesn't strike his heart in an unfamiliar way, choosing to focus on the task at hand. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"
Jack refuses to turn around and face Eric, but he's not moving either, and Eric decides this is some form of a win. "They didn't," Jack murmurs, his voice just above a whisper. Eric can barely hear him, his voice sounding foggy and choked back.
"What?" Eric doesn't mean to be rude or harsh, attempting to keep his voice soft. He watches Jack's shoulders tense before him and can sense the mental cursing he's giving himself. Jack clears his throat but remains silent for a moment.
"No one." Jack's voice is clearer now, and he turns to face Eric, a weird fire in his eyes. Eric can't read his stone face, a blank expression with raging emotion hiding behind the eyes. "No one told me there's something wrong with me."
Eric stares for a moment, but he can tell that Jack isn't completely lying. It's a half truth-half lie, but it's the closest to the truth Jack is willing to give him. Eric respects that. "Okay." He backs away, giving Jack his space.
There's a rift between them now, both of the boys can sense it. The weird tension that Jack wanted oh-so-badly to avoid is squeezing it's way through the widening cracks in their friendship. It's suffocating.
"Okay," Jack repeats, practically whispering. He wants to beat back the tension with a bat, tell it to leave and never come back. He wants everything to be normal again—he wants to be normal again.
"Thank you," is all Eric says as he makes his way down the stairs, turning away from Jack. Something cold hits both of the boys like a gust of wind.
Jack turns away and retreats into the bathroom. He turns the shower on to mask the sound of him vomiting into the toilet. He hopes it works and Eric can't hear the panic attack his roommate is having in the steamy, enclosed space.
It doesn't.
•••
Three days later, and nothing has changed. The tension rests at the top of the apartment like unsettled smoke from a house fire, choking and suffocating all who live in it. The apartment is almost entirely silent, devoid of voices from any of the inhabitants unless it is to themselves in the dead of night. The only sounds are the occasional television sitcom, forks and spoons against ceramic plates and bowls, and footsteps. Lots of footsteps.
Just a few hours ago, Shawn decided he was tired of the awkwardness and declared that he was going to stay with the Matthews until, quote, "You two figure your shit out," unquote. Jack understands this, not wanting to get caught in the crossfire in an argument (could they even call it that?) that spawned from Jack's own dishonesty. It was killing him though.
It was killing Eric too.
Eric was tired of the nonsense and silence. Passing Jack in the apartment in mornings before class with no acknowledgment of each other's existence, a pot of coffee brewed on the counter with just enough left for Eric, made Eric feel like he was living in his own personal Hell. This was his roommate. His best friend. As he lays in bed, he can't help but feel like maybe he's been blowing this out of proportion.
Jack lied to him, yes, but there must've been a good reason. There's a reason he doesn't want to let Eric in on this part of his life. No matter how much it hurts him (why does it hurt him?), Eric has to face that he's not going to be a part of everything in Jack's life. Fuck, there's that weird strike in his heart again.
Eric checks his alarm clock and sighs at the time, 2:38 AM. He had been staying up later and later the last three days, unable to sleep due to the flood of thoughts in his brain. He wasn't sure, but he thought if he could take a look at his brain, he would see a washed away town, ravaged by a terrible and unpredictable tsunami—maybe a house on fire in the corner to add a little bit of spice. Eric wants to laugh at this thought, but feels his chest may be too tight for a laugh at the moment. Damn, Jack.
The worst times, recently, had been nighttime. The walls of the apartment are thin, and, no matter how quiet and low Jack tries to be, Eric can hear the rushed, incoherent mumblings of the boy next door. Sometimes, he can hear something be dropped or thrown into the floor, Jack's muffled scream into a pillow, and the frustrated groans and cries that he oh-so-desperately wishes would be kept to a minimum. It's safe to say, neither Jack nor Eric had been getting very much sleep.
The room beside Eric's had been relatively silent tonight, the occasional pacing footsteps and whispers could be heard, but quieter than usual. It's not like Eric tried to eavesdrop on his neighbor, but when it was the only time he could hear the poor boy's voice, Eric was going to take advantage of the opportunity.
Suddenly, there's a large thud from the other room and the sound of glass breaking makes Eric jump a little. He sits up, listening for any following scream or cry, but it's silent. His stomach turns. It could've been an accident, he tries to reassure himself, maybe Jack just happened to drop a glass. But the thud that occurred before the breaking—wood against wood— felt intentional, like something was thrown against his bedroom door. Eric sighs, deciding he'd try to ignore it. It's not like Jack would want to talk about it anyway.
He can't ignore the next one, this one genuinely seeming like an accident. There's the sound of something wooden falling and hitting the wood floor, the sound of glass breaking, and a choked sob being let out from the boy in the room. There's a string of curses thrown around, all attempts at being quiet had seemingly been thrown out the window and splattered across the concrete below. Eric turns in his bed, facing away from the shared wall, but he just can't seem to ignore it tonight.
Eric sits up, having a heavy mental debate with himself as he stands and pulls a pair of slippers on. He stares at the grey and black slippers, recognizing them as the ones Jack got him for Christmas a couple years ago. He sighs as he stands, staring at himself in his bedroom mirror for a second. He's wearing a grey t-shirt and blue flannel pajama pants, and there are bags under his eyes—dark ones. Eric shakes his head as he turns away, opens his door, and takes the few steps it takes to get to Jack's door. It's quiet, quieter than it was just moments before, but Eric can see a sliver of light from the crack beneath the door. He knocks.
"Jack? Are you okay in there?"
"Hm?" Jack sounds surprised to hear Eric at his door. "Yeah, I'm—I'm great." His voice sounds rushed and panicked, and Eric would have laughed if this wasn't the situation they were in. "Everything's... great."
"I'm opening the door, you better not be naked," Eric jokes, attempting to make light of the situation. He thinks for half a second, about how he wouldn't hate it if Jack was, but he quickly purges his mind of that thought.
Eric opens the door, only to find the floor littered with Jack's belongings. Pillows, blankets, clothes, and anything else imaginable are thrown haphazardly across the room. There's a broken picture frame in front of the door, and Eric has to step around the glass and remains of the photo of Jack, Chet, and Shawn. Jack sits on the floor of the room, his back against the bed. He's shirtless, wearing a pair of red flannel pajama pants, with his knees pulled up to his chest and his arms wrapped around himself. There's another broken picture frame in front of him, less glass litters the floor, thankfully; Eric cannot see the photo inside, but he can see the cracks in the remaining glass and splintered wood. Upon further inspection, Eric notices the scratches that litter Jack's shoulders, chest, neck, and back—he winces at this. He sits next to Jack, who's head is buried in his knees, and faces him.
"Are you okay?" Eric's voice is soft, as if he's afraid that Jack would shatter like glass if he approached him any louder. Jack just nods, refusing to look up. Eric places a soft hand on Jack's arm, avoiding any small patches of shallow fingernail scratches. Jack jolts up, exposing his tearstained face. His eyes are red, wide, and wild as he searches Eric's face for something. Eric's heart pangs at the sight. "Jack..."
"I can't do this anymore." Jack shakes his head as whispers. "I can't, I can't do it."
"Jack—"
"Eric, I can't." There are new tears streaming down his face, and Eric feels that strike in his heart again. "I feel like I'm losing it; like there's a part of me that's just slowly breaking off day by day and one day... there'll be nothing left. I'm seeing and hearing and feeling things that aren't there—or shouldn't be there—and there's no fucking explanation for any of it!" Jack pauses, mouth agape. He takes in a shaky gasp, as if he's just made a realization. His voice is brought down to a whisper, "I'm going crazy."
Eric snaps, wrapping his arms around Jack and pulling him into a tight hug. Jack cries into Eric's shirt, closing his fists tightly around the grey fabric on Eric's back. Anything he says is unintelligible and incomprehensible, muttering garbled sentences and questions into Eric's chest.
Eric just holds him. He doesn't know for how long, just until Jack is done crying. He's patient, rubbing circles into the boy's back with his thumb and listening to the not-fully-English that he's speaking. Once Jack is finally quiet, Eric pulls away to look Jack in the face. He wipes a tear or two and moves a few strands of hair stuck to his cheek out of his face.
Jack is a very pretty crier, which causes Eric to envy his beauty even more. His face is flushed and warm, and his eyelashes seem to lift themselves and cause his brown eyes to stand out against his sharp cheekbones even more. Eric, selfishly he admits, decides to admire him for one moment longer.
"You're not crazy," Eric finally says. "You need to talk to someone though. Seriously. Keeping all of this in isn't healthy." Jack turns away from Eric—he's already aware of this. "You need help."
"I know." Jack sighs, leaning his head against his bed. Eric watches his chest rise and fall with each shaky breath he takes, the small scratches along his chest and collarbone make him uneasy. "I just—I thought if I could figure it out on my own, I could fix it, y'know? Fix me."
"It's not that easy—"
"I know!" Jack snaps, throwing his hands into the air. "Trust me, I fucking know." A bitter laugh escapes him, but Eric's gaze is fixated on Jack's right hand. His palm is bloody, extremely bloody—smeared and still leaking. Jack doesn't seem to notice this; Eric has no idea how he didn't notice before. "But I just—I just thought—"
"You're bleeding," Eric blurts. He stares at the red smeared hand like it's ten seconds away from falling off. Jack follows Eric's gaze to the injury and his eyes widen as if he didn't even know it was there. The pain barely even phases him as he inspects the cut. "What happened?"
"I must've cut it on some glass." Jack is terrifyingly nonchalant about the entire thing. "Shit, I probably bled on your shirt. I'm sorry."
"Jack, it looks bad." Eric doesn't give a shit about his shirt, so why does Jack? It doesn't matter, because there's blood and injury and pain, and it's kind of making Eric incredibly squeamish. "What happened?"
"Um." Jack thinks, screwing his eyes shut as he tries to relive the memory. He holds his right hand with his left hand, resisting the urge to run his thumb over the injury. "The picture frame—I think."
Eric's eyes wander over to the broken picture frame a few feet away from them. He leans over and picks it up, narrowly avoiding the broken glass on the floor—he makes a mental note to clean that up later. He turns the frame over in his hands and is faced with a photo of himself alongside Jack. It's an old photo, maybe a year old, from when they first moved in together. Shawn took the picture, no doubt when he was going through his photography phase. Jack and Eric are standing in front of the stove, both of their blue sweaters covered in flour. There's some form of a dough and a rolling pin sitting on the countertop in front of them. Jack's drinking a glass of water, an obvious look of regret on his face, and Eric's just staring at the stove in front of him. They were in way over their heads.
Eric smiles at the small memory. He hadn't known Jack had the photo framed in his bedroom. There are pieces of glass missing from the corner and a large crack cutting from one side to the other, slicing through Jack's face. Eric frowns at this. He shakes any and all sentimental, plaguing thoughts out of his head and clears his throat.
"We should, um, we should probably clean your hand," Eric stammers awkwardly. He can't get over the broken photo frame. "I think there's a first aid kit in the bathroom."
Jack nods silently and allows Eric to lead him to the bathroom. He remains silent, aside from the occasional hiss of pain, as Eric cleans and bandages his hand. Eric goes the step further to run alcohol wipes over the small scratches littering Jack’s arms and back, watching the boy’s chest and shoulders rise and fall as he breathes. He tries to ignore the blazing heat radiating off Jack’s skin as he finishes.
“When was the last time you slept?” Eric asks, breaking the silence as he packs up the first aid kit. Jack had dark circles under his eyes and looked absolutely exhausted.
“I don’t know,” Jack answers honestly. “I can’t remember. Sorry.”
“That’s okay.” Eric’s voice is genuine; He rids it of the obvious concern, fearful of adding fuel to the fire. He knows Jack doesn’t want him to make this a huge deal and he knows he would never let him help if he made it a big deal. He places the first aid kid in the medicine cabinet behind the bathroom mirror and turns to Jack. “You’re going to sleep tonight though.”
“I’m not tired.” Lie.
“You’re fucking exhausted,” Eric states plainly. “I can tell.” Jack bites the inside of his cheek and Eric feels like he can see the storm brewing behind his eyes. “I’ll stay with you,” he blurts out. He attempts to hide how shocked he is at his own sentence. “I mean… if you want, of course. Just until you fall asleep.”
“Okay,” Jack replies softly. He doesn’t dare look Eric in the eye; There’s too much on his mind to overthink this small gesture of friendship. “Thank you.”
Eric doesn’t speak, he just leads the way out of the bathroom and to his own bedroom, too afraid of facing the storm site of Jack’s room. Jack follows, too dazed and tired to object to the hoodie being thrust into his hands. He simply pulls the hoodie over his bare chest and lies facedown on Eric’s bed. Eric almost laughs at the boy as he pulls a pillow close to his chest, not even bothering to cover himself with the blanket. Eric does this for Jack, assuming he has already fallen asleep, and sits on the bed next to him. He leans against the headboard and looks at Jack for a few minutes, scanning his face. For the first time in weeks, Jack looks like he might be okay again—he looks like Jack Hunter, the one Eric’s always known. Eric smiles to himself.
“Eric.”
“Hm?” Eric hums, breaking his daze. “What’s up?”
“Thank you.”
Eric doesn’t know what to say, so he just sends Jack a soft smile before he realizes Jack’s eyes are still closed. Jack brings out his hand, placing it on the mattress in between the two boys. Eric doesn’t know what this means, but he takes Jack’s hand in his and intertwines their fingers. He watches as Jack’s back rises and falls, settling into a deep sleep. Not long after, Eric himself falls asleep against the headboard.
•••
Eric wakes just before Jack with an awful pain in his neck. He looks around, squinting at the excessive amount of sunlight spilling in through the open blinds. He spots his alarm clock, reading 11:47 AM. Shit, he missed his morning classes. He doesn’t care much, not when he can feel Jack beginning to wake. That’s when Eric realizes his hand is still in Jack’s and silently slips his hand out of his. Jack turns to face Eric with a sleepy and groggy expression.
“What time is it?” Jack asks, and Eric has to beat back a smile at the sound of his voice.
“Almost noon.”
“Shit,” Jack laughs tiredly and sits up beside Eric, leaning his head back on the headboard. “I missed class.”
“Sleep is more important!”
“Is that what you tell yourself every time you miss a morning class?” Jack jokes. Eric scoffs and rolls his eyes, smiling at the remark. He’s glad to see Jack smiling and joking again, but he ignores the warm feeling in his chest and insists that the room is just too hot. “Thank you, though. For staying with me.”
“Don’t mention it.”
The smoke settles.
The next few days go by in a blur. The mess in Jack’s room is cleaned up, the picture frames are replaced, Jack sleeps in Eric’s room, the scratches littering the boy’s body heal. It is quiet. The boys are left to sweep settled smoke and ash from the apartment, dust each other off, have a cup of coffee before class in the mornings, brush hands against each other, smile, and laugh. They ignore the warmth in their faces, the quick beating of each other’s hearts, the lingering glances and touches, and they live. Jack opens up about his experience with whatever the hell is going on, it continues—it’s not as bad and, this time, he has Eric to help him. Shawn comes home.
When Shawn first gets home, Eric and Jack are sitting on opposite ends of the living room couch, a sitcom playing on the television long forgotten by the two. They sit facing each other as Eric attempts to catch pieces of popcorn in his mouth as Jack throws them. The door opens to reveal Shawn, causing cheering to erupt from both of the boys.
“So I see you two are friends again,” Shawn grumbles, but the small smile playing on his lips reveals more than he intends. “Glad you got your boyfriend back, Jack.”
Eric knows it’s a joke but the way Jack lights up at the term makes his heart skip a few beats. He doesn’t want to think about what that means. He beats back the smile and turns away from the two brothers. Shawn heads up the stairs behind the couch towards his own bedroom before Jack stops him.
“Can we talk?”
This catches Eric’s attention. He knew Jack wanted to tell Shawn as soon as possible but he didn’t think it would be the second he walked through the door. The two brothers make their way to Shawn’s room and close the door. Eric would’ve killed to be a fly on the wall during that conversation, but instead he remains on the couch and tunes back into whatever show Jack had put on the television. He scoffs as he realizes what it is, Kid Gets Acquainted with the Universe, and rolls his eyes. He decides to watch an episode as he waits, watching as Rory and Shane manage to get themselves into some ridiculous shenanigan and attempt to get out of it. After an episode, the door to Shawn’s bedroom opens and Jack appears behind it.
Eric’s head snaps back towards the stairs, watching Jack for any flicker of emotion in his face. Jack closes the door behind him and turns to Eric, giving him a thumbs up. Eric silently celebrates from the couch, watching Jack rush down the stairs to celebrate next to him.
“So what happened?” Eric asks eagerly, attempting to ignore just how close Jack is sitting next to him. “How did it go?”
“It went well,” Jack sighs with relief. “Thank God.” He leans back against the couch and stares at the ceiling. “I told him about everything, how I’m gonna go see a professional—a real professional—and get help; he told me that Chet dealt with that kinda shit and it probably just happened to hit me instead of him. I don’t know, he seemed grateful I told him but I can tell it kinda freaked him out. But…” Jack takes a deep breath, “it went well, I think.”
“That’s good. I’m happy for you.” Eric smiles. His knee hits Jack’s as he shifts and he feels a warmth crawl up the back of his neck. Jack’s head falls to the side and his cheek presses flush against Eric’s shoulder. The heat is blistering, spreading from the back of his neck to the tips of his ears and his face. “You okay?” Eric asks softly, trying to slow the beating of his heart. Jack doesn’t answer. Eric shifts, turning to look at Jack, and lifts the arm he’s leaning against to wrap it around his shoulders. Jack leans into the embrace. “Jack?”
“I’m okay,” Jack’s voice is barely above a whisper. There’s a small smile that can be heard in it, despite Eric not having a proper view of his face. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For being here.”
Eric’s scared Jack might be able to hear the intense beating of his heart. He shifts, once again, to really look at Jack—eyes closed, relaxed and content, with a soft smile. Jack moves his head to look at Eric, confused at the lack of a response. Suddenly, they’re both sitting up and staring at each other; Each waiting for something from the other and too fearful to really admit what it is.
Jack’s eyes search Eric’s face, but Eric’s eyes are trained on Jack’s. There’s something warm about them, the swirling brown and green. He watches as Jack’s eyes scan over his face and finally land on his own. Eric thinks he finally understands what this feeling is—the feeling of his heart exploding whenever Jack’s hand touches his, the fire crawling through his body when they catch each other stealing glances at the other, and the fluttering butterflies in his stomach whenever Jack smiles. It’s a feeling Eric is familiar with in passing; a feeling he’s been too afraid to face for ages; a feeling he doesn’t have a name for. He’s not too sure how long he and Jack have been staring at each other in silence but he doesn’t seem to mind, not when it’s Jack’s eyes he’s looking into.
“Eric, I—”
“Can I kiss you?” Eric blurts. He doesn’t think he regrets it this time—there’s no panic in his voice or expression. Time passes by in milliseconds.
“Please.”
So he does. Eric kisses Jack and swears the entire world stops moving; planes freeze in the sky, his heart stops beating, time ceases to exist, and all that’s left is Jack and Eric. It’s a short kiss, but one short kiss becomes one long one. Jack tastes vaguely of vanilla lip balm and coffee; Eric tastes like salt from the popcorn he’s been eating. It’s sweet and savory and neither boy seems to want to let go of the other. Jack’s hands land on Eric’s chest and Eric wraps his arms around Jack’s middle. They hold each other tightly as they pull away.
Jack and Eric just stare at each other; they’ve discovered a feeling they do not have a name for.