Chapter Text
After the backpatting and praise is over with after his run, Jason decides that he needs a cigarette like nothing else.
It’s been a long ass day, with a three hour drive to get to the venue and then sweltering in the sun while waiting for the gig to even get set up, before they could finally get around to getting this thing really started.
He’s a stress smoker more than anything else, can make a pack stretch out an entire month and then go another month after that without them. Today is where he finds himself without when he needs one most. Fuck.
Lars and Kirk don’t smoke, but he figures he’d like to find them just so he can be around them and decompress a little. He hasn’t really talked to anyone all day; everyone passed out on the ride over and then split upon arrival so they could do warmups and find bathrooms, and so he ventures to find his people to hang with.
Walking around the grounds, he looks for them behind the vert, in some of the canopy tents set up, out to the parking lot to the van, and even in the trampoline area. They’re nowhere to be found. They’re probably out walking on the main street dicking around or getting food, and Jason is hardly inclined to go and try and hunt them down. He knows a lost cause when he sees one.
So now he’s nicotine starved and lonely. Goddamn it.
Jason resolves himself to just going and sitting up in the stands, to find their coach and watch the rest of the competition. He’ll live.
As he walks back up to the stands, just before he rounds to go up the stairs, he notices a figure sitting cross legged underneath, in the tangle of all of the metal beams. It first occurs to him that it’s the Alva guy, James. He’s a semi-regular fixture at whichever competitions the Posse rolls up to, and a pretty decent skater. They haven’t really interacted before, and Jason would normally let the other guy be.
Except that James has the distinctly colored package of Marlboro Reds in his hand and is lighting one up.
Bingo.
Entering into the open space under the stands, careful not to trip himself up on the steel scaffolding, he greets him.
“Hey man.”
James looks up from where he’s concentrating on getting his smoke to light, then snaps his lighter shut and takes a hard drag. He narrows his eyes as he fixes them on Jason and pulls the cigarette out between his lips so he can speak. “Hey.”
“Can I bum a smoke off of you, dude?” Jason asks, getting straight to the point.
James is more than accommodating. He opens the pack and pulls one out, reaches his arm up to hand it to Jason. “Thought the Bones Brigade was too straight edge, even for cigarettes,” he mumbles, not in a way that Jason perceives as snotty or backhanded, but simply as a fact.
Which is fair; they’re not hardcore guys. They’re late night social drinkers and occasional pot smokers.
“Guess you thought wrong,” Jason says with a lopsided grin, albeit with no bite to his words. James passes off his zippo as well. Jason flicks it open, strikes the wheel, and sucks until he has a nice smoldering cherry. As he passes the lighter back to its owner, he asks, “You mind if I chill out here with you?”
“Yeah, sure,” James says. Cool. A place out of the sun and a little bit of company. Not finding Lars and Kirk doesn’t feel as bad now. Jason sits a small distance away next to James, to be with him but not to crowd him.
For a while, they just sit in silence as Jason takes it all in for a moment. He finds himself winding down a little, able to finally relax. There’s all this rhetoric nowadays with people trying to say smoking is terrible for you, but it really works for him. The nicotine helps calm him down, and it’s just like a breathing exercise, with a deep inhale and exhale. Hardly anything better.
James clears his throat. “Good run, man. You killed it today.”
Jason turns his head to look at the other man and grins, blowing out a thin stream of smoke. “Thanks, dude. Could've been worse. Like what's his name,” he says, snapping his fingers as he tries to remember what the name of James’ red-headed teammate is. “Fuckin’- the dude who ate shit today and cracked the top of the coping?”
“Oh, Dave,” James laughs. “Yeah, poor motherfucker. Was fucking funny.”
“Is he ok?”
“Yeah, he’s fine. Nothing more than a super bruised ego. Especially cause there was this chick he was trying to impress, but hey.”
Jason giggles. “That's tough. Whenever you're trying to show off for someone you always fuck up, huh?”
“Damn right,” James says, taking a slow drag off his cigarette. “That’s why I skate for nobody. Don’t try to impress anyone. I’m a lone wolf.”
“You’re in the Alva Posse, though. You can’t be a lone wolf if you’re on a team, man.”
“Whatever,” James laughs, his smile wide and bright. “Point taken.”
“Well, I saw your run, and I was impressed, so. Take that,” Jason teases.
James grins. “Thanks. Where’s the rest of the Bones crew?”
Jason shrugs. “Think they went to grab something to eat,” he says, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette. He’s kind of forgotten about it, and now there’s a towering pile on the end. It hits the ground in a clump of grey. “Just me now.”
“The guys that aren’t waiting for runs ditched too.”
“Man, fuck all of ‘em, let’s form our own team,” Jason cracks. That gets a light laugh out of James.
For a moment, the other man considers this, and then says at last, “Wanna make a team to go out and find something to eat?” James smiles.
“Yeah, sure.”
They both get up to clamber out from underneath the bleachers and begin crossing the grounds to go find a food cart of something. Jason saw there was a burger stand set up earlier, so he directs James over that way, weaving through spectators, the afternoon sweltering where they’re standing on asphalt.
Sure enough, they manage to find it out by the parking lot. Jason digs his wallet out of his pocket, handing over a ten for a couple burgers and two cans of coke; the guy at the grill passes over the foil wrappers, and Jason accepts them before passing James his meal. With a sheepish ‘thanks,’ James takes the lead this time, guiding them to a shaded spot in the grass underneath a tree.
They both sit. James unwraps his burger, taking a messy bite. Jason watches as a little chunk of tomato falls out of his mouth and lands in the grass. It’s kind of endearing, almost.
“You know, man, I actually just read your interview in Thrasher. It was good,” James starts conversationally.
Jason cracks his drink open. “Yeah? I kinda hate doing interviews,” he admits. “I mean, like. I don’t know shit, man. Feels weird when people try to pick my brain.”
“‘Don’t know shit,’ says the guy that wins every time and is probably gonna win today. They’d kill me if I told you this, but my guys were pissing their pants over you before we came down.”
“That’s different,” Jason flushes. “It just feels so weird. I’m just a dumb kid, y’know? I don’t- I don’t got any ‘sage advice’, or whatever.”
“Eh, who cares. What matters is that you got cool taste in music,” James amends. “I liked your playlist idea so I put it together on a cassette. Been spinning it in my car a bunch.”
Jason beams. “Really?” He feels a hot rush of blood in his cheeks. An Alva guy, having something nice to say about him? And not just that, but a hot, cute Alva guy? He’d be lying if he said that didn’t feel good and also super flattering. “That’s… really cool. Any favorite tracks?”
“Yeah! There’s one, uh. Bad Penny? It’s so raw, I love it.”
“Oh, yeah, yeah,” Jason nods, taking a bite of his burger. “That’s a good one. One of my personal favorites.”
“I swear it could be used as a vert song or something man. Might have to do it in the future. Everyone else on Earth has been using the Misfits and it's getting stale.”
Jason laughs before he takes a sip of his pop. “That’s fair, man. They’re fucking good, though. Can’t go wrong with the classics.”
“Listen, listen, listen. I love the Misfits, I do. But how many times can I hear Last Caress in one day in one park, man?” James demands, gesturing wildly with the hand that’s holding his burger. A chunk of lettuce goes flying out. “Bad enough one of the guys on my team is obsessed with them. All he plays in the goddamn car, back-to-back, screaming along with the tape. Like, fuck. Even got the fucking skull tatted on his arm.” James rolls his eyes and shakes his head as he takes an exasperated bite.
That makes Jason giggle. “Better than my team. They don’t like all the hard shit. I have to listen to the Talking Heads on the rides over. I don’t even fucking know French and I can sing that part of Psycho Killer.”
James snickers. “Sing it for me, Bones boy,” he teases. “You’re a regular bilingual, huh? Chicks dig that.”
Jason feels his face burn. He crumples up the wrapper of his burger. “No way, man. I suck at languages.”
“Indulge me here,” James prods, giving him a light shove with the back of his hand. “Parlez-vous at me.”
And, well. Maybe Jason’s a little weak for guys he thinks are hot.
“Uh, okay, what do I remember?” Jason sets down his food, tilting his head back to look up towards the sky as if his answer is there. He begins to make the sounds of the words that he’s heard a million times; undoubtedly if a real French speaker were here they’d laugh their ass off at his attempt, but he tries it anyway. “Fuck- ce que j'ai fait, ce soir-là... ce qu'elle a dit, ce soir-là… réalisant mon espoir, je me lance, vers la gloire.”
“Impressive,” James tells him. “What does it mean?”
“No idea.”
James laughs. It’s a nice sound.
As Jason takes a final sip of coke, he watches Lars and Kirk go running past where they’re sitting, the two of them darting through bystanders at breakneck speed. Jason instantly clues in to what’s happening.
“Oh, shit, they’re probably finalizing the scores,” he says, gathering up his trash to throw it out. “C’mon, man, let’s go.”
James nods, stuffing the last bite of his burger into his mouth. “Mhm- one, one sec,”
“Dude,” Jason laughs, “We’re gonna miss it, hurry up.” He grabs’ James’ free hand, tugging a little, and James gets the hint and lets Jason pull him to his feet.
Swallowing, James pounds back the rest of his coke. “Fuck, okay, let’s go. Better be there when you win.”
Jason feels his cheeks heat. “Shut up, dude,” he says, rolling his eyes.
He bumps his shoulder against James’. James bumps back.
+
A few weeks later, James meets up with Jason at the Del Mar competition.
They have a tentative routine now; do runs, smoke cigarettes, maybe find food, and shoot the shit while they wait for everyone to be finished and for prizes to be given out.
Jason wins this one, too, of course. James has heard it from others around him that whenever you’re up against Jason, you’re just happy if you get second place. It’s just about a goddamn miracle if you manage to catch him on an off day where he doesn’t win. Though he’s really, really fucking disciplined and practiced, so those days are rare.
Real rare. James can probably count on one hand the amount of times he’s seen Jason come in second.
Where James is sitting on the trunk of his car, he can see the weird motormouth- Lars, he’s pretty sure- as well as the mousy cowed one, who he thinks is named Junior, walking with Jason across the lot. He knows he’s being a creep, watching and staring, but there’s nothing much else going on. Jason’s the most interesting thing to him at the moment.
It takes a while for the tiny fucker to finish his babbling, and by the time he’s done, Junior has already slipped away, saving himself, and Jason looks like he’s about ready to die. It’s a mercy when Lars finally bids Jason a hasty adieu and runs off elsewhere.
Which leaves Jason alone, which is what James has been waiting for. Jason begins to walk away until James calls out his name, raising his arm to wave at him.
Whipping his head up, he spots James. A smile spreads across his lips, and then he jogs over. Something in James’ chest wells up. Jason looks. . . he looks really pretty, like that. Noticeably so.
Standing in front of him, Jason puts a hand on his hip. “Hey! Whats up?”
“Congrats on your win, man.”
“Oh, well,” Jason averts his eyes and tilts his head away. James is pretty sure he’s blushing a little. “Thanks again.”
“I did have something I wanted to ask you, though,” James continues. “A hypothetical situation for you here.”
“Uh huh?” Jason looks genuinely perplexed.
“Let’s just say I have a six pack of Coors in my car, and let's just say I know a good place that overlooks the water. Would you, hypothetically of course, wanna come with me and chill?”
“Hypothetically, yes, that would be cool,” Jason replies, having caught on, his smile boyish and soft.
A grin splits across James’ face. “Would you hypothetically wanna ditch your board and your pads in your car, and meet me back here and we can go?”
Agreeing, Jason takes a few minutes to do just that. Somewhere in that span of time, he ditches his little board shorts and steps into a pair of ripped-up jeans. Maybe James is really just desperate or something, but he thinks to himself that it’s a good look on him as well.
“So, where are we heading out to?” Jason asks upon his return, as James hops off his trunk and begins rounding the car to get into the driver’s seat. Jason takes the initiative and opens the passenger side door, sliding into the seat.
Buckling himself in, James grins. “That’s for me to know, and for you to find out,” he teases, laughing as Jason rolls his eyes and makes an ‘ugh’ noise deep in his throat. But then he smiles nonetheless, and James takes it as his cue to get moving.
When he turns the ignition, the car starts and his stereo system kicks to life - playing Jason’s mixtape.
“Is that- dude,” Jason grins, “You were serious?”
“Duh,” James says. He pulls out of the lot, turning onto the main road. “Why, you thought I was just making it up? Stroking your ego?”
Jason shrugs. “Just kinda figured nobody would be interested enough to like, actually do it.”
“Guess you were wrong.”
“Guess so,” Jason laughs, “Hang on, skip ahead, I like that track more.”
James does as asked, and Danzig’s Soul on Fire begins. He cranks the volume, the two of them grinning as it blares from the speakers of James’ shitty stereo, so loud passersby on the streets stare at them in the car.
He drives them along the beach. There’s an outlook spot father down along the boardwalk, one James knows is a little out of the ways. And, sure enough, when he pulls into the parking lot, it’s completely empty. Score.
The two of them get out, and James opens up his trunk and pulls out the case of beer. Then they sit on the hood, cracking open their cans, watching the waves roll on the shore, making lazy conversation about music and skateboarding. Somehow the conversation ends up drifting to horror; James doesn’t really remember how, but he’d be a liar if he said he didn’t like it.
“Dude, The Thing was so fucking good,” Jason grins. He takes a sip from his can, waving his other hand around lazily as he talks. “Kirk- he’s one of the guys on my team- huge horror nerd. He’s talked about it so much I’ve, like, memorized it all, dude.”
James laughs. “Sounds like he’d get along well with Cliff. He’s into that thing, too- horror and shit.”
“Yeah, yeah. The special effects were killer, though.”
“Really?” James shakes his head. “I thought they were a little cheesy, to be honest.”
Jason raises an eyebrow. “Dude, c’mon, they were sweet. Just, like, the artistry behind it? Like, it's a little over the top. But that's what makes it so good.”
“Okay, that's fair,” James tells him, and takes a sip from his can. “Like, I saw They Live. I loved it but, like, yeah. Okay, I’m one to talk,” James concludes, and Jason giggles, leaning back to rest against the rear windshield.
There’s a beat of silence between them as they watch the ocean roll onto the shore. The sky is dark, and he can hardly tell where the heavens end and where the water begins. When the Alva guys come out here, there’s never a moment of peace to sit and enjoy it. He’s glad that he’s here with Jason instead.
Turning to look at his company, he watches as Jason tips his head all the way back and polishes his drink off. When he finishes, he crunches the can and tosses it into a nearby trash can. It lands with a clang.
“Hey,” he says, sitting up and whipping his head to look at James. He wears a coy grin, and eyes that convey that he has an idea, and James isn’t sure how ready he is to hear it until- “You wanna go skinny dipping?”
James is in the middle of taking a drink and he nearly chokes on it.
“What?”
“Lets go!” Jason says, and then gets up off the trunk. Without waiting for an answer, he begins to take his shirt off.
James wasn’t expecting this, and so he’s a bit stunned. “Wait, really?”
Unknotting his laces, Jason says, emphatically, "Yes, now come on!”
Well shit. Okay. He’s never actually gone skinny dipping before, mostly because he’s never had opportunity, so his shock is mostly born from being side swiped with the suggestion. Though there’s no time like the present, he supposes. Guess he’s doing this. After chugging the rest of his beer, he stands, and begins stripping.
By the time he starts, Jason’s already naked and gone out to wander in the sand as he waits for James to catch up. First his shirt, then shoes and socks, and pants, and finally his underwear.
The air is cool against his skin, but it feels good, a nice break from the heat of the day. James expected to feel awkward about this, exposed and vulnerable, but actually, he finds it really freeing. Even though he wasn’t planning on it, he’s glad Jason suggested it.
Jason stands out on the sand, looking out to the sea. In the ocean breeze, his curls whip where they lay against his shoulder blades, and under the bright moon and the lights that edge the boardwalk, his pale skin glows. It’s strange, but James cannot help but observe the silhouette of his back, the curve of his waist as it flows down to his hips, and over his ass, to the sharp angles of his legs.
Jason looks very. . . beautiful.
He turns to look at James, and James is startled, afraid to have been caught staring. In a lame save, he tries to pretend to have been looking out to the sea. If Jason noticed, he doesn’t mention it. “Ready?”
And James steps across the boardwalk into the sand, joining Jason.
Wordlessly, Jason begins to run, like the ocean can’t wait for him. James runs after him, and they both begin shouting and laughing as they meet the water. When it hits their knees, they dive into it. The chill of the water reaches every corner of his body, invigorates him. When he surfaces for his first gasp of air, James feels very, very alive.
“Fuck, that's cold,” Jason laughs. He pushes his wet curls out of his eyes. James splashes a little bit of water at him, snickering as Jason gasps. “Hey, asshole, that wasn't called for!”
He's grinning, though, curls long and wavy thanks to the water. James takes it as encouragement to splash him again.
“You're gonna fucking get it, man-”
“Oh, I’m so scared!” James pitches his voice up in some horrible attempt at mockery. “Whatever will I do-”
Jason splashes him, hard. Water sprays across James’ face, and he splutters a little, caught off guard.
Wiping his face, James lunges forwards, tackling Jason into the water with a huge splash. Jason’s half-yelp, half-laugh is cut off as they crash below the surface, everything going dark and chilled.
When they surface, Jason's laughing. His hands are wrapped around James’ arms, fingers cold and strong, the two of them close enough that James can see Jason's bare skin covered in goosebumps from the chill, shoulders covered with freckles and a lingering sunburn.
James blinks. His cheeks heat. Jason swallows; James watches his lips part, his eyelashes flutter. He can see Jason’s eyes looking at James’ own lips. His heart clenches.
Everything in James’ mind screams 'kiss him, dummy!', and it takes all of his energy to bite back that urge, because he has no clue how Jason’s gonna respond. What would he do if he did? Push him away, call him sick? Lean in to return it? How would those shapely lips feel, pressing back against his?
While he wants to know, it’s too much to risk. He has a good thing going here, and he’d hate to ruin it for nothing.
Suddenly, Jason moves and dunks him under the water. It startles James out of his thoughts entirely, the cold shocking him out of his haze. He comes up for air, spluttering and clumsily wiping water out of his eyes.
“You motherfucker,” James laughs. Jason’s grinning, and it gets wiped off his face when James jumps on him to pull them both under.
───
After James drops him off at his car, he tells him when and where they can meet up at the next competition, and then he drives off.
Jason hopes he’s not imagining things. When they were at the beach, and in the water, he swears there was a moment. Something, like electricity, was conducting between them. Snapping together like magnets.
He was looking at James’ lips, and thinking about leaning in, about throwing caution to the wind. Jason swears that James was doing the same.
Since they’d started hanging around each other, he’d started developing… something for him. He likes being with him, because James really is one of the coolest people he’s met in a while, and they have so much in common. He thinks that James might feel the same about him, because Jason feels like he’s been getting some of those vibes. One of those times was tonight, as they orbited each other, and it felt like they were waiting for the other to move, but neither did. He wasn’t willing to take that chance, not just yet, and he didn’t want to make things awkward if he got it wrong.
There was a moment of this stillness, this hovering, for too long, so Jason broke up the tension and splashed him. To give himself an out.
As Jason wrings his hair and lets whatever remaining water still clinging in his locks to drip down to the asphalt, he thinks to himself that maybe next time, he won’t find an out and just do it if he has the chance.
Better to try and see what happens than live without knowing, he thinks.
Jason looks forward to seeing James again.
+
James takes a slow drag from his cigarette, allowing the smoke to curl out of his mouth into the warm evening air.
The competition is long finished; yet another one for the books, scores tallied up ages ago. He didn't get a chance to hang out with Jason earlier, thanks to some scheduling issues, and he’s a little disappointed about it.
Kind of sad, actually. Jason's fun and whip-smart, and his energy is infectious. Each time they hang out, James just wants a little more.
It's been well over a month since that first fateful day Jason came up to bum one of his cigs. James is slightly impressed by how easygoing Jason is; fucked-up tricks and bruises and rivalries don't even faze him, just roll off his back. What James wouldn't give to be able to do that so effortlessly.
He blows smoke out of his mouth. James sighs. He misses Jason. A lot, actually.
Leaning on the trunk of Dave’s beat-to-shit car, James crosses one foot over the other. The sun’s just beginning to go down, the air still sort of hot, only the slightest breeze from the ocean wafting over where they’re hanging out in the parking lot. Behind him, Nick kicks his feet, dirty sneakers banging against the bumper, all thunk-thunk-thunk.
Cliff’s gone home; date with his girlfriend, or something. Selfishly, James wishes he hadn’t, ‘cause Cliff’s always been good at balancing out Dave and Nick’s obnoxious natures.
“Quit it,” Dave drawls. He smacks at Nick’s arm. “Gonna make the bumper fall off again.”
Nick laughs. “Not my fault your car’s a piece of shit.”
Dave punches him on the arm this time, hard. Yelping, Nick scooches to the side, nearly pushing James over. He rubs hastily at his arm where James knows there’s going to be a nasty purple bruise tomorrow.
“Jesus, knock it off,” James huffs. He flicks some ash off the end of his cig. “Dumbasses.”
He goes back to watching the rest of the spectators in the parking lot; the tailgating is just kicking into gear, and he watches kids across the lot share beers and pass joints back and forth, hanging out the back of rusted-out trucks, all of them tanned and sun-kissed thanks to the warm Cali weather.
“Look who it is,” Dave suddenly leers. “Fuckin’ Newdick. Come to grace us with his presence.”
Sure enough, Jason’s making his way across the parking lot, board tucked under one arm, twirling the keys of his car on his other finger. He’s pulled his hair back into a ponytail, and James’ eyes are drawn to the smooth expanses of his skin thanks to the tiny red shorts and white muscle tee he’s wearing.
Nick’s laughter grates on James’ ears. “Jesus, those are slutty fucking shorts.”
James swallows hard.
Dave snickers. “Think I could talk him into sucking my dick?”
Jason doesn’t hear any of it, so when he comes up, he’s smiling. “James! Good run today, man. I was about to head out for dinner, and ‘cause we didn’t get a chance to hang earlier, you wanna come with?” As Jason speaks, James can see the slow turn of the other guys’ heads with their unspoken judgement. “I could drop you off later, too,” Jason finishes, shaking his keys absentmindedly in twitchy fingers.
God, why did he have to ask in front of Dave and Nick? James wants to say yes, hell yeah, let’s eat and talk about horror movies or music again, but he can’t accept in front of his team mates. It’s almost like the Alva Posse’s hobby to shit on the Bones Brigade; the punk grungy world James comes from was never intended to mix with the bright colors and too many pads and mainstream tastes that the Bones Brigade exists in.
Even if Jason seems to be different from the rest, different enough for James to have liked him and sought out his company. Dave and Nick and the rest of the Alva guys would never let him live it down.
Fuck.
It hurts him, but he makes himself say it anyway. He feigns confusion as he tells him, “Dude, what? Get out of here, man.” James tries to make his pushing as light as he can. Minimizing damage where he’s being forced to make it.
Jason recoils like he’s been slapped. “What do you mean?”
“Ugh, come on, Newdick,” James groans, and it’s already painful. “I talk to you, what, a few times and you think we’re best buddies all of a sudden?” The guilt and shame settles heavily in his gut. It makes his mouth go dry and threatens to choke him up. Dave and Nick are looking at him with raised eyebrows. Addressing his guys, James mock-sneers. “God, fucking obsessed much?”
Jason’s face falls, twists into a frown, and his brow knits. He realizes what James is doing. Taking a step back, he shakes his head. “So we’re just going to pretend that we don’t know each other? Haven’t been hanging out?” His eyes are dopey and hurt under his bangs.
It’s a monumental effort for James to hurt him, but under the watchful eyes of Dave and Nick, he has no choice. Swallowing his guilt, he mumbles, “Don’t know what you’re talking about, man.”
Jason shifts from one foot to the other. “You’re really gonna just diss me and play pretend in front of your friends like that?”
James stays quiet.
“Un-fucking-believable,” Jason spits. “You’re an asshole and a coward.”
Dave sneers. “This is fucking pathetic,” he drawls. “You’re just embarrassing yourself, man. Get lost.”
Jason’s face twists, like he’s seriously about to start crying. How badly James wants to take it all back. Clenching his board up underneath his arm, Jason turns to run towards his car across the lot. The three Alva guys turn to watch him go.
As Dave and Nick yell at his back, their mixed voices of ‘keep going, motherfucker!’ and ‘fucking loser!’, James watches in silence.
At least when Nero burned Rome, he was playing a fiddle. All James has is a shitty cigarette. There’s no dignity and certainly no triumph.
Jason’s right. He’s an asshole.
───
Jason knows he's a moron.
It's what he gets for maybe thinking James would be different. He put his hand between the dog’s teeth like a fool, thinking he wasn't gonna get bitten, and now he's bleeding.
The road seems to waver in front of him, although Jason's pretty sure it's because of the tears in his eyes. He tries to choke it back, white-knuckling the wheel, sniffling pathetically.
He has to pull into a gas station.
Parking in the lot nearby, Jason pauses. Then he punches the steering wheel, wincing as the horn blares. Lolling his head forwards, he covers his face with his hands, a sob wrenching out of his throat.
All he can see is James’ face, the disgust and mockery. It makes him sick, that he was stupid enough to think James would ever want to talk to him, that he was dumb enough to fall for his easy charm.
The radio’s playing; 10cc’s I’m Not In Love.
Fitting.