Chapter Text
August is sweltering hot and humid.
The high school dress code doesn’t allow for comfortability in this weather. Girls can’t wear shorts, skirts, or dresses shorter than their fingertips, guys can’t wear shorts shorter than the knee, and no one can wear tank tops or muscle shirts if the straps are thinner than the width of four fingers. Rips in jeans can’t sit above the mid-thigh and crop-tops are banned altogether. All of these rules combined ensure that everyone is hot and miserable for the entirety of the warmer months, but they’re all used to it. This dress code has been instated since elementary school. It’s second nature by now, and if it’s violated, people wear gym clothes instead. It’s not flattering but it’s functional.
There’s a reason Alex Gaskarth gets attention on the first day of senior year, and it’s because he shows up with a split lip, a bruised temple, jeans that are ripped to hell, and a muscle shirt. It’s all-black attire, including his shoes and backpack. The only potent white on him are the AirPods in his ears. While everyone else suffers in stiff shorts and modest shirts, Alex Gaskarth shows off how toned he is, how tan he is, how bruised he is. The damage spreads across his exposed ribs too, blossoming in rich purples, browns, and yellows, and in the center of it all is a scrape that looks like road burn.
Alex Gaskarth also gets attention on the first day of senior year because he’s new and he’s hot.
He is hot. Hot in a way that makes people look twice — possibly average at first glance, but on the second one, he’s striking. He has a unique, angled jawline and a cute nose, dark hair that pairs with dark eyes and long eyelashes, and high cheekbones. His slender lips feature the split on the lower corner, scabbed over but still fresh, and the bruising on his temple disappears under the choppy fringe of his hair. He’s tall and lean, toothpick legs and toned arms, a hint of abs that are just barely covered by the muscle shirt. It doesn’t require a double take to sense that he’s all sharps and edges.
His locker is right beside Rian Dawson. There used to be a girl there who Rian swore he’d ask on a date when the time was right, but she moved schools last semester, which is how Alex ends up taking her place despite his last name being several letters beyond Rian’s. Rian Dawson is a self-proclaimed judgmental pessimist who hates anything cool and likes anything boring, so Alex Gaskarth is hardly his top pick for a locker buddy. He would much prefer to have Jess back; she was good at science and math and she wanted to study engineering in college. Rian probably would have married her on the spot. Just given by how many eyes are on him, Alex Gaskarth is what Rian would consider to be the definition of cool. Boring guys don’t come to school with split lips and bruised temples. Cool guys do. Rian does not like things that are cool.
Rian’s first impression of Alex is, therefore, Jack and Zack’s first impression of Alex as well.
“He looks so arrogant,” Rian complains at lunch, scowling as he crunches on a pretzel. “How has he not been dress coded yet? Where are his ugly fucking gym clothes to knock him down a peg? He came waltzing through the front doors with his goddamn AirPods and his muscle shirt like he owned the place. He didn’t say a word to anyone. Didn’t look at anyone. I’m telling you, that kid is fucked up. I can feel it.”
“He’s new, Rian, he doesn’t know the dress code,” Zack sighs, exasperated. “Give him a break. You haven’t even spoken to him, maybe he’s really nice.”
“Zack, I would love to see you speak to him. Jack, I really think you should steer clear. He’s probably homophobic.”
Jack rolls his eyes. “I feel like that’s a bold assumption to make, Ri.”
“It is not! He looks like an asshole!”
“He can be an asshole and an ally, y’know.”
“Oh, whatever. Have you even seen him?”
“No.”
“You’re not missing much.”
“Okay.”
As it turns out, Alex Gaskarth is in Jack’s last class of the day.
In theory, Jack gets what Rian means. He can see how Alex’s aloofness comes off as arrogant. He chews gum as he sits against the wall of the class with his AirPods in and he only takes one out when the teacher begins the lecture. He’s still wearing the muscle shirt and the ripped jeans, surprisingly, but Jack is guessing that he probably got let off with a warning because he’s new. He moves with apathy, tossing stacks of paper to the girl next to him as the teacher passes around handouts and twirling his pen between his fingers. Jack’s in the back of the class, diagonally behind Alex by a few rows, which means he can watch him. He can look at him. And he does look.
He sees the arrogance. He does. But there’s also something pretty about him — Jack feels his chest tighten as the sunlight catches his face as he looks down to write, illuminating his eyelashes as they fan over his cheeks. There’s a grace in his apathetic movement; his fingers work the pen delicately and when he looks up through his lashes at the board, his tongue dips out to wet his lips. Effortlessly intriguing in a way that Jack can’t describe. Discreetly, he reaches up to his AirPod, a subtle tapping motion to change what he’s listening to. Jack would love to know what he’s playing. His teeth catch his lower lip for a split second, interrupted by a wince as he catches the scab. Like he’d forgotten it was there. Jack watches his hand come up, thumb rubbing over the injury to see if it’s bleeding. It drops a moment later, aimlessly moving across his body to graze over the bruised scrape on his side. Jack can’t help but stare — Alex Gaskarth is hot. There’s no denying it. His body is all but on display in that outfit and Jack has had a type for as long as he’s known he’s gay. Suddenly he understands why the school enforces a dress code; he’s distracted. He couldn’t look away if he tried.
Jack Barakat has a boyfriend.
He doesn’t have a right to look at Alex. He doesn’t exactly plan on being with James for much longer, but that doesn’t mean he can check out other boys yet. Especially not boys who are more than likely straight. This just serves as another reason why he needs to end things; James isn’t what he wants. They clash in more ways than they connect, and Jack finds himself unhappy more than he finds himself happy. Even now, just looking at Alex’s bare side, he feels more of a spark than he’s felt with James in months. It’s not his fault that Alex is just his type.
He runs into him leaving class. Literally. He stands up to leave and accidentally cuts Alex off right in his path to the door. They both stop, but Jack freezes — Alex simply stops moving. Both AirPods in, one hand on the strap of his backpack at his shoulder, and totally relaxed. Jack is probably the most tense he’s been in years as he stares at him with wide eyes, barely managing to get out, “Sorry.”
Alex just looks at him. Holds eye contact for one second longer than Jack’s comfortable with and says easily, “Don’t worry about it.”
And with that, he’s stepping around him and out the door. Jack is left breathless with the new knowledge that Alex is marginally shorter than him and he has the prettiest eyes he’s ever seen and his voice alone could weaken someone’s knees. It did. As he breezes by, Jack catches his cologne and he practically melts. It’s subtle and masculine, the kind of scent that Jack hears girls talking about. Deep and rich but not bold enough to pollute everything around him. It’s fitting. Jack finds himself aching to get closer for a better taste.
~~~
Alex abides by the school dress code following the first day. Jack’s disappointed about the lack of visible skin, but he finds himself waiting to see what Alex wears each day. He has his own unique style, mostly black outfits with the occasional white shirt. Jack’s yet to see him wear a color, but he likes that. Besides, Alex still pushes the boundaries of the dress code — he wears the ripped jeans with dark boxers underneath so they peak through the holes that spread up his thighs, something that the teachers don’t even notice but the students do. He doesn’t keep his leather jacket in his locker during the day like he’s supposed to; he wears it until a teacher scolds him, and then it’s shrugged off without a word until his next class where it adorns his shoulders again. Some of his shirts violate the language codes they enforce within the dress code; some of them have swear words, some of them are tiny statements on political matters, some of them reference sex. Jack’s personal favorite is the all black t-shirt with a tiny green marijuana leaf embroidered on the chest pocket and the words legalize marijuana embroidered on the cuff of the sleeve. It’s just enough to know that their political views align, and Jack feels a weird sense of relief in that. One of his favorite things about Alex in general is the tattoo behind his ear. It’s not professionally done; Jack thinks it must be stick-and-poke because it’s faded and choppy but it forms a little skull-and-crossbones, minimalistic but punk. He’s always liked tattoos — he’s yet to get one himself, despite being eighteen, but it’s on the agenda for when he has enough money to spare.
Jack watches him as the weeks go by. He barely says a word to anyone unless they acknowledge him first and he hasn’t been adopted into an existing friend group yet. Jack’s not sure if that’s by choice or not, but he has to assume that Alex just likes being a loner. Rian tells them that several girls have approached him asking for his number and that he declines each and every one with the same line — i’m not interested. No pleasantries. Rian still scoffs at his presence, bitter and resentful that they have to share a space by their lockers, and he complains that he thinks he’s so cool and broody when really he’s just an asshole. Jack doesn’t have enough evidence to believe he’s an asshole, but he also doesn’t have any evidence to prove that he’s not, so he just lets Rian believe it.
He finds his instagram account in November. It pops up on people you may know and he can’t resist tapping on it. It’s public, which surprises him, and his bio is about as vague as Jack would expect. He uses his full name in all lower-case: alexander, followed by smoke and mirrors in the description box, and that’s it. All of his photos are aesthetically pleasing in an 80s nostalgic sense — out of focus or grainy, dim pictures illuminated only by neon, partial shots instead of the full picture. Enough hidden to keep everyone guessing. He’s not tagged in anything but similar photos, like all his friends have the same aesthetic, and Jack can’t find a single picture of him smiling. It’s all moody. He does manage to figure out that he used to live in Baltimore, just given by the location of some of his pictures that Jack knows of — the city skate park, the wharf, a local instagrammable neon sign in downtown. There’s no girlfriend to be seen, but based on the aesthetic of his page and his general personality, Jack’s not confident that he’d post about his love life anyway. He has over three thousand followers but he’s only following four hundred in return, and Jack realizes that he’s probably never going to learn anything about Alex beyond what he actively chooses to share with the public.
The most recent photoset was posted on July 12th and showcases four photos. The first is a photo of an empty street in the city at night, slick with fresh rain that illuminates the streetlights and the neon from surrounding buildings, filtered to set everything to shades of purple, blue, and grey. The second is a close-up of a note against a dark wood background, floral stems blurred at the corner of the image and cursive handwritten words reading yours forever (& forever yours). The third is a grainy picture of a collection of roses being lit on fire with a lighter, and the fourth is five sets of black shoes against wet, black pavement, an open bottle of champagne in the center and another bottle smashed beside it. Alex’s caption reads suckerpunch my soul and there are over a hundred comments. Jack scrolls through them; most of them are heart emojis, some say various forms of always here for you, love you forever, say the word and i’m there, and some of them are more recent saying miss you, come back to visit, hope you’re doing well. Just based on this post alone, Jack has to assume that Alex wasn’t thrilled about moving here. It feels bitter with a tint of longing, and his friends clearly didn’t want him to leave either. It was probably a decision made by his family, and Alex has no choice but to follow.
Jack debates on following him, but decides against it. He had one interaction with Alex on the first day of school, months ago. He has no right.
Over Thanksgiving Break, he goes to the skate park with his friends. James tags along too, to his dismay, but it’s his own fault for not breaking up with him yet. It’s after midnight and they’re all a little buzzed (except James, who doesn’t drink), which is exactly how they ended up at the skate park at all — it’s always empty after dark because there aren’t any lights. It’s a ploy by the city to keep kids from lingering into the late hours of the night, but Zack likes to bring a headlamp and challenge himself. So it’s a surprise when they pull up and realize they’re not alone, but it’s more of a surprise to see that it’s Alex who’s occupying the space.
They hear him before they see him. The clatter of his board on the concrete is enough to confuse them, and when he pops up from the quarter pipe, Jack’s heart lurches. Alex watches them as they approach, taking slow hits off a joint with one hand in his back pocket. Jack can sense Rian’s pettiness already, but he figures Zack can handle this. He’s the one who skates. He’ll be able to navigate the interaction best.
“Hey, man,” Zack greets, throwing a seamless head nod. Alex doesn’t return it, just holds eye contact for a moment and then scans over the others like he’s scoping the situation. “Is it cool if we hang out here? We won’t bug you.”
Alex takes a hit as he considers it — Jack might agree with Rian about him being an asshole if he says no — but he blows out the smoke and shrugs one shoulder. “Sure.”
“Thanks, man. I dig your jacket, by the way; where’d you get that?”
Alex looks down at himself like he doesn’t know what he’s wearing. It’s tight black jeans, ripped to hell, paired with a black Nirvana shirt and his black leather jacket. He looks back up, saying plainly, “Thrift store,” and Zack hums.
“Figures. We’ll hit the other end of the park so we’re not in your way, but feel free to join us if you want.”
Alex doesn’t answer. Just blinks and takes another hit. As they leave his presence, Jack doesn’t miss the way Alex’s eyes flick down to James’s fingers laced together with his, followed by the subtlest raised of one eyebrow. He doesn’t say a word and he doesn’t look at either one of them, but Jack would probably pay money to know what he was thinking in that exact moment.
He keeps an eye on him all night. He watches him run through his portion of the park like it’s second nature, like he’s not thinking, and Zack comments on his form and his technique. Jack doesn’t know anything about skating but even as a spectator, he can see that Alex is pretty good. Around one, he loses the leather jacket and gains another joint, and he sits on the edge of the half pipe to smoke. Leaning back on one hand, Jack can see his bicep flex, prominent and defined in a way that he shouldn’t be admiring when his boyfriend is resting on his shoulder. Maybe Jack’s just drunk but he thinks Alex is even prettier when he smokes. He gets back on the board after fifteen minutes, and Jack’s sucked back into the conversation with his friends for another thirty before he glances over again just to see Alex take a fall. He’s on his feet within a second, clearly not injured too bad, but he examines his hands and knees before he goes back to it.
Alex leaves around two, and Jack breaks up with James in the car when he’s dropped off at three.
alexgaskarth has requested to follow you.
Jack stares at the notification for a long time. He’s drunk in bed at four in the morning and he broke up with his boyfriend an hour ago and as far as he knows, Alex doesn’t follow anyone from the school. He and Jack don’t have a single mutual follower. There’s even a new photoset on the other boy’s page — the first is a blurry picture of his shoe on the board, the second his leather jacket on the ground beside sharpie graffiti that reads i’m pissed off and below it, in a different color, someone else has written you should be. The third is a picture of his hand holding the lighter, his palm shredded from the fall he took, and beneath it is his bloody knee. The caption reads destined to observe and Jack has no idea what that means but he accepts the follow request and takes the chance to follow back.
~~~
It’s unreasonable to have a crush when he’s never interacted with him. He can’t have a crush. He just broke up with his boyfriend; he should be healing. Recovering. Instead, all he does is think about Alex Gaskarth. Alex Gaskarth, who is so stylish in the warmer months but once it gets cold and rainy, he wears mostly hoodies. Black hoodies with different words or graphics. The first time Jack sees him in a hoodie, he loses his breath. Everyone knows that Alex Gaskarth is all sharps and edges, but all Jack can see when he wears a hoodie is how cute he is. He’s sure Alex would rather die than come off as cute but Jack has always been weak for a boy in a hoodie and he’s even weaker for a bad boy in a hoodie, apparently.
That’s not to say Alex isn’t still stylish. He makes anything look like a carefully curated fashion choice, and Jack assumes that it probably is.
His birthday comes in December. Jack only knows this through instagram because he reposts a few of his friends’ stories that wish him happy birthday — none of them show his face, which Jack is curious about until one of the reposts shows a picture of two hands clinking beers together with a caption that says happiest of eighteenths to one of my favorite people! @alexgaskarth told me i couldn’t post anything with his face in it so here’s something that matches your annoying aesthetic, dickhead. love ya. miss ya. forever with ya.
That tracks.
In January, Alex posts another photoset. The first is a picture of his hand, newly adorned with a tattoo of a red rose and three letters that Jack can’t make out due to the VHS filter. The second is a brief video of a record spinning in deep green lighting, and the third is an iced black coffee beside a pothos plant on a windowsill, the winter afternoon sun filtering in on it and the barely-there outline of the moon rising in the sky in the background. The caption reads forever with ya, the same thing his friend wrote in his happy birthday dedication, and Jack realizes that it must be an inside joke. Jack scrolls through the comments, too curious to ignore them when they might give a shred of information into this boy.
such a beautiful sentiment, miss you <3
sooo stunning
love it!! couldn’t be more fitting
hope you’re doing well x, this is gorgeous
Jack would kill to know what the sentiment is.
He can’t have a crush. He doesn’t know Alex. That’s where the obsession comes in — he doesn’t know a thing about him and that’s intriguing. It’s a game for him to find things out, but Alex keeps him guessing at every turn. Usually he can learn things about someone from their instagram, but Alex keeps a strict aesthetic in his posts, and part of the aesthetic is giving no information about himself. In line with that, Jack has no concept of the other boy’s sexuality. He can’t have a crush on someone straight; he’s been there before and it wrecked him. He’s also never had a crush on someone whose personality he doesn’t know. He’s always fallen for personality over looks, but it doesn’t hurt that Alex is stunning.
When the spring semester starts, Jack finds himself in Alex’s afternoon science class. He sits close to him, too; two seats behind and one row over. Alex sits directly next to Lila Richards, and for the first two weeks of school, he watches as Lila desperately tries to engage him in conversation. Alex doesn’t bite, though — he’s not necessarily rude, but he’s not forward, either. Lila compliments his hoodie and all he offers is thanks. Lila asks him how his weekend was and he says pretty normal. Lila suggests that they work on the assigned worksheet together after school and he says i’m busy already. It’s never outright mean but he never returns the sentiment or continues the conversation, and for some reason, Jack likes that. Lila’s one of the prettiest girls in school and half the popular guys are trying to get with her, but it’s clear that she wants Alex and Alex couldn’t care less. Jack think that’s hot.
Once she gives up, sometime in late February, it’s a quiet semester. Jack just watches. Waits. Wonders. He only learns one new thing about Alex Gaskarth, though, and it’s that he’s good at science. He never says a word in class but Jack sees his tests get returned with nothing less than a 93%. There’s never any look of pride on his face, which suggests that he’s used to that kind of grade in science. He looks at his instagram posts trying to decipher anything from them, but he comes up empty. He doesn’t post that often — maybe once a month, if that — but when he does, it comes down to his aesthetic and his vague captions.
In May, things change.
There’s a party after senior ball. The dance ends around ten, and after that, most people go to Josh’s house. His parents supply the alcohol as long as they don’t get too rowdy; there’s usually a party after all the school dances and after finals. Alex wasn’t at the dance, but he’s at the party — he’s got an Outsiders look going on with straight black jeans cuffed at the bottom and a black t-shirt tucked into them, a black belt that’s purely for decoration, and black sneakers. Jack feels hot under the collar just looking at him from across the room. It’s an experience in itself, watching Alex at a party. He doesn’t engage with anyone; he just fills a reusable water bottle with whatever mixed drink is in the kitchen, pours in some more vodka, and then retreats to the backyard alone. There’s a part of Jack’s drunken self that wants to follow him, but he doesn’t. He’s not stupid enough.
Alex finds him, though.
Jack goes in search of the bathroom. It’s after one and he’s drunk and he’s had to pee for at least an hour but he’s been trying to hold off because he doesn’t want to break the seal. He could still wait longer but he figures he might as well just bite the bullet, so he slinks upstairs and drunkenly tries to find the bathroom. All he does is open a bunch of doors that lead to everywhere but a bathroom — laundry room, bedroom, bedroom, closet — and just when he’s about to open the last door in the hallway, there’s a voice behind him.
“Are you looking for the bathroom?”
He turns around. Alex is leaning casually against the wall, water bottle full of alcohol in hand and looking as gorgeous as ever. His hair is a little messier than earlier and he looks marginally less composed, so Jack’s guessing he’s had a good amount to drink. “Yes.”
Alex tilts his head. “To pee or throw up?”
“… To pee?”
He nods his head in the direction of one of the bedroom doors that Jack had opened, and then takes it upon himself to open it. “Through there.”
It’s a Jack and Jill bathroom, hidden by the hallway wall. Of course Jack wouldn’t have seen it. He quietly thanks him as he passes, closing the bathroom door behind him. He’s just drunk enough to stare thoughtlessly at the wall as he pees, but when he opens the door again to wash his hands at the exposed sink, Alex is still there. Sitting floor of the bathroom with his back to the wall, sipping at his drink. “Why are you still here?” he asks bluntly, and Alex raises one eyebrow. Even on the ground, he’s intimidating. “I mean — isn’t that weird?”
“Where’s your boyfriend tonight?”
Jack pauses. Alex knows he was with a boy — he saw him and James holding hands that night at the skate park — but Jack doesn’t like that he’s being cornered in an empty room with questions about where his boyfriend is. Alex maintains eye contact, intense and unwavering, as Jack debates on what to say. If anything was to happen here, his friends would find him within thirty minutes, he’s sure. He can only be at so much risk by being honest.
“We broke up.”
Alex hums like he couldn’t care less about that answer and holds out his water bottle. “Want some water?”
“… I watched you pour alcohol in that earlier.”
“I finished that. It’s water now.”
Jack’s just drunk enough to not care.
So he sits down beside him, back to the wall, and takes the bottle. It is water, to his surprise, and he takes several long sips before he hands it back. Alex matches, swallowing some down before he screws the cap back on and says, “So you don’t have a boyfriend at all now?”
Jack frowns. “No.”
“Sensitive topic?”
“Well, no, I just… don’t know you.”
“How drunk are you?”
He blinks. For being virtually silent for months up until now, Alex switches topics with lightning speed. “What’s the scale?”
“You gonna remember anything tomorrow?”
“Oh, yeah. Might be a little blurry but I’m not blacked.”
“You with it enough to make decent decisions?”
“… Depends on the decision.”
Alex hums like he’s considering that. There’s a pause between them, and then the other boy sets the water bottle to the side and angles himself towards Jack a little more, their knees brushing. Up close like this, Jack can see the tiniest freckles that dot his nose, the stubble along his jaw, the shades of brown and gold in his eyes. Alex studies him for a moment, an intense minute as his eyes scan Jack’s face and down his body, and Jack’s cheeks flush under the gaze. His hand comes up, his thumb rubbing over Jack’s lower lip with his eyes settled on the motion, and Jack can’t decide if he’s closer to dying or coming because Alex Gaskarth is so pretty. His eyes flick up to meet Jack’s for a split second, and then he’s moving his hand to cup around the back of Jack’s neck, pulling him in and slotting their lips together.
Jack is definitely closer to dying.
All he can do is kiss back. Alex Gaskarth kisses the exact opposite of how he interacts with people — he’s focused and sensual, sucking gently on Jack’s lower lip as their heads tilt together, and unlike every conversation Jack’s seen him have, he actually contributes. His hand weaves into Jack’s hair as their tongues brush, he leans into him, he catches Jack’s lip with his teeth and then soothes it again. Jack closes a hand around the boy’s hip, returning the favors with all the same intensity that Alex gives him, and he’s pretty sure that when he thinks about this when he’s sober in the morning, he’ll convince himself it’s a dream.
Alex pulls away first. They’re both out of breath and Jack is half-hard but mostly terrified, and Alex looks entirely normal. Maybe a little flushed, but Jack would place his bets on that being the alcohol. He just stares at him, embarrassed even though he’s not the one who made the first move. Alex seems unaware of the crisis he’s having as he sips at his water, which he silently hands to Jack a second later. He drinks out of it as well, finally looking away from Alex to stare at the cabinets across from them and try to process that in his drunken mind.
“Wanna do that again?”
Jack swallows hard as he passes the water back, looking over with wide eyes to find Alex staring at him already. Waiting for an answer. “Right now?”
“Any time. Always. Whenever you want. Including right now.”
He stares at him for a moment. He’s trying to actually think about this but it doesn’t compute in his brain, so he stares blankly and thinks about absolutely nothing and then says, “Yes.”
~~~
Alex Gaskarth is a fucking sin.
He and Jack don’t interact at school at all. They don’t even look at each other. The only way they communicate is through instagram DMs on vanish mode — decided by Alex with no communication about it — and Jack has no say in it. He wouldn’t change it even if he did; his friends would kill him if they knew he was doing this with Alex and Alex makes it very clear that he doesn’t want to be outed.
“You tell anyone and I will fucking ruin you. Even your friends. Understood?”
“Oh — yes?”
“I’m serious.”
“Yes. Understood. Under lock and key.”
Most times, they’re outside. They’ll meet at the lookout spot that Alex knows of, hike the quarter mile in silence to the bench with the view of the city, and make out. Occasionally they’ll kiss in the backseat of Alex’s car, too. Jack’s oddly proud to be the one doing this with him, even though he knows that Alex could’ve been doing this with someone else for the past few months since he moved here. He has no clue about Alex’s romantic or sexual history. He doesn’t ask questions. The only thing that makes him think that he wasn’t with someone else is that he lets Jack mark him up. He’ll tilt his head back and sigh out as Jack kisses and sucks on his neck, soft purple hickeys blossoming within the hour that he adorns for several days after. Maybe it’s naive but Jack thinks that if he likes neck kissing this much, the last boy would’ve marked him up too, but he’s never had hickeys until now. So maybe Jack’s the first boy here.
They stop at kissing, though. Jack’s never turned Alex on, not that he knows of. It’s clear that the younger boy likes what they’re doing, considering he invites him out several times a week and he’s always eager and enthusiastic in his own muted way, but Jack’s never gotten him weak. No matter how intense it is, how much Jack kisses that spot on his neck that he likes so much, how much he touches him, Alex has always remained composed. He’s in control of himself. He holds himself to whatever secret agenda he’s set. Jack’s still too nervous to be properly turned on; he doesn’t want to be the only one. In a way, he doesn’t want to give Alex the power of knowing that he can turn him on. If he can’t return the favor, he doesn’t want to be that vulnerable.
Alex posts the hickeys on his instagram in a photoset after a month. The third picture is a close-up of his neck and shoulder, a t-shirt with a distressed collar showing off a piece of his collarbone and the two hickeys that Jack left on him last time. There’s one just above his collarbone and another beneath his ear — that one’s darker — and if Jack didn’t know better, he could probably assume that it was some 2014 moody tumblr picture. But he does know better. The other three photos are his typical brand; his fingers on a guitar neck in a chord, his car door open to show off the interior with his leather jacket halfheartedly tossed over the seat and the scene illuminated in red light, and an out of focus picture of waves crashing on a beach with the sun rising on the horizon. The caption says several little lifetimes and it was posted in the middle of the night, as per usual. Jack feels a jolt of surprise and excitement at the fact that his hickeys made the cut, especially because it’s the main topic in the comments.
um okay @ third pic?? 👀
explanation needed for those marks alexander
sooo it looks like you’re doing okay over there! miss you, hope you’re happy :)
It didn’t occur until then that Alex’s friends probably think he’s dating someone now.
It’s Alex’s business what he puts on his instagram. It’s curated. He’s intentional in what he puts out. If he shared the marks, there was a reason behind it. Even though Jack’s the one who made them, he knows he can’t ask. The odds of Alex even answering are very low. Jack’s almost impressed — he’s hung out with Alex multiple times a week for a month now and he still knows nothing more about him. All he knows is how he likes to kiss. He wonders if Alex has any curiosity about him in return, even though he doesn’t try to hide a thing. Realistically, Alex knows more about him than Jack would even expect.
Summer break means that they’ve graduated and he’s nineteen now. He holds a small party with his friends, has dinner with his family, and ultimately feels no different being a year older. His siblings ask questions about college as if he’s doing anything more interesting than going to the community college and he gives them boring answers because community college is boring. Studying business is boring. Besides, he’s not even excited about going to college. He wasn’t convinced he wanted to go at all but it wasn’t exactly an option for him not to go. His dad is a doctor and his mom is a teacher. Of course he has to go to college. But he has all of summer before he needs to think about that, so he tries to make the most of it.
There’s a week in July where Alex doesn’t message him to meet up at all. They usually meet a minimum of two times, usually three or four. Jack tries not to overthink it and reminds himself a thousand times that Alex has every right to never message him again if he doesn’t want to. There probably wouldn’t be a discussion about it if they stopped doing this — they’d just stop. So maybe this is Alex stopping. Except then there’s a photoset that comes mid-July. It’s all pictures from Baltimore — several pairs of feet dangling off a bridge over the river with curls of smoke in the corners of the frame, a blurry city landscape with a vibrant pink sunset, red roses and a cassette on the grass with a rock in the corner, and finally, the most interesting of all, a picture of Alex himself. It’s bold to call it a picture of him because it’s really just his silhouette on an empty street, flipping off the camera over his shoulder, but it’s the closest thing to a photo of him that he has on his entire page. The caption says year one and the comments are just as unhelpful as always.
first year is always the hardest
so glad we finally got to see you :)
missed you!! visit again soon
forever with ya <3
And just like that, Alex is messaging him to meet up again.
End of July is the first time that Jack actually learns something about him.
Josh throws another party. The last one before he leaves for college down in Florida. Jack and his friends go, and it’s like deja vu — Alex appears midway through the night, filling his water bottle with the mixed drink and adding more vodka before he disappears. He’s as gorgeous as ever in a muscle shirt and those ripped jeans, fitting for the warm weather, and Jack has to fight to keep from checking him out while he’s with his friends. He’s proud of himself for making it over two months into this without telling them, but he doesn’t even know what he would tell them. All they’re doing is kissing. There’s no confusion. There’s nothing he needs to get off his chest. And given Rian’s hatred, it’s best that he doesn’t know.
It’s after two when he and his friends decide to leave. He opts to go to the bathroom before they leave — just in case they go to the skate park instead of going home — so he goes upstairs. He knows where it is this time, and when he comes back out after washing his hands, Alex is sitting on the edge of the bed. “Jesus,” he says plainly, blinking several times. “Y’know, it’s weird to wait for someone outside the bathroom if you’re not in line.”
Alex shrugs one shoulder. “How else was I supposed to get you alone?”
“The — the door is literally open, Alex. Anyone could see.”
“So… close it? Lock it?”
Jack stares at him in disbelief for a moment, and then he realizes that he’s being an idiot. Alex Gaskarth followed him up here specifically to make out with him and Jack is asking questions. So he nods weakly and Alex gets up, closing and locking the bedroom door, and then he reaches out to grab the front of Jack’s shirt and pull him in so they’re against the wall. They’ve never made out standing up, let alone against a wall, and if Jack ever pictured this he wouldn’t have anticipated Alex being the one against the wall. But he is. Jack keeps his hands on his lower back, intentionally avoiding the bare skin of his sides despite how badly he’d love to touch him there, but they’ve never touched each other. Never under shirts. Alex is absolutely going to get them found out, though — his hands are in Jack’s hair, and Jack’s friends know that he hates having his hair messed up. He doesn’t mind it in bed, but if he comes downstairs with messy hair, he’ll get questioned. Especially when he just came up here to pee.
“You can’t fuck up my hair,” he mumbles against Alex’s neck, a quiet warning. “My friends will know something’s up.”
He can practically hear Alex’s eye roll, but he moves his hands anyway. One to the back of his neck and one to his waist, and Jack deems it acceptable. At least, it’s acceptable until Alex gets caught up in it again and both hands return to his hair, their tongues brushing with the motion, and Jack pulls away this time. “Don’t,” he reminds, and he witnesses Alex’s eye roll this time, dramatic and irritated. “Do you want my friends to find out?”
Alex glares. “No.”
“Then stop.”
He kisses him again. Alex lets him do basically anything; he never has any complaints, so Jack takes it upon himself to mark up his neck the way he always does and push his hand into his hair and bite at his lower lip, unafraid to leave him a mess. Only Alex’s hands find their way to his hair again, and without a second thought, Jack’s grabbing both of them, pinning them behind Alex’s back with one hand, and shoving his hips back against the wall as he snaps, “Christ, don’t you listen?”
Except Alex gasps. Jack pins him against the wall and his breath hitches. Jack pauses, staring at him. His jaw clenches as he glares at him, his shoulders squaring, but the defense is weak. His cheeks are in high color and there’s something beyond his glare that’s resigned. Paired with his sudden heavy breathing, it occurs to Jack that he liked that. He’s flushed and breathless because he’s turned on. Jack stares in awe for a solid ten seconds — mostly because Alex is fucking stunning like this, pinned to the wall and resigned to pleasure — and then he reaches up, experimentally weaving a hand into Alex’s hair, sharply tugging his head back a little, and sealing his lips around the spot on his neck that he likes so much.
As much as he can feel Alex fighting for his life here, he can also feel him melt with it. There’s the tiniest sigh out, his body debating between tensing and relaxing as he shifts, and Jack can’t believe that this is happening. He moves back up to his lips, stalling for just a second to look at him again. He’s still glaring but it’s even weaker than before, and more evident now is the fact that he’s practically begging for it. He looks torn between begging him to stop and begging him to continue but Jack is going to ride this out as long as he can before Alex pushes him away, so he takes a risk. He kisses him again, rougher this time, and grabs his ass for the first time, tugging his hips forward and slipping his thigh between both of Alex’s. Alex gasps into him again, his fingers clenching behind his back, but Jack just moves back down to his neck and Alex gives in. Actually gives in. His hips tick forward as his head tips back, and Jack can feel that he’s hard. His skin is hot and his breathing is heavy and he’s fucking grinding on Jack’s thigh, all because Jack pinned him. He shouldn’t be surprised — of course Alex would like it rough. He’s not surprised that he likes it rough, but he’s surprised that he wants to take it. If he pictured Alex liking rough sex, he’d expect him to like dishing it out, not receiving. And yet here he is, weak against the wall of a bedroom, hands pinned behind his back and hard. Jack kisses him again, fisting a hand in his hair with more pressure than before, and Alex kisses back like his life depends on it. Deep and dirty and eager, and then Jack’s phone rings.
Alex makes the smallest noise of complaint in his throat as Jack uses his free hand to fish it out of his pocket. It’s Zack — shocker — and he answers it, holding eye contact with Alex as he keeps his other hand tight around the boy’s wrists. “Hey,” he greets, admiring how Alex looks like this. Furious and turned on, desperately fighting to not like it. “What’s up?”
“Dude, where the fuck are you? You went upstairs, like, twenty minutes ago.”
“Sorry — line for the bathroom. I’ll be down in a minute.”
“Hurry up, I’m tired.”
“All right, all right, I’m coming.”
He shoves his phone back into his pocket. Alex swallows, maintaining eye contact like it’s a contest, and Jack breaks it to look down at his lips. Kissed and bitten and pink, all because of him. “I have to go,” he says, and he can practically feel Alex’s temper flare. “My friends are waiting.”
Alex doesn’t say a word but his jaw clenches. Jack finally frees his hands and steps away, watching as Alex tries to pull himself together as quickly as he can, desperate to regain some pride and dominance. His hands slip into his own back pockets as he straightens his shoulders, glaring at Jack like he’s mad that he’s turned on, or maybe mad that Jack’s leaving. Jack kisses him one last time, his hand holding Alex’s chin possessively so he can’t turn away, and then he leaves without looking back at him.
The reality of that encounter hits the following day.
Sober, he replays the whole scene in his head, trying to remember each step. It was all the same as it always is until Jack captured his hands, and then it changed. Alex obviously wasn’t anticipating on any of that happening, given by how annoyed he seemed. Annoyed but turned on, nonetheless. It occurs to him mid-afternoon that he finally learned something about Alex Gaskarth — he’s turned on when someone dominates him. Jack’s going to have to test that theory several times before he believes it’s true, but he has enough evidence from last night to trust it to an extent.
He has no idea what it means for them, though.
“I have to tell you guys something.”
Alex is going to fucking kill him if he finds out that Jack is telling his friends. He’s nervous enough about their reaction without thinking about Alex’s reaction if he ever learns, but his mind is way too busy to keep this to himself any longer. He has to tell someone. Besides, there’s a part of him that’s proud. He wants to tell someone that he turned on Alex Gaskarth.
The others look at him. Zack tilts his head with a frown and Rian instantly looks concerned, but Zack takes over. “Are you okay? What’s up?”
“I’m fine, it’s just — I need to get this off my chest and I really need you to not be mad at me for not telling you sooner. And you can’t tell anyone, ever, under any circumstances.”
“Dude, you are not making this seem like you’re fine,” Rian warns, and Jack sighs.
“I am. I promise. Um. You know Alex?”
“Alex Gaskarth? Yeah, bro, I shared a fucking locker space with him. Everyone knows arrogant bad boy Alex Gaskarth.”
Jack swallows thickly. He knows Rian hates Alex for his own judgmental, personal reasons. Which means this is not going to go over well. “Right. Yeah. So we’ve sort of been… seeing each other-,”
“Do not finish that sentence,” Rian interrupts, holding up a hand, and Jack quiets. Rian pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath, closing his eyes, and lets it out slowly. “Jack. What the fuck are you doing.”
“We’re not dating-,”
“Then what the fuck are you doing?!”
“Rian, chill,” Zack sighs, kicking him under the table. “You don’t even know Alex. Clearly there’s something we don’t get, so maybe if you let Jack explain, you wouldn’t be so goddamn annoyed.”
Jack is so grateful for Zack’s peacefulness. “Thanks,” he mumbles. “Look, we just… kiss. That’s it. He kissed me at Josh’s party after senior ball and we’ve been seeing each other since then. But, like, I mean it when I say that’s it. We meet up and walk in silence to a lookout and then we make out until one of us decides it’s time to go, and then we leave. And everything was, like, totally normal until last night at the party and we were making out upstairs and I turned him on. Totally on accident. And now I feel like something’s going to change.”
Rian’s gawking at him. Zack looks intentionally neutral, but Jack can see the gears turning in his head. “That’s why you took so long upstairs last night?” Rian asks. Jack nods weakly. “Because you were making out with Alexander Gaskarth. You were turning on Alex Gaskarth. Jack, you… I don’t even know what to say to you.”
“You hadn’t turned him on before now?” Zack asks curiously, looking confused. “In the two and a half months you’ve been doing this?”
Jack shrugs weakly. “I don’t know, maybe I have. It’s just that last night it was obvious. He couldn’t have hidden it if he tried. And now I don’t know if he’s going to want to do that all the time or never again, y’know? ‘Cause if I turn him on, then it’s shitty to leave him high and dry. I’m out of depth enough just kissing him, let alone getting off with him.”
“And you can’t just ask what the deal is.”
“I think he likes doing this with me because I don’t ask questions.”
Zack sighs. “Well… I mean, the only thing you can do is see what happens. See if he messages you again. See if he wants to go farther again. You won’t know unless you let it happen.”
Rian scoffs from his side of the table. “So you’re the one who’s been leaving all those hickeys on his neck. Classy, Jay, really.”
Jack waves a hand, annoyed. “Sue me, Rian. If some hot girl propositioned you with the same thing, you’d say yes. You being mad isn’t going to make me stop. Go ahead and be mad.”
“Do you like him? Actually like him?”
“I don’t know him well enough to know.”
“That wasn’t a no.”
“It’s an I don’t fucking know, Rian. I keep trying to learn something about him but he’s so selective about what he shares with the world. We don’t talk, we don’t text, his instagram doesn’t share anything notable-,”
“You follow him on instagram?” Zack asks, looking even more confused. “I’ve heard, like, ten people at school talk about following him and then he removes them as followers. You still follow him?”
Jack swallows. “He followed me first. That night we ran into him at the skate park. That’s how we communicate; we just message each other over instagram.”
“He followed you first. Months before you even kissed. That’s… strange.”
“Don’t tell me that it’s abnormal for him. I can’t hear that.”
“Well, okay, I won’t tell you that. Do you want advice on any of this or did you just need to tell someone?”
He shrugs, playing with his fingers. “I think I just needed to tell someone. You can’t offer advice, really. Just… don’t tell anyone. He was very clear about not wanting anyone to know. So don’t.”
“We won’t. Right, Ri?”
Rian rolls his eyes and mumbles something under his breath, but he sighs heavily and says, “Yeah. We won’t. Thanks for telling us, finally, I guess.”
Jack isn’t sure if he feels any better.
~~~
come over
Jack stares at the message on his lock screen for way too long.
He doesn’t know what that means. Any time Alex has messaged him to meet up, it’s always just a time. 9:30 tonight? And Jack will confirm or deny based on whether he has plans or not. He messages him the same way, matching style. 10 tomorrow? And Alex will confirm or deny. They only ever meet at the lookout spot, never anywhere else. So come over is new and Jack has no idea where Alex is talking about or when.
jackbarakat: ???
alexgaskarth: come over
alexgaskarth: house is empty
jackbarakat: your house?
jackbarakat: right now?
alexgaskarth: yes
His address is in the following message and Jack’s heart is in his throat. It’s ten thirty on a Saturday and Alexander Gaskarth is asking him to come over to his empty house, where he’s never been before. He puts the address into google maps to find that he’s a ten minute drive across town in a fancy gated neighborhood, and before he can talk himself out of it, he texts that he’s on his way.
He takes a two minute shower. Just in case.
Alex answers the door in black fitted sweatpants and that Nirvana shirt that he wears all the time. He hasn’t shaved in a day or two and Jack feels like he can’t breathe because this boy is so devastatingly attractive. He invites him in with a murmured greeting that Jack returns under his breath, and when the door closes, Alex is taking his hand and leading him upstairs.
Jack barely gets a glance at his room before Alex is kissing him. It’s their oddest interaction yet — seeing him dressed down in comfortable clothes is strange, being in his house is stranger, and kissing in his bed in strangest. There’s something unspoken, though. Alex keeps progressing the longer they kiss. His hand slips under Jack’s shirt for the first time, pulling him closer. His fingers slide into Jack’s back pocket, grabbing his ass. He presses his knee up between Jack’s thighs to give him some pressure. Jack responds to all of it, returning the favors the same as they’re delivered to him. By the time they’re hot and flushed and hard for each other, Alex is wiggling out of his shirt and then tugging Jack’s off too, coming back together skin to skin like they’ve never done before.
Jack learns a lot about Alex over the course of the hour.
~~~
He’s in a daze the following day. He can’t stop thinking about it — every bit of it. He’s glad he was dead sober for it; he’d never forgive himself if he couldn’t remember every second clearly. But he does remember. And he’s reminded every half an hour when it hits him again that he’s not just making out with Alex Gaskarth now, he’s hooking up with him. If Alex is stunning on the regular, he’s even hotter in bed.
He relives it probably a hundred times, but he really focuses in on it at night. With his eyes closed and his hand under his boxers, he visualizes Alex. He saw him two ways last night — between his thighs as the other boy went down on him, and above him as he returned the favor. He’s gorgeous both ways; Jack doesn’t have a preference. He’s attentive in bed, which Jack likes, and he’s good. Jack has no idea what his relationship history is but he has to have given a blowjob before because it was incredible. Wet and deep and tantalizing, just the way Jack likes it, and it was obvious that he liked doing it. It felt like he was doing it for himself. He didn’t reject Jack’s hand in his hair either, and Jack didn’t miss the way his eyes flamed when he reached down to cup his face possessively. He must know that his eye contact is practically sex in itself — he’d glance up at Jack through his lashes with just the head in his mouth, sucking gently, or he’d go down all the way to the base and swallow around him, flicking his eyes up to watch Jack moan over it. He swallowed, too. Jack let him know through his actions that he was going to come, and all Alex did was guide his hand into his hair again and move faster. Jack could barely hear through the blood rush in his ears as he came in his mouth but he knows Alex moaned when he pulled his hair with his orgasm.
Jack has no concept of whether he’s good at blowjobs or not. Alex didn’t have any complaints, though — if anything, he boosted Jack’s confidence. Alex Gaskarth might be virtually silent in every day life, but he’s vocal in bed. Jack played around a little with dominance — he pulled his hair, pinned his hands to the mattress as they kissed, choked him — and Alex fell apart for all of it. Jack kept a close watch on him for the whole encounter, and he’s glad he did because Alex is easily one of the prettiest people he’s ever seen when he’s receiving pleasure. When Jack swirled his tongue around the head, Alex arched his back and sighed out to the ceiling, his head tilted back against the pillows with that stick-and-poke tattoo exposed. When Jack cupped his balls in one hand, massaging as he traced the veins on his cock, Alex weaved a hand into his hair as the other fisted in the sheets. He’s loveliest when he comes, though. Jack didn’t swallow, but he stroked him off with a wet hand when it was obvious that he was close, watching intently as his whole body reacted. His toes curled, his back arched, his eyes rolled back, and Jack’s personal favorite was that he grabbed Jack’s free hand and sucked two fingers into his mouth. They were only there for a minute before he actually came and then he was moaning, head tilting back to bare his neck, and Jack wrapped a hand around his throat again just as he spilled over.
Jack comes again just thinking about it.
There’s an instagram post the following day. The first picture is an empty diner booth at night, illuminated by neon lights from outside the building. The second is a grainy close up of him, but only barely — it’s his neck again, hickeys in different places than last time and finger imprints clear against his skin, his lips in the frame and kiss-swollen, his damp hair curling at the back of his neck. The third is a picture of his white sheets, messy and disorganized, with his black shirt hanging off the edge in contrast. The fourth is his hand dangling out the open window, a burning joint tucked neatly between his fingers. The caption says fire under skin and Jack feels an absurd sense of pride.
fingerprints on your neck okayyyy 🥵
hey siri play cigarettes after sex
your hair is so cute curly 🥺
Jack is pretty sure he has enough evidence to trust that Alex is into being dominated in bed.
He finds himself at Alex’s house again two nights later. They follow the same trajectory — they tumble into bed together, kiss and touch and grab and grind until they’re gasping into each other, and then their clothes are lost. Jack’s more confident this time, which he’s grateful to feel. He pulls harder at Alex’s hair, chokes him with a tighter grip, pushes his fingers in his mouth and holds eye contact, and he even fucks his throat. Not too hard, but Alex likes it. He swallows again, and Jack blows him and strokes him until he comes too, moaning and shaking through it with Jack’s hand in his hair pulling his head back.
“Want some water?”
So they go downstairs to the kitchen, adorned in just t-shirts and boxers, and Alex fills them each a glass of water. It’s quiet between them as they rehydrate in the dim light, and as Jack takes in the environment, he notices the stack of mail on the counter addressed to Peter and Isobel Baker. And just like that, his heart drops and his eyes blow wide.
“Who’s fucking house are we in?”
Alex looks at him with a frown. “What?”
He points at the mail accusingly. “The Bakers? That’s — that is not your last name. Who’s house is this?”
Alex rolls his eyes dramatically, waving a hand. “I live here, dumbass.”
“Your last name-,”
“I’m adopted. I didn’t take their name.”
Jack shuts up. Alex’s shoulders sit in a tense line and his energy tells Jack that whatever post-sex glow he was feeling is gone. “Oh,” he says stupidly, the panic subsiding. “Sorry, I… I didn’t know.”
“I know.”
“… Where are they? Your parents.”
“Not my parents,” Alex corrects. Jack swallows. “Guardians, at best. They’re on a trip.”
Jack has a thousand questions, but he bites them all down. Alex is a private person. If he knows anything about him, it’s that. He just hums and takes another drink from his cup, wondering if maybe he can drown all his curiosity with a sip. They’re quiet again — it might be painfully awkward with someone else, but Jack is used to being silent in Alex’s presence. It’s less common to hear his voice. The other boy refills his water and then turns the kitchen light off, mumbling, “C’mon,” as he heads back towards the stairs.
Jack follows numbly. This is the longest they’ve ever hung out past their scheduled agenda, unless Alex is anticipating on hooking up again. Jack’s not sure he’s beyond his refraction period yet but he’d also be surprised if Alex was. It’s been all of twenty minutes since they came. Alex closes the door to his bedroom behind them, setting his water on the bedside table and then reaching over his desk to open the window. Jack takes the chance to look around — there are several landmarks that he recognizes from Alex’s instagram posts. The pothos plant in the window, the guitar in the corner, a record player on the TV stand across the room. Beyond that, there’s not a lot of personality. There’s a picture frame on the desk that’s turned down so Jack can’t see it, a lighter that seems to live beside the pothos on the windowsill, a candle that Alex has lit, and a string of small LED lights around the border of the ceiling.
“You have a really nice house,” Jack comments weakly, and Alex glances up at him.
“Not my house,” he reminds pointedly, gesturing to the room. “Not my room… not my life.”
Jack is under the impression that Alex doesn’t like it here. “Do you wish you’d stayed in Baltimore?”
He’s expecting a confident yes. But Alex just stares at the candle flame for a moment like it’s supposed to give him an answer, followed by a halfhearted shrug. “Depends on the circumstances,” he answers, as vague as always. “Objectively, this environment is healthier for me right now.”
“… What about subjectively?”
Another pause, and then the corner of his mouth quirks up in the closest thing that Jack’s seen to a smile on him. “I have a difficult relationship with my life back home and my life here. I’d go home if I had something to go home to, but I don’t. So staying here is objectively healthier.”
“Don’t you have friends back home?”
“Well, yeah. I miss them but they can’t do anything but be my friends.”
Jack thinks that’s probably the most human thing Alex has said in their time together. I miss them. There’s a lot he doesn’t understand about whatever Alex’s motives are and how he ended up here, but he can relate to missing someone. Anyone can. “Yeah,” he agrees. “I guess that’s true.”
They get back in bed together. Alex turns on Parks and Rec — Jack tries to scope out what his other Netflix watch it agains are but he’s unsuccessful — and he flicks on his LED lights instead of the lamp, cycling through the colors until it’s a deep blue. Jack keeps his hands to himself, unsure of how to interact with Alex when they’re not kissing, but the other boy reaches into his bedside table and his hand emerges with a joint and a lighter. He lights up, takes a few small hits to get it burning, and then passes it to Jack. Jack hasn’t been high in months, but he figures that if he’s going to smoke at any time, it might as well be now. In bed with Alex Gaskarth after making him come. They pass it back and forth between them, taking slow, deep hits in silence, and Jack finally asks, “Your guardians don’t care if you smoke in the house?”
Alex shrugs one shoulder. “What are they gonna do, disown me?”
Jack stops asking questions.
And so it goes. Alex grinds out the end of the joint in an ashtray next to his bed and they both lose themselves in the show until they lose themselves in each other. Jack hasn’t kissed anyone high in well over a year — James didn’t smoke, so Jack didn’t either when they were together — and he forgot how sensual it is. In just t-shirts and boxers, and with a few blowjobs out of the way, they’re both more confident in touching each other. It’s not rough or dirty, but it’s deep. Their hands are everywhere on each other, slipping under shirts and pushing into hair and smoothing over bare thighs. Jack kisses Alex’s neck with his fingers in his mouth, kisses him with a hand around his throat, bites his lip with a hand grabbing his ass. It’s slower than their other kisses, lazier because they’re not trying to turn each other on. Jack hesitates to call it intimate, but it is, in a way.
“Your guardians aren’t weird about you having hickeys all the time?” he asks against his neck, after they’ve both slowed down. He’s just laying half on top of Alex now, the smaller boy’s arm around his shoulders and Jack’s face tucked in his neck, his fingers twirling the ends of Alex’s hair.
Alex hums, sounding like he’s on the verge of sleep. “They asked some questions at first, but they know that I’m private about it. It’s a fine line between nosiness and basic care, but they’re pretty good at respecting the boundaries I set. Most of the time, at least.”
“My parents would kill me if I came home like that.”
“Most parents would.”
They’re quiet for a long time. Jack doesn’t move and Alex doesn’t push him away, so they stay pressed together. The TV keeps playing Parks and Rec, and Jack doesn’t realize that he’s fallen asleep until he wakes up several hours later to find that the TV is off, the candle is out, and Alex is asleep too, spooned loosely around him. Jack melts, feeling pathetic with butterflies in his stomach — it’s cute that Alex cuddles. Jack has no idea how he managed to swing an emotionless bad boy who likes being choked in bed and cuddling after sex, but if Alex wants to keep him around, he’ll stay. In any context.
In the morning, Alex makes coffee. It’s not awkward, despite that they’ve never spent a night together and they’re not even anything more than a hook-up to each other. Jack privately admires the smaller boy’s look — with messy hair, early morning stubble along his jaw, and sleepy eyes, he thinks he’s gorgeous. Easily one of the most attractive people he’s ever seen. He hands Jack a mug of coffee when it’s done and opens the fridge, saying lazily, “There’s oat milk creamer if you want it, nothing with dairy,” as he pours it into his own cup.
Jack tilts his head in confusion, feeling his chest tighten as Alex stands in the morning sunlight. “Oat milk?”
Alex blinks at him like he doesn’t understand why he’s lost. “I’m plant-based.”
“… Vegan?”
“Plant-based,” he corrects. “I’ll eat eggs or fish if my body is craving it. Other than that, I guess you could call me vegan.”
“When’d you start that? And why?”
Alex thinks for a moment, sipping at his coffee. “Mm… about a year ago, I guess. A little before I moved here. It was mostly an ethical decision but it’s also the most environmentally friendly option, assuming you’re buying with environmentalism and sustainability in mind. And I feel best eating plant-based.”
God. Jack is weak in the knees.
He’s always found Alex beautiful. As much as he fronts his bad boy style, Jack’s always seen something soft in him, and now he really sees it. Standing in the morning sun in the kitchen wearing a faded t-shirt and boxers, complete with disheveled hair and a morning voice, talking about why he went plant-based. Jack watches as a long-haired orange cat jumps up on the counter, knocking its head into Alex’s shoulder, and for the first time, he sees Alex smile. It’s like staring into the sun itself — his whole demeanor softens as he smiles at the cat, leaning down and whispering good morning, baby as he kisses its head. Dimples show on his cheeks and the corners of his eyes crinkle in affection as they have a moment together, and Jack is speechless.
He has a crush. There’s no denying it now.