Coda: Vol. I, Disc 2

[raeschae]

“So what? This is it? If I come out of the closet, you're breaking up with me?” Jared's face was red, his expression confused. “You're giving me an ultimatum about this? Seriously?”

He didn't mean to. Jensen honestly hadn't meant to put it quite that way. But Jared didn't want a boyfriend he had to hide in the closet. And Jensen didn't want to come out. Neither was willing to give. What other option did he have?

“Jared, you gotta do what's best for you,” he started to explain for what felt like the ninety-fifth time. “And I gotta do what's best for me.”

“I am what's best for you! You're what's best for me, idiot! I fucking love you!”

“And I love you,” Jensen retorted, fighting like hell to keep his voice calm. Jared said he got it. He said he understood. He’d professed his undying love, even if they never told anyone else, more times than Jensen could count. “But you know how I feel about this.” The words hurt, but they had to be said.

Jared wasn't happy. He couldn't be, as long as he was forced to live under the radar. That much had become abundantly clear in the last month since the subject first came up. He needed to come out, to declare himself, to stop hiding and pretending. He needed to do it for himself and Jensen wasn't going to be the one who held him back from doing what made him happy, even if the very thought of it made him want to throw up.

“Are you really so scared of how people think of you that you're willing to let the best fucking thing that's ever happened to you walk out the door? For good?”

Jensen winced at the words. Scared? He wasn't fucking scared. He just didn't want to deal with the hassle of it all. Didn't want to become something singular, when he was so much more complex. That was all.

“So that's it?” Jared volume shrank to almost-imperceptible. “You love me, just not enough to let anyone else know about it.”

He should have said something. He should have thought about more than his fledgling website and the narrow-minded musings of conservative assholes who didn't know him from any of the other fags they verbally and physically assaulted. He should have realized that he was just a guy in Chicago typing shit about music.

He should have done a lot of things differently.

Instead, he shrugged. “Guess so.” He almost choked on the word, but it had to be said. He couldn't come out. He wasn't ready. Jared was. He had to. It had to end.

But Jared was never very good at letting Jensen have the final word. At the door, he turned. “Don't worry,” he assured Jensen. “Far as I'm concerned, you're just some guy I fucked around with for awhile. Not worth tellin' anybody about, so,” he shrugged as easily as he had the first day they met, “your secret's safe.”




The silence that hangs in the living room is frustrating. Jensen knows that none of them knows what to say. What can they offer that isn't going to sound trite and hollow?

“You know he didn't mean it, right?” Danneel is the first to break the silence. “He didn't mean you weren't worth tellin' anybody about.”

Jensen knows that. On some level, he knows that Jared was hurt and he was lashing out. But on another, Jensen knows that he had every right to feel hurt. And he has a sinking suspicion that Jared does think of him as just some guy he fucked around with now. If he ever thinks of him at all.

“For what it's worth, I think you did the right thing,” Chris claps his hand on Jensen's knee and nods his head. “I mean, you weren't ready and he was. Two different places. Love ain't enough to cover that shit, man. Bad timing's all.”

Danneel slaps his arm. “You're about as romantic as a dirty sponge, you know that?” Chris rolls his eyes. “I swear to God, I don't know how you write a motherfucking love song to save your life.” Attention back on Jensen, she says, “Sweetie, you may have let him go, but far as I know, gay marriage isn't legal in the state of New York yet, so you might still stand a chance.”

“A chance at what?”

“Getting him back, dumb ass,” she rolls her eyes and looks like she thinks she's the only one in the world who has a lick of common sense.

Standing, Jensen can't help but laugh. “Right.”

He wanders into the kitchen and helps himself to a soda from the refrigerator. As much as he would love for his friends to hang out and keep him company, maybe lament even longer about the “one that got away,” he really does need to do some damage control on the site and figure out what he's going to do with his new-found... outedness. Outness? Outenticity? Whatever.




So Jensen is out and proud. Well, he's not ashamed that he's gay (though the manner in which he announced it still bothers him a little bit), and that's about as close to proud as he figures he's going to get. By the time his friends leave, he at least feels stable enough to read through the 345 e-mails in his inbox without drinking again or crying himself to sleep.

Most of them are from people he either a.) doesn't recognize, or b.) only knows from his website. He'll get to them eventually, but for now, he only wants to deal with real people whose faces he can picture as he reads.

Truthfully, he should shut the computer down and go visit his parents. They deserve to know what's going on with him, and if they haven't already heard, he figures they will soon. His mother still checks on his site every day even if she insists that she doesn't know anything about the music he discusses.

His mouse hovers over the red 'X' when his eyes catch on a name toward the top of his list. Hand shaking, he clicks and holds his breath.





Minutes pass. Literally. He just stares at the screen, wondering if Jared is angry or concerned, or if he thinks this is the funniest fucking thing in the world. He’d be justified in laughing his ass off, for sure. All of the complaining and insisting that Jensen did back then, all of the times he swore that he wasn’t ever going to do this? If anyone has the right to be the first in line to mock him, it’s Jared.

But what if he’s not laughing? What if he really is concerned? What if he spends as much time thinking about Jensen as Jensen spends thinking about him? What if there’s still a chance that maybe this absolute catastrophe can be salvaged? What if it could actually be the reconciliation he never admits he’s been waiting for the last two years?

“Thank you for calling Slide Magazine,” the voice says in his ear before Jensen realizes that he even dialed. What is he thinking? What is he supposed to say? The automated message continues guiding him through the directory, telling him to enter his party’s direct extension at any time, if he knows it. He doesn’t.

Jensen doesn’t even know Jared’s direct office number. No address, no cell number. He only knows the Slide offices because he gives one of their copy editors anonymous sound bites to fill space sometimes. He’s not even sure that Jared knows he does it.

It’s been two years since he’s said so much as a word to Jared. What in the hell is he doing?

“Editorials,” comes the distracted and rushed answer when he follows the guide to Jared's department. Jesus, the guy’s only twenty-four. How in the fuck are there this many hoops to jump through in order to get to him? “This is Sophia, how can I help you?”

“I just need to talk to Ja,” Jensen stops himself. “Um, can I speak with Jared Padalecki, please?”

She chuckles just a little bit. “I'm afraid Jared's not taking any calls this morning, Mr.,” she pauses.

When Jensen realizes she's waiting for him to say something, he jumps a little in his chair. “Oh, um Ackles. Just, uh, tell him Jensen called, I guess.”

He doesn't know what exactly he was expecting when he made the call in the first place, but whatever it was? It wasn't for Sophia to clear her throat and chuckle in his ear. “Jensen Ackles. Why don't you hold on just a second and let me see if Jared's got a few minutes free.”

For a brief moment, Jensen gets lost in the hold music, nodding his head in time to the beat of old-school Metallica. He gives mainstream media shit sometimes for their inability to recognize the good stuff, but this? This does not suck.

But it is distracting. Which is why he's thrown when a deep voice sounds in his ear without warning. “Jensen?”

Holy fucking shit. “Jared,” he breathes. And yeah, he breathes it. So it comes out all whispery and whimsical and totally fucking pitiful. He knows it. He just can't change it. “How's it goin'?”

“Uh,” Jared stammers and then clears his throat. In his mind's eye, Jensen can see him raking his fingers through his hair and smiling uncomfortably. Jared Padalecki has approximately fourteen different smiles and most of them knock Jensen on his ass. This one, the one he fucking knows is playing on those wide lips now? It's not one of the pretty ones. “You called.”

Brilliant. It's easy to see why the boy graduated Magna Cum Laude, isn't it? “Yeah,” Jensen answers in a similarly brilliant fashion.

“For a reason? Or just to breathe in my ear?”

He tries to tell himself that Jared doesn't sound irritated or angry. That he's grateful to hear from Jensen. That he's been waiting for two years for this call. He tries and fails miserably. “I got your e-mail.”

“I figured.”

“And I just wanted you to know that I'm fine. Not sick or dying or anything like that.”

There's a heavy sigh on the other end of the phone and Jensen steels himself for the tongue-lashing. They haven't spoken since the day Jared walked out of his apartment. Of course it's going to be awkward. Jensen just didn't think it would be this awkward.

“Dude, I don't know what to say,” Jared admits, and it would break the dam, but Jensen kind of thinks the dam's too thick at this point. It’s been too many years in the making, with too many layers of hurt and defensiveness to break through with a simple admission.

The thing that sucks the most about it is that it wasn't always like this. There was a time when they were actually happy together. When things were so fucking good, Jensen didn't ever want them to end. When he believed that Jared was going to stick by him forever. There was a time when they were like any other couple in love. Just because nobody else saw them together, it didn't make it less real.





“What the fuck is this?”

Jared looked over the back of the couch, eyes zeroing in on the plastic case in Jensen's hand. “Gotta write a review for the next issue,” he shrugged, his attention dragged back to whatever he was watching on television.

“You're kidding,” Jensen huffed, turning the case over in his hand and then back again.

“Why would I kid about that?”

Sometimes, Jensen told Jared to go check out a band and write a piece for an upcoming issue. Sometimes Jared found the bands himself. Everyone knew Jensen had the better ear, but Jared was the one who could make you need to have an album like you needed air in just a few words. All in all, they balanced each other perfectly.

Occasionally, though, Jensen wondered if Jared had bumped into a wall and bruised his brain. “This is the ugliest fuckin' album cover I've ever seen in my life,” Jensen stated, dropping the disc back onto the desk.

He was halfway to the kitchen when Jared shouted over his shoulder, “Pull the stick out of your ass there, arrogant.” A lot of people told Jensen that he was kind of a music snob, but nobody made it sound like a compliment quite like Jared could.

“Dude, looks like a bag of Skittles threw up on it,” Jensen nodded as he returned, bypassing the desk to flop onto the couch beside Jared. He offered up a bottle of water and tilted his own soda to his lips.

Jared took a long swallow of his water and Jensen in no way watched the way his Adam's Apple bobbed, or the trickle that escaped over the side of his lip. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he turned his head and smiled, “Haven't you ever heard you shouldn't judge an album by its cover?”

Jensen rolled his eyes. “Bullshit. A bad cover tells you everything you need to know.”

“And how's that?” Jared was amused, shifting his body until his was fully facing Jensen on the couch, fingers playing with the soft hairs at the base of his boyfriend's neck.

“Either the band has no taste, in which case, why the fuck would you wanna listen to them anyway? Or,” he stammered when Jared's thumb massaged the place behind his ear, “they didn't choose the cover, meaning they have little to no creative control. In which case, why the fuck would you wanna listen to 'em anyway?”

“OR,” Jared's eyes grew comically wide, “they're piss poor because they haven't made a name for themselves yet and they're doing the best they can with what they've got.”

Swallowing his own drink, Jensen shook his head. “Bullshit. You can wrap a jewel case in a paper sack, write your band name and the title of the record with a Sharpie, be thrifty and still look far cooler than whatever the fuck that shit is,” he nodded over his shoulder for emphasis.

“Oh, I'm so gonna prove you wrong,” Jared stood from the couch and crossed the room, killing the power on the television and starting the stereo with a couple of remote clicks. “When you admit that this doesn't suck, even if the cover art does, you're so gonna owe me one,” he threatened.

Jensen quirked an eyebrow. “So either I'm right and you suck my dick, or I'm wrong and I suck yours?” Jared shrugged. “Your negotiation skills are for shit, Jay,” he laughed.

Cranking the volume, Jared made his way back across the room, sinking to his knees in front of Jensen on the floor. “Be a decent wager if you weren't such a whore for suckin' my cock, Jen,” he winked.

“How the fuck am I supposed to listen to your shitty band when you're sayin' that, huh?” He ran his fingers through Jared's hair and realized almost instantly how easily he'd been played. There was no way that he could objectively hate a band while Jared was looking at him like that. No way. “Bastard,” he breathed as Jared's hands moved to the fly of his jeans.

“Dude, would it matter if I was sayin' anything? Listen to that riff and tell me it's not fuckin' intense.”

When Jared listened to music, it was a full experience. Because when Jared listened to something he loved, it was like watching everything Jensen felt when he heard something amazing for the first time. His eyes closed and his head bobbed in time with the rhythm. His shoulders rose and fell and he swayed a little bit. His fingers would twitch and sometimes drum the beat. He felt it. From his head to his toes, Jared let the music take him over and it was... it was a fucking thing of beauty.

“I love this record,” Jensen heard himself say and almost kicked his own ass for it when Jared's eyes popped open. But it was true. In that moment, he fucking loved that music. And it didn't matter if this band had crappy cover art and sounded like a poor man's version of Smashing Pumpkins. All that mattered was what it did to Jared; how it flowed through him, made him come alive.

“I knew it,” Jared captured his bottom lip between his teeth and pulled on Jensen's wrist until they tumbled to the floor together, groaning when their knees knocked into each other, and then laughing until Jared was half-covering him with that larger-than-life body of his. “I love you,” he said, so sincere that it radiated from every part of him just like the music had.

Jensen started to roll his eyes and huff. He was about to make a crack about Jared being a giant girl, but instead, he tangled his fingers in the back of Jared's hair and pulled his face close. “Love you, Jay,” he breathed before sealing their lips together and letting the music and the emotion flood both of them.




“I'm sorry, Jay,” Jensen finally says. For so many things. Too many to name.

Jared snorts on the other end of the phone. “For what? Breaking my heart a million years ago? Don't worry about it, Jensen,” his voice is cool, like steel in the winter. “I got over that shit forever ago.”

“Maybe I didn't.”

“No,” Jared's tone is firm, authoritative. Insistent. “Don't... Just... You don't get to do this now, man. You don't get to call me up after you accidentally stumble drunk out of the closet and pretend like it's going to fix anything, okay? You just... you can't do that.”

He wants to admit the defeat and tell Jared that he's sorry for bothering him, but Jensen can't let it go. Because a million years ago, he let Jared walk away and he doesn't want to do it again. He didn't have the balls to hold on back then. Maybe he does now.

“And by the way,” Jared breaks into his thoughts, “if you're going to blog about your erotic fantasies from now on, could you maybe leave my sexual preferences out of it?”

“I didn't even mention your name,” Jensen defends quickly, head spinning at the speed and direction at which his thoughts are whipping around in his head. “And it's not like the whole world doesn't know you're gay anyway.”

“People who know me kind of figured out who you were talkin' about,” Jared fights back. “And not a damn one of them needed to know how much I love givin' a rim job.” After a beat, he adds, “Especially my boyfriend. So thanks for that.”

The word punches him so hard in the gut that Jensen doesn't really fucking care what the hell Jared feels at the moment. “Seems to me he should already know that,” he snarks.

“Except that we're not really,” Jared stops himself short. “Ya know what, my relationship with Tim, and pretty much every-fucking-body else, is none of your business, Jensen. Not anymore.” Jensen doesn't get to say anything else because he follows up with, “Look, I have work to do. So, I don’t know. Good luck with the whole coming out thing or whatever.”

The line clicks dead and Jensen can only stare, his heart pounding against his ribcage. Jared's all grown up, with a real job and a new boyfriend and a life that has nothing to do with Jensen at all. Also, he's kind of a douche.

All of the memories of the past, the re-written history and the things that he wants to believe they can have again? They're like figments of his imagination, and if he's going to stand a chance of getting through the mess he's brought on himself, of being happy like he used to be? He's going to have to own the fact that he let it go, stop looking back, and just move the fuck on.




When his mother said he was stretching himself too thin, Jensen laughed her off. When his faculty adviser said he was going to burn himself out, Jensen assured him that everything was cool. When Jared said he was going to turn himself prematurely gray, Jensen flipped him off and went right back to working on a fourteen-page paper while listening to the new Bright Eyes album and formulating a review in his head.

He'd always been a multi-tasker, so there was no reason he should be feeling so tired and mentally drained with only three weeks of school left. But as he let himself through the front door of Jimmy's, his favorite bar just a few blocks off campus, Jensen could feel his shoulders sagging beneath the weight of too many deadlines. He had finals to study for, and articles to write, but Jared somehow convinced him that he needed to take a break.

Jared waved him over from his table near the back of the bar and nearly every other obligation fogging his brain disappeared. They had been covertly dating for about three months, and with the semester winding down, they'd been afforded little time together in weeks. It had been awhile since he felt the nagging urge to kiss a guy in public, but Jared's dimpled cheeks and brilliant smile were almost too damn enticing.

Instead of folding to the temptation, he dropped into the open seat and accepted the beer that their waitress, Emily, was delivering. He wanted to ask how she knew exactly what he needed, but he'd been stopping at Jimmy's since he was too young to be relaxing with a beer after a hard day, so he figured the answer was pretty obvious.

“Rough day?” Tom asked, smirk playing on his lips as he tipped his beer for a long pull.

Jensen felt Jared's foot graze his under the table and stuttered for words. “Could've been worse,” he shrugged, catching the look Jared was shooting him from the corner of his eye.

“Hey,” Jared's eyebrows shot up, like they always did when he got really excited about whatever just popped into his head. “Band of Horses is playin' The Empty Bottle. Saturday night.”

Jared had been drooling over the Seattle-based band for almost a year, and even though Jensen had too much on his plate to contemplate going out on any night of the week, he couldn't say 'no' to a good show in his favorite club. Especially if it also meant he got to spend some time with Jared.

“Band of Horses, huh?”

Jensen turns his attention to the guy sitting directly to Jared's left. “Misha.” It probably wasn't the most polite greeting he'd ever given, but the guy bugged him. He was staring at the peeled label of his bottle like he had something better to do than listen to their conversation or something.

“Carissa's Wierd was better,” Misha inserted, as though he didn't care that Jensen was hating him from just a few feet away.

“If you're into chamber rock,” Jensen snorted, his opinion of the guy falling by the second. He couldn't really be sure why, though he figured it could have something to do with the way Misha kept watching Jared out of the corner of his eye. Just because everyone didn't know Jared was spoken for didn't mean that he was any less off-limits.

“Come on. Their sound isn't that different now,” Jared threw his two-cents into the mix, eyes rolling like both Jensen and Misha were being ridiculous.

Misha cleared his throat and dropped the paper in his hands to the table. “It's the absence of the female voice that ruins the fullness of the sound for me.”

Before Jensen could tell Misha where to stuff the fullness of his sound, Mike slapped a hand against the table. “If we're gonna have to sit through another live music review, I'm gonna need shots!”

Jared asked Tom some question about his journalism class, killed the entire argument, and Jensen found himself easing back into his chair and the feeling of Jared's foot against his ankle. Nothing else seemed so important when Jared was touching him, even under cover of a pitted and scarred bar table.




He was supposed to be at the Plain White T's show over at the school and Jensen really had every intention of showing up when he made the plans. He’d secured backstage passes for the guys and everything. This guy, Ian, that he met at an in-store on Wednesday, was more than happy to accept his invitation to hang with the local band.

But then he got a text that changed everything, and Jensen can't say that he minds so much. He's been on five dates, with as many guys, in as many weekends, since coming out. Still, there's something about introducing one of them to his friends that sets him a little on edge. It's one thing for them to know that he's gay, but actually letting them see it feels bigger. Makes it more real.

Of course, it's been real for years, but public perception is still reality as far as he's concerned so it seems like a big step. Even if they keep assuring him that it's not.

“You sure you wanna go, man?”

If he's honest, this has been the best date he's been on in the last month. Ian is crazy hot, interesting and funny. He could have just driven to the bar to meet up with the guys, but bringing the car back to the house and walking means that he has to bring Ian back before the night ends. Maybe he's ready for things to head in the direction of his bedroom.

With a hesitant sigh, Jensen gives a half-nod and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Dude, I ditched the show. I better show my face.”

There has always been something somewhat therapeutic about Jimmy's for Jensen. When his older brother, Josh, was washing dishes here back in the day, he would sneak Jensen in through the kitchen. Jensen carried the tradition on when he worked here, letting Jared in while the kid was still in high school. Once they were both old enough to drink out front, it was always the go-to place to hang with the guys.

To this day, if he's particularly stressed or over-worked, he only has to text Tom, Mike, Chris, and Danneel with the name of the bar and they meet for a couple of hours. All's good after that.

Jensen can practically feel the nostalgia as he throws the front door open, but he stops short when he looks to the table in the back. Well, not so much at the table, but at the way Jared is waving him over like he never left town, smiling all free and easy.

Of course, he lowers his arm almost immediately, like he can't believe he just did that. His smile fades, and Jensen would worry except Ian knocks into his back and jolts him into laughing.

“You gonna pussy out on me now?” His date's tone is jovial, but the underlying tone of concern is clear.

Glancing over his shoulder, Jensen just shakes his head and reaches for Ian's hand. “Come on,” he says, though he doesn't bother hanging on. Ian is a grown-ass man. He can find his way to the table without Jensen dragging him.

He's not entirely sure that he's collected himself fully by the time he reaches the table, but Jensen is determined not to let Jared see just how affected he is by this unexpected turn of events.

Tom stands, offers him a hand and a half-hug, and then the rest of the table follows suit. Even Misha, who's not nearly as obnoxious these days as he was back when Jensen was paranoid that he was trying to steal Jared away. Of course, that could be because Misha's not gay, or because Jared's not Jensen's anymore. Either way, it's made a friendship a little easier.

“Y'all didn't tell me Jared was gonna be here,” he smiles. It feels fake stretched across his lips, but maybe no one will notice. He pulls the chair beside him out and tears his eyes away from his ex to offer a seat to his date. There's no reason to ruin the great night he's had so far just because Jared showed up, after all.

He just needs a shot to relax his shoulders and everything will be fine. That's what he tells himself as he motions for the waitress and pulls his Zippo from his pocket.

It's probably a little weird that he's so attached to the damn thing, but it's become a security blanket of sorts. The drummer from Rise Against gave it to him as a 'thank you' for reccing the band in one of his early magazines, and then they went on to sign a deal with Geffen Records. Jensen isn't so arrogant as to believe his write-up is the reason for their success, but the lighter always reminds him that he's good at what he does. When he needs a shot of confidence, just rubbing his thumb over flaming skull imprint seems to do the trick.

Catching Jared's eye across the table, Jensen thinks maybe it's going to take more than a Zippo to get him through this night.

“They didn't know I was comin' home,” Jared assures him, eyes fixed on the way Ian rests his arm over the back of Jensen's chair for a second. Blinking, he moves his attention back to Jensen and smiles. “Last-minute assignment.”

His smile as slow and easy, eyes drifting in the way they only do when he's a couple beers deep into a conversation. Jared's nowhere near drunk, but he's in that blissfully buzzed place that Jensen needs to be in. As soon as possible, preferably.

“This guy,” he points the Zippo in Jared's direction and then looks over to Ian, “is the best damn writer you'll ever read.” His date nods cordially, but Jensen can tell that Ian could give a fuck less about Jared at the moment. Jensen wishes he felt the same way.

The waitress brings the next round and Jensen slams back his shot before reaching for his beer. It's probably less-than-subtle, his desperate need for liquid courage, but he doesn't care. This night is going to get way too fucking awkward if he doesn't loosen up a little.

Before Jensen can get lost any further in his own head, Tom smacks his shoulder and asks, “Where the fuck were you, Ackles?”

“Dude, we were on our way there, I swear,” he insists, smiling over at Ian for corroboration of his story. Ian smiles around the lip of his beer bottle and Jensen has a hard time remembering what he was saying. He's really very attractive.

“So let me guess,” Mike laughs, shaking his head as he tips his bottle. “You got a personal invite somewhere else?”

Jensen rolls his eyes. He's not above using his professional connections to impress someone. He's kind of against being called out for it at the table, though. “Automatic Laserbeams did a renegade show at The Empty Bottle,” he shrugs, like it's nothing. Ian smiles and touches his back between his shoulder blades, and Jensen relaxes back into the touch a little bit. “Adam wanted me to be there.”

Jensen's not a huge fan of the band, but their drummer, Adam, has great rhythm off-stage, so Jensen doesn't mind hanging out with them when he gets a chance. The fact that Ian dug them was a bonus.

Misha rolls his eyes and Tom covers a laugh with a cough into his hand. But it's Jared who points his question at Ian and asks, “You a big Automatic Laserbeams fan?”

Rolling his shoulders, Ian smirks and waits for Jensen to turn and meet his eye. “I'm a fan of the guy who got me backstage to meet 'em,” he answers, his tone dripping with the intention of prodding Jared.

It's not like Jared has room to complain. Jensen used to pull the same shit with him back when they were together and he fell for it every time. Even when he knew exactly what Jensen was doing.

“So, how was the show?” Jensen asks, squaring his shoulders and leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. Ian's hand is heavy on his back, and while it's kind of nice to have the contact, he's not a big fan of public displays. Five weeks out of the closet is not enough to overcome twenty-six years in it. Especially with the ex-love of his life sitting a few feet away.

Maybe the alcohol is getting to him, or maybe Jared takes Jensen's shying away from Ian's affection as encouragement, but he launches into an impromptu review of the show while Tom and Mike throw their own opinions in. Discussing music has always managed to relax him even more than the beer he keeps rolling between his hands.

Eventually, conversation drifts from shows they've all seen since they were together last. Even though Tom and Misha stayed in Chicago after graduation, they don't have a chance to get together as much as Mike and Jensen do. Catching up with everyone is nice, and listening to Jared compare his roommates back in Brooklyn to the two douches that used to live next door to Jensen sends the conversation down a nostalgic path that Jensen wasn't expecting to enjoy this much.

“Dude,” Jensen exclaims after nearly an hour of reminiscing. Nodding toward the back corner, he points his bottle in Jared's direction. “You. Me. Pinball death match. Come on.” He pointedly ignores the smug half-grin he shoots at Ian. “D'you mind?” he asks his date, because he's not a total douche.

Ian just shakes his head and plasters on a smile that Jensen knows is fake, even though he barely knows the guy. “I'll bring ya a beer if ya take too long,” he winks.

Suddenly, it feels like he's trying too hard. An hour ago, Jensen couldn't find a flaw with the guy, couldn't wait to get him home, and now everything seems wrong. His eyes are too blue. His hair flops too far into his eyes. He's too hands-on.

He's not Jared.

Shrugging that thought away, he leads the way between tables and takes his place at the side of the machine. Jared goes first. Always. And chances are, he'll beat Jensen handily. But Jensen will valiantly fight back with trash talk and snark. That's really his only defense.

They play three games before Mike stops by to announce that he's heading out. Jensen watches Jared half-hug him and then promise to keep in touch with Tom and Misha as well, even though they all know it's nearly impossible and nobody ever does that like they say they will.

And then they're alone, nothing between them but stilted silence and a pinball machine that's older than both of them put together. What he wouldn't give to think like an actual writer at the moment, to find the right words to ease the tension.

“Dude,” Jared chuckles to himself and shakes his head. “Your date's MIA.”

Glancing over, Jensen's stomach sinks. Ian was a good guy and thirty minutes with Jared completely erased him from Jensen's mind. Great. Now he's that guy. “Dammit,” he curses himself and pulls his phone out of his pocket. Maybe he can still salvage the evening.

Jared shakes his head and smiles knowingly. “I’m gonna get outta here, too, man,” he announces. “Got a flight to catch in a few hours.”

When he reaches for his wallet, Jensen grabs his wrist. “Nah, man. I got it.” He doesn’t add the ‘it’s the least I can do,’ onto the end of the sentence, but he figures it’s implied if Jared’s nod of concession is anything to go by.

They end up heading out of the bar together, shoulders brushing lightly. It’s awkward – there’s no other way to describe it – but Jensen can’t help thinking that it feels more right than walking over here with Ian did.

“So.”

That’s all Jared says when they reach the end of the building. His car keys are in his hand, and Jensen knows that he’s supposed to have some witty retort or brilliant parting line. Maybe have an apology or explanation. But when he turns toward Jared, really takes a second to look him over and realize time has done nothing to diminish Jensen’s attraction to the guy, the words get caught in his throat.

He manages a shallow, “Yeah,” while rubbing a hand over the back of his hair, wondering if Jared feels the energy that he does right now. It might be alcohol-induced nostalgia that pulls the tension tighter between them, but Jensen thinks it has more to do with an unspoken understanding that this thing between them is never really going to be over.

Before he can fully process, or consider the plethora of ways it could possibly go wrong, Jared is pushing him back against the side of the building, pressing his body into the length of Jensen’s. His mouth is determined and insistent, his hands firm on the sides of Jensen’s head. Planned or not, Jared is not flying blind here. He knows what he wants, and the way his thigh slides tight between Jensen’s tells him that Jared’s no more afraid to go after it than he was a couple of years ago.

It occurs to him, as he’s nipping at Jared’s bottom lip, that they’re standing on the fucking street. In full view of anyone who happens by, many of whom Jensen knows personally from years spent in this neighborhood. He’s holding on to Jared’s waist, pulling him closer as he moans against his lips and lazily rolls his hips against Jared’s thigh. He’s practically begging for it and they’re nowhere close to the privacy of Jensen’s living room.

It’s been about six weeks since he posted that blog on his site. But today, for the first time, Jensen feels like he’s really out of the closet.

“Your place,” Jared breathes against his lips.

Jensen knows it’s a terrible fucking idea. They aren’t what they were. Jared lives in fucking New York now. He has a boyfriend there, and Jensen doesn't know if this is the kind of thing they do often or if he's an extenuating circumstance. Until tonight, the only words they had spoken to each other in two years were not so much friendly. And then there’s the little matter of Jared walking out on him because Jensen broke his heart.

This isn’t going to help any of that. There will be consequences and Jensen knows he’s not the only one considering them. Jared follows him all the way home with his hands in his pockets and a look on his face that screams 'on second thought.'

At the doorway, he makes a decision. It's not based on who they used to be, together or separately, but on who they are right the fuck now. “Just. Let's have tonight, Jay. We can freak out about it later, okay?”

It's probably not the smartest choice, or even the best one, but this is Jared. It's been too damn long and there's too much unresolved between them. This isn't the best way to fix the problem, but he may never have the chance again. For better or worse, he wants it now.

Authenticity is a word he's considered ad nauseam in the last few weeks. Transparency. Sincerity. He's done denying who he is and pretending to be something he's not. Seeing Jared only confirmed what he still wants, what he should have never let go in the first place, and he's not willing to take a step backwards in this journey of self-discovery because it will inevitably be weird later.

Comments

[dr-ducktator.livejournal.com]

After I read the first paragraph of this, all I could think of was Jensen as a sort of Rob Gordon of the internet: snarky, elitist, music-loving guy. I love this bb!
And the "let's have tonight" is so sad and sweet at the same time.

[raeschae.livejournal.com]

Wow - any Rob Gordon comparison is a huge compliment to me, so thanks!

[dr-ducktator.livejournal.com]

I wish I was more like Rob - for the music and not the terrible dysfunction!

[raeschae.livejournal.com]

Ha! I agree completely.

[sandymg.livejournal.com]

Loving this so far. Needed to point a particularly great segment ...

this: As much as he would love for his friends to hang out and keep him company, maybe lament even longer about the “one that got away,” he really does need to do some damage control on the site and figure out what he's going to do with his new-found... outedness. Outness? Outenticity? Whatever.
-- 'outenticity'? Hee. Perfection.

moving on now ...

[raeschae.livejournal.com]

Ha. Thanks! I still don't know what the right word is in this instance!

[keerawa.livejournal.com]

“So that's it?” Jared volume shrank to almost-imperceptible. “You love me, just not enough to let anyone else know about it.”
Oh. Ouch. Not an easy thing to come back from.

[raeschae.livejournal.com]

It's cold, huh? Not an easy thing to feel, either. :(