Coda: Vol. II, Disc 1

[raeschae]

It probably wasn't supposed to happen like this, either.

It's wrong on about a thousand different levels. Going home with Jensen can't possibly make anything better between them, and it certainly won't make his life back in New York any easier. There is nothing about this plan that even lives in the same neighborhood as a good idea, but Jared can't stop his feet from following.

When he agreed to cover the Plain White T's homecoming show at Northwestern, he wasn't expecting to have time for his family, let alone friends he hasn't seen in what feels like an eternity. But Tom, Misha and Mike were there before he could duck out of the way, and once the initial awkwardness was past, he was happy to see them.

If he's honest, he was glad that Jensen wasn't with them. Not exactly thrilled when Mike told him that his ex was on a date with some guy he met earlier this week, but grateful that he didn't have to suffer through an awkward reunion with someone he wasn't even sure he wanted to see.

And now he's standing in Jensen's apartment, one that's not so different than the one they practically shared a few years ago, and Jared can't stop thinking about those nights – back when it felt like they were unstoppable, like the bubble they lived in would never pop.





“What would you do if you broke all of your fingers and couldn't write anymore?”

Jensen looked up from his place on the floor, cereal bowl in his left hand, spoon held between his lips with his right. “The fuck kinda question is that?”

With a shrug, Jared pivoted on the couch and stretched his body from one end to the other. “Just wonderin'. If you couldn't write. Not, like, if you couldn't find the words. But if you physically couldn't do it, what would you do?”

“Dictate my articles to you.”

“Okay, but in this scenario, I don't have hands, either.”

“Why not? What happened to your hands?”

“Does it matter?”

Jensen stood and placed his bowl on the coffee table, ignoring the way the sugary milk sloshed dangerously close to the edges, and climbed onto the couch. Settling between Jared's feet, he stretched his legs out and ran his fingers under Jared's pant legs absentmindedly.

“Did you lose them in some tragic accident? Were you being an idiot and attempting some stupid stunt, like, I don't know, grabbing an egg shell out of the blender while it was running? Or were you being heroic and saving some kid from a wrecked car before it burst into flames or something?”

Jared's eyebrow shot up and he couldn't answer with anything other than a laugh.

“Ask a stupid question, man,” Jensen shook his head, hands running further up his legs, “you're gonna get a stupid fucking answer.”

Struggling to sit, Jared wrapped his legs around Jensen's thighs and brushed his toes against Jensen's side. “It's not a stupid question, asshole,” was his witty retort. “I wanna know what you would do if the one thing you counted on for income and security was ripped away from you.”

Jensen's head tilted in consideration and he caught his bottom lip between his teeth. “I don't know,” he answered, after a long moment of contemplation. “I guess I could do podcasts?”

“But you'd wanna keep reviewing music?”

“Can't imagine doin' anything else,” he admitted, hands retreating back to Jared's ankles. “Why? What would you do?”

Jared shrugged. He didn't mention the fact that, with only a few months to go until graduation, he was starting to question his path in life. Jensen was so set on his and he'd been so supportive of Jared coming on board at Coda that he couldn't bring himself to mention the offer he had on the table from Slide Magazine in New York. “I don't know, man,” he answered. “Haven't really thought about it that much.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, eyes trained on the television and legs tangled together. “Ya know, if we both lost our hands, I don't think work would be my first concern,” Jensen said suddenly.

Jared smirked, the way Jensen's fingers moved up his leg again less-than-subtle. “I think we could find a way around that,” he assured.

Pulling his hand back, Jensen climbed forward on the couch and covered Jared's body with his own. “Yeah,” he smiled, fingers working the button on Jared's jeans. “Always find a way to make this work.”

He knew Jensen was right. No matter what the future threw at them, or what career decisions Jared made, he had to believe that they would find a way to make this work.




Jared manages to get the first three buttons of his shirt undone and then Jensen's on him, helping, breathing against his neck. His fingers make quick work of Jared's shirt and then start on his belt, the pair of them managing to get his long legs tangled as Jared stumbles and falls onto the bed with a grunt. They writhe against each other, rutting and growling and kissing until Jared finds himself face down on the mattress with the point of Jensen's tongue dragging the length of his spine.

He knows what's supposed to happen next and he knows that he's supposed to just relax and have a good time with it. But if Jared stands a chance of only mildly freaking out in the morning, he has to get the upper hand. He has to control this situation before he lets it go way too far.

When Jensen crawls off the bed and squeezes at the globes of Jared's ass, he takes the chance to lift a hip and roll himself back over. Not without nearly kicking Jensen in the head, but he manages, nonetheless. Jensen looks up, confusion evident in his eyes –maybe a little bit of hurt – but Jared just paws at his shoulders until he climbs back onto the bed.

They grind into each other, cocks slipping hard and wet together, and Jared knows that they're not fucking tonight. There's not a chance in hell they're going to make it that far and he can't help thinking that maybe it's for the best. Maybe he can convince himself later, on the plane tomorrow, that this isn't really cheating so long as no one gets fucked.

When he looks down, there are wide eyes staring back up at him, humor and amusement evident as Jensen's lips work up and down his dick. Jesus Christ, it's so fucking perfect inside Jensen's mouth. He almost forgot how good this felt.

Fingers gripping at the back of Jensen's short hair, Jared tries to stop thinking all together. Freak out later. For now, Jensen is sucking every worry and concern straight out through his dick and Jared is perfectly content to let him. Like old times. He's allowing himself one night to think about how it used to be – to live in the “then” instead of the “now” – and nothing feels more like used-to-be than this right here.

Jensen's sucking his cock like he's starving for it and Jared's holding loose to the back of his neck, losing his mind. The overhead light catches the freckles across his nose and cheeks, and his contented moaning and sighing echoes through the otherwise silent room. It's like Jared's twenty-one again and they're trying to hurry before Mike or Chris comes home.

When Jensen pulls back, Jared doesn't have time to ask questions because he’s got his arms full again and they're rolling the length of the bed, tangled limbs and delicious friction, grunting and panting and thrusting like both of their lives depend on it. And then Jensen is coming against Jared's stomach and saying the most filthy things against his ear, and Jared can't really be sure, but he thinks he maybe shouts something his Catholic grandmother would consider blasphemous as his orgasm crashes over him.

And then comes the awkwardness. It descends heavy, thick, like the sound of their ragged breathing and the smell of sweat and sex in the air. They're naked together, and even if everything tonight felt like old times, this doesn't. There's no comfortable silence. There's no murmured 'I love you' before sleep takes them both. There's just naked skin, rumpled sheets, and a shitload of regret.

Dammit. Jared knew better. Twenty minutes ago, he knew better. What the fuck was he thinking? This is not some random hook up. This is not some one-time thing that he can lock away in a closet. This is Jensen. The love of his fucking life. And no matter how many times he tells himself that he can separate sex from emotion? He can't. Not this time. Not with this guy.

He's out of the bed and fumbling for his clothes before Jensen can even pull himself upright on the bed. By the time he wrestles his shirt over his shoulders, Jensen is reclining against a pillow, flicking that goddamn Zippo lighter against the end of a cigarette. “Good to see you again, Jay,” he says, the words spoken around the cigarette just before the sharp intake of his breath.

Jared nods and tells himself that the waft of Jensen's menthol isn't just as familiar as everything else in this room right now. “Yeah.” He stomps his foot into his sneaker and doesn't bother looking up as he runs his fingers through his hair. “I better get goin'.”

Jensen just nods. “You got a flight to catch.”

And Jared can't tell if he's being sincere or sarcastic, but either way, he's right. “Alright, well…” He hates, more than anything, that he doesn't know what to say now. That he doesn't know how to end this night. “I'll see ya 'round.”

The wave is clumsy and he barely hears Jensen's, “Later,” as he staggers out the door. In the living room, he stops, breathing deeply and taking a second to look around. The room's not big, and it's not what some people would call inviting, but it feels so much like home that Jared's heart hammers against his chest.





En route to the bathroom, Jared tripped three times and crushed one CD case. Navigating Jensen's living room in the dark required a schematic and careful planning, neither of which Jared considered while hung over and half-asleep.

Everything about the room was designed to make work easier – the desk, couch, and chair against the wall, the coffee table shoved up against the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, the floor free for research and whatever else Jensen deemed necessary to spread around in cluttered piles - but it certainly didn't make for the most comfortable living conditions.

By the time he stumbled back to bed, Jared's big toe was throbbing and he wanted to strangle Jensen with a pillow. It was an exaggerated reaction, sure, but it was five in the morning and Jared nearly killed himself tripping over a power chord on the return trip from the bathroom. He felt justified.

“Could you make a little more noise there next time, Sasquatch?” Jensen's muffled voice sounded at his side.

Jared pulled the covers up to his waist and shifted onto his side. “Maybe. If you make your house a little less user-friendly.”

“Been the same forever. Get used to it,” Jensen grumbled.

“Fuck off,” was the only rejoinder Jared could come up with as he drifted off toward sleep.

There was a huff at his back, before Jensen responded with, “You love me.”

“Won't if your furniture tries to kill me again.” Though, even as he said the words, Jared figured it probably wasn't true.




He shouldn't have come here – to Chicago, Jimmy’s, or this house. He should have just stayed in New York, where he wouldn't be thinking about Jensen and feeling everything that he shoved so far down back then. He wouldn't be resenting the fact that he's feeling it all again. None of this would have happened if he had just stayed home this weekend and let Chad handle the Plain White T's show. Fucking dammit.

He throws the front door open and then slams it shut, stalking back across the living room and catching Jensen off-guard when he appears in the bedroom door frame. “You are the same pathetic asshole you were on the day we broke up,” he says, the anger boiling in his gut when Jensen schools his surprised features into that cool, unaffected mask he's been wearing since the day they met. “You lure me in with your apologetic phone call and your lame-ass one-liners at the bar, and then bring me back here and fuck my head all up with that bullshit about not freaking out until later. And then you let me walk out the motherfucking door again? Just like that? You are so fucking damaged, it's infuriating!”

Unlike that day that Jared will never forget, though, Jensen doesn't lean back and shrug his shoulders. He doesn't keep his mouth shut. There is fire in his eyes, a passionate response that Jared's only ever really seen him reserve for music that he either loves or hates.

“You're the one who bolted out of bed like your ass was on fire, man. You're the one who has a plane to catch. A boyfriend to get back to. What the fuck do you want me to do? You told me, in no uncertain terms, that I didn't stand a fucking chance of getting you back. Excuse me for trying to salvage my pride and let you walk away from this like it didn't have to mean anything.”

“It's always gonna mean something with us!” Jared roars back. And it's one of those moments like being in a bar, telling a really inappropriate joke with your impossibly drunk friends – that moment when the music stops just as you're telling the filthy punchline a little too loudly.

Jensen looks like he's been punched, his face twisting with the truth of Jared's statement. He stamps the butt of his cigarette into the glass tray on the table and rolls off of the bed to pull his underwear on before speaking again. “But it can't, right?”

He looks to Jared for confirmation, but Jared can't say anything when Jensen's looking at him like that – eyes full of hope, expression wide open, waiting for something Jared just can't give him. Not when there's so much hurt, so many unresolved feelings of resentment and anger he's pushed down for so long that he doesn't even know how to deal with them anymore. He loves Jensen, thinks he probably always will, but being in love with Jensen is too painful a concept to even consider now.

“Look man, I know you think I fucked up back then. I know you think I should have told you to stay and that I should have gotten over whatever my own issues were. Or that I should have loved you more, or expressed it differently, or whatever.” He shakes his head and Jared feels that hole in his heart, the one that's been there for two years now, cracking open and starting to bleed. “Maybe you're right. Maybe you are, because if I had?” Jensen shakes his head, mask slipping to reveal the sadness and repentance. “We could have,” he stops himself and catches his bottom lip between his teeth. “I don't know what would have happened, Jay. Neither of us do.

“But I'm pretty sure I wouldn't be missing you like this. Like there's this part of me that's just. I don't know, man. Like it's just gone.” He runs his hand over the back of his head and stares hard at the floor before looking back up. “I can get off. I can find a guy and fuck him.” Jared feels his eyes narrow, but tells himself it doesn't mean anything. “What I can't do is replace my best fucking friend. That's what I miss. The guy I can call or e-mail or text about anything, or nothing. The guy that fucking knew me like nobody else ever has.”

It knocks Jared back like a freight train, the weight of Jensen's words. Not to mention the fact that he said so many of them in regards to his own feelings. Somewhere over the course of the last two years, he's forgotten that part. He's chosen to remember only that Jensen shut him out that last day in his apartment, that he refused to talk about what he was thinking or why he was letting Jared go so easily.

He forgot that Jensen used to talk to him about everything. He used to take so much shit from Mike and Chris for not having anything to say if it wasn't about music, but Jared knew the Jensen that could talk for hours about anything when they were alone. Jared would lay his head in Jensen's lap, let those strong fingers card through his hair, and just listen while Jensen waxed philosophical about everything from the classes he was taking, to the biography he was reading, to the pizza rolls he had for dinner.

He forgot that Jensen would shut up and listen to Jared talk about finals, politics, or the fruit punch that he could only buy at the convenience store on campus. Somewhere before that day a lifetime ago, he and Jensen used to talk about their parents' expectations, and whatever squabble they were having with their siblings, and how Jensen barely remembered Texas while Jared missed it so much it hurt sometimes.





Maps and brochures covered the living room floor and they all stared like one of them might jump up and grab their ankles or something. It was a lot of information and a huge undertaking, but there was a rippling current of excitement palpable in the air.

“Alright, kids,” Chris took a deep breath and shook his head, hand coming down loud and heavy on Jensen's shoulder. “This has gotta be the dumbest fuckin' thing you ever thought up, but it's gonna be awesome.” He drained the beer bottle in his hand and set it on the edge of Jensen's desk before extending a hand to his friend. “Call ya later.”

Jared just waved as Chris, Mike and Tom headed out for the night, his brain racing at the very idea Jensen had presented. There wasn't enough time to plan for something like this, and he had no idea where the money was going to come from, but Jensen wanted to try. Who was going to tell him 'no'?

When they were alone, Jared looked up to find Jensen grinning like a madman in the doorway. “This is insane,” Jared laughed, arms crossed over his chest.

To his credit, Jensen didn't disagree. Pushing off the door, he made his way to the opposite side of the mess and let his eyes float over the papers. “It's gonna be epic, man.”

The South by Southwest music festival was in four weeks, but they could stay with Jared's brother in Austin so it wouldn't cost that much. Coachella came next, and Jared was going to have to skip a few days of school if he wanted to tag along with the guys for that one. Lollapalooza, Bonnaroo and Reading were all in the summer so he didn't have to rearrange anything for those. Still. It was a lot.

“Jensen.”

“Man, I know, okay?” Jensen interrupted before Jared could even start to build a case against this ridiculous notion. “But, Jay, you're graduating in a few months, man. And then this thing,” he gestured widely to the entire room, “it all changes. It's not just my ass on the line anymore once you start working for me. It's real life, and it's just,” he shakes his head, eyes pleading with Jared to understand. “What's wrong with reminding ourselves why we love this so goddamn much?”

It was far from the most responsible thing either of them had ever done or could possibly think about doing. But Jensen had a way of reminding Jared of all the things he loved in the world in a few easy sentences. Travel, music, and spending time with Jensen were all high on that list, so why the hell not combine them in an unforgettable summer they could talk about for the rest of their lives.

Nodding his head, Jared looked up and quirked an eyebrow. “Alright. I'm all in, man.”




They had plans, not as lovers but as friends. They wanted to see things together, experience them with the one person who just got why it was so important. They were supposed to do everything together. Of all the plans they made, that was the unwavering constant.

Jared realizes now that Jensen is right – he hurts. He's angry and he's got issues to deal with that Jensen can't help him through, but he also has a life that he would love to be able to share with his best friend.

“Call me, okay?” he suggests with a shrug, hands in his pockets as he turns for the door again.

Jensen nods and this time, he walks Jared to the door. “Take care of yourself out there, kiddo,” he winks when Jared stops just over the threshold. “Phone works both ways, ya know?”

Pushing down the urge to reach out and pull Jensen into a hug, Jared just smiles a little. “Yeah. I'll talk to you later, man,” he promises.

The night is cold around him and Jared stuffs his hands further into his pockets as he heads back to the bar to retrieve his dad's truck. The truth is, he wishes he had stayed to talk to Jensen tonight – just stayed up until sunrise, riffing about whatever pops into their heads. But he's had enough nostalgia for right now and it's better if he takes some time to decompress.

He'll worry about the logistics of re-establishing a friendship with the love of his life later. That's what Jensen is, and Jared can't deny it anymore. He might not be able to have the same relationship with the guy again, but he knows that Jensen is the one permanent fixture in his life. That's the way it was supposed to be way back when. Maybe this is the way it's supposed to be now.




Making a career out of jetting around the country to seeing rock shows probably sounds enticing to some people. Hell, it sounded enticing to Jared a few years ago. That was before he knew that being gone for three days really only gives him more work to do when he gets back to the office. He's been sorting through e-mails, voicemails, and a to-do list that won't stop growing all morning. But there's only so much coffee a guy can drink before his skin starts vibrating and his fingers won't work on the keyboard anymore.

“Dude. Lunch. Now.”

With a quick glance over his shoulder, Jared shakes his head at Chad and then looks back to the computer screen. His head is starting to hurt, but he can't exactly shut everything down and head home for some Advil. “No time,” he answers.

Chad's a good guy. Well, Chad's alright most of the time. He doesn't exactly seem to understand the concept of decorum, and he needs to learn exactly when to keep it in his pants, but Jared doesn't mind him. He's entertaining and it doesn't hurt that he makes Jared look about a thousand times cooler in comparison when they go out, when they're in a staff meeting and pretty much any other time they show up somewhere at the same time.

“There's always time for food,” he pats his belly and stretches his arms over his head. For the last twenty minutes, he's been playing with some ridiculous Facebook application in lieu of doing any actual work. Jared's tempted to pawn some of his own work off on the guy, but he knows damn well Chad will just shove it into the pile of other shit he's supposed to be doing and it'll never see the light of day again.

“Turkey and Swiss on nine-grain, no mayo, extra mustard and pickles,” a gravelly voice sounds from the door as Sophia pitches a paper-wrapped sandwich toward Jared's desk. He catches it right before it hits him in the chest and she winks, “Nice hands, Padalecki.”

Before he can respond, Chad lets out a low whistle and Jared just shakes his head. Watching Chad crash and burn used to be entertaining. Now it's just kind of sad. “New jeans, Soph?”

She narrows her eyes and hitches her thumb over her shoulder. “Why don't you go to lunch before I file another sexual harassment complaint, Murray?”

If anyone thought she was kidding, Chad might stick around to be even more inappropriate. Fortunately, he thinks better of it and disappears with a promise to be back before they miss him. Neither Jared nor Sophia bother to respond.

“You ever gonna lighten up on him?” Jared asks, with a shake of his head as he swallows the first bite of his sandwich.

Sophia shrugs, throws her dark hair over her shoulder and sits in the chair opposite Jared's desk, carrot stick pinched between her fingers like the cigarette she would light right now if she thought she could get away with it. “He had his chance. He blew it. I'm done.”

He doesn't even think before he nods. “No, I get it. I do,” he assures her. Probably more than she knows.

“So, didya see him or what?” When he doesn't answer, Sophia kicks her shoes off and props her bare feet up on the edge of Jared's desk. “Jensen? When you were home? Did you see him?” Jared nods and Sophia's grin nearly splits her face in two. “And?”

“And what?”

“How was it? Awkward? Awesome? Everything you dreamed and more?”

He takes another bite, shrugs his shoulders and smiles over the top of his screen. He had his chance. He blew it. I'm done. Sophia's words are too final, but Jared doesn't want to give her the wrong idea. Knowing her, she'll formulate her own wrong idea, with or without his help. It's not her fault that she's a hopeless romantic, but while she talks candidly about the lack of love in her own life, she's a sucker for a good story about other people finding it.

So instead of saying much, he shrugs and finishes off his sandwich, reaching for the water bottle he's been nursing for the last twenty minutes. “I saw him,” he admits, because he's never been very good at lying. “We talked. Wasn't exactly old times, but we didn't throw punches or anything.” When she winks and grins that flirty little grin of hers, Jared shakes his head and puts a hand up. “It's not like that. Now get outta here. I have thirty-five hundred words to write by two fifteen and I'm sittin' at thirteen.”

Jared loves his co-workers because they know immediately that thirteen hundred words do not magically turn into thirty-five hundred and they leave him alone when necessity dictates it. He wishes he could say the same for pretty much anyone else that he knows here in the city.

Once he's finally starting to gain momentum on his piece about the Plain White T's show, one that will either show up on the website or be edited down to a five hundred word blurb amidst other reviews in another article, most likely, Jared lets his shoulders relax. This is what he does, better than most. When he gets into the rhythm and feels the flow, this is what comes naturally. He's been doing it since middle school and perfecting it since he moved to Chicago back in eleventh grade. This is what Jensen taught him, to block out everything else and just describe how the music feels.

When the article is finished, he sends it off to the copy editor and looks at the next item on his list. Jesus, there's still a lot here. How in the hell is he ever going to get it all done?

He idly plays with the idea of calling Tim. A midday quickie would take the edge off and make this whole day seem a lot less stressful, he's sure. He has three hours until he has to head over to the VH-1 studios to record a few soundbites for some 'Best Of' show they're putting together, though. Tim is the segment producer and Jared will see him then. No use calling him over now, he figures, so he settles for checking his e-mail instead.





Jared watches the video twice, can't help laughing and wishing that he was back in Chicago. Of course, he still has a thousand things to do, but Jensen has always had a twisted sixth sense about when he needs a break.




The next time Jared hears from Jensen, it's three days after the e-mail. He's already pissed off about having to interview anyone at fucking Starbucks and he's running late on top of that. It's not a good day, and when he digs into his pocket to retrieve his cell, the woman behind him slams into his back and curses angrily.

“Sorry,” he apologizes automatically, clicking the button on his phone as he resumes his previous speed. “Hello?”

“Why the hell aren't you in your office?” Jensen asks.

Jared shakes his head. It's more than a little bit comforting to know that some things about Jensen will never change. “Because I have a job that sometimes requires I be out of my office?”

“But I have a song you need to listen to.”

“Gonna have to wait, man. I'm on my way to an interview.”

“Who?”

“Jack White.”

There's a slightly impressed huff from the other end of the phone. “Well, alright then. Just,” Jensen stops talking and Jared can hear the wheels of his chair moving across the linoleum floor of his kitchen. He must be working – it's the only time Jensen doesn't bother to get out of his chair for anything, even food breaks. Jared smiles as he yanks the door of the coffee shop open and notes that his interview subject is not yet here. “I sent you a song I want you to listen to when you get a chance. You're gonna love it.”

“How can you be sure?” Jared smiles at the barista and asks for a water. He's had enough coffee at the office already, thanks.

Jensen sighs, all long suffering, like he can't believe Jared would even question him on something like this. “Who knows you, Jay? I mean, you're maybe sellin' out like a bitch now, but I know your taste hasn't changed that much.” Jared rolls his eyes and thanks the girl behind the counter before finding a chair near the back of the shop. “Just trust me, okay?”




Jared didn't even know where they were going, and he certainly didn't know why they needed to be there at three o'clock in the morning. He'd been peacefully sleeping – there may have been a naked dream-version of a certain British actor involved – and getting roused by a jabbing poke in the ribs didn't put him in the best mood ever. Especially when Jensen refused to tell him the intended destination.

Bitching about it did no good, so Jared stopped trying about three blocks from Jensen's place. It wasn't until the rounded the side of the old record store a few blocks later that he stopped following and stared at Jensen's back. “You gonna tell me what the fuck now?”

Jensen just turned, hands on his hips. “Surprise isn't a concept you're so familiar with, is it?”

He disappeared around the corner and was pulling something out of his pocket when Jared finally caught up – against his better judgment, if the police asked questions later. “Dude, we come here practically every day. What could possibly be so important that we have to break and enter in the middle of the night?”

“Would you just trust me?” Jensen's tone was only slightly frustrated, but more amused. Like he knew exactly what he was doing and exactly how much Jared was going to appreciate it.

In reality, he probably did. Most days, it felt like Jensen knew Jared better than Jared knew himself. Still, it seemed like if that were the case, Jensen should know how much Jared really didn't want to forgo his last couple of years of school to spend time in jail.

With a steady hand, Jensen slid the key into the lock and pushed the door open with his shoulder. A few more seconds, a few keys punched, and he had disabled the security system. “Come on.”

More curious than he wanted to admit, Jared did as he was told and tentatively stepped over the threshold. Jensen moved through the darkened store room and turned on a small table lamp, illuminating an open box there. With a mischievous gleam in his eye, he rubbed his hands together. “Oh Chris, I owe you a big, sloppy kiss on the mouth, my friend.”

That thought alone made Jared shudder. Instead of saying anything, though, he made his way through the room to stand at Jensen's side. “Jensen, what the fuck is going on?”

Chris had been working at the record store for three weeks and Jared was fairly certain that he could have brought just about anything Jensen needed to his apartment or something. He didn't have to loan out his key and make Jensen do the work of stealing it himself. Something was definitely up.

With a dramatic flourish, Jensen turned, the plastic wrapper from a CD case peeking out between the hands clutched to his chest. “I know you love me, man, but try to remember that we're in a semi-public place and run the risk of getting caught at any moment. Blowing me for this is probably not the best idea until we get back home.”

“If by 'blowing you' you mean 'punching you in the throat,' then I will try to restrain myself.”

Jensen just rolled his eyes and thrust the CD into Jared's hand. “Happy anniversary, dickface.”

In his hands was a copy of The Killers' album, Sam's Town. Jensen wasn't a particularly huge fan of the band – claimed they'd gotten too commercial after the release of their first mainstream album – but they were easily in Jared's top five. The album was highly-anticipated and not scheduled for release for another three weeks.

“How,” he started to ask and then snapped his mouth shut as he flipped the case around to read the song listing on the back cover.

“Dude, they get copies of early-release stuff in here all the time – for screening or some shit. I didn't know what to get you and I might have mentioned something about wishing that,” he nodded toward Jared's hands, “would come out early. Decision woulda been easier, for sure.” When Jared meets his eye, Jensen's face is lit nearly as brightly as the lamp on the table by the sheer force of his smile. “Chris texted me to say that they had the advanced copy if I wanted to grab it for you.”

His brain was tripping between elation and disbelief when the sound of a passing car on the street reminded him of exactly what they were doing. “And you couldn't just have Chris bring it to you? Why the hell are we here, Jensen?”

With the grin of a little boy heading for trouble, Jensen shrugged his shoulders. “Call it part of the present. Something special to make you think of me every time you listen.”

“Breaking and entering is your idea of something special?”

He shrugged and flicked the light back out. Jared felt the fingers on his hips, the breath against his cheek, before he heard the words against his ear, “You won't forget it.”

By the time they were laying, pressed thigh-to-thigh on Jensen's bed again, Jared had to admit that he was right. The album might not have been as great as he had hoped, but every time he listened to it, he would remember this moment and the way Jensen always seemed to know exactly how to spin his head around.




Jared always trusted Jensen. Without question. And maybe that's part of the reason it hurt so badly when everything ended. He's pretty sure the break down of that trust is something he'll never fully get over. “I'll check it out,” he promises.

“Call me back when you do, okay?” Jensen doesn't add the part where he wants to talk about what Jared loved and hated about the song, or the part where he tells Jared why he's wrong, or the part where they listen to it together just to prove their respective points.

“For sure.” From his seat, Jared can see the front door opening and a few guys ambling lazily into the coffee shop. “I gotta go, Jensen. I'll call you later tonight.”

“Yeah. Tell Jack I said 'hey.'”

Jared will because Jensen knows Jack White. Because he knew him back when The White Stripes were an underground band in Detroit and Jensen couldn't stop talking about them. He was the first one, at the ripe old age of twenty, to score a one-on-one interview with them after they signed their first major-label deal. Jensen accuses Jared of being a sell out, but he has connections Jared would consider sacrificing a virgin to obtain. He knows who is going to make it in this business and he catches them on the ground floor.

Telling Jared to pass on a greeting isn't at all about Jensen catching up with an old acquaintance, though. Gratefully, Jared recognizes it for exactly what it is: Jensen conveying his stamp of approval to the musician Jared is about to interview. It's as good as Jensen standing here himself, telling Jack White that Jared is okay, that he should feel comfortable being candid and open, and trust that Jared will make him sound like even more of a bad-ass than he actually is.

This is Jensen being a friend.




By the time Jared pushes through the front door of the Brooklyn loft he shares with two other guys he found on craigslist a couple of years back, it's after nine o'clock. The interview went well, and he managed to see Tim for a nice dinner, so the day that started awful ended up not being so bad after all.

“You're right,” he says when Jensen answers the phone. He grabs an apple from the counter and waves at one of his roommates, Steve, as he heads out of the door, guitar case in hand.

“Always,” Jensen answers easily. “What am I right about this time?”

“Alaska and Me? Love the song you sent me.” He'd listened to Silver Screens and Pseudo Scenes four times and couldn't deny that Jensen's ear was as finely tuned as ever.

He crosses the kitchen and pushes his bedroom door open, dropping his laptop bag next to the small desk against the wall. It's good to be home. After they ate, Tim wanted him to come to his place and stay the night on the Upper West Side, but Jared made some excuse about needing to sleep in his own bed. Really, he just needed to get home and call Jensen back like he promised earlier this afternoon, but he couldn't very well tell Tim that. As far as excuses for blowing off sex go, it's not exactly acceptable.

“I fucking knew you'd love it!”

Jensen sounds so happy about it that Jared can't help smiling. “Whole album's pretty good, man.”

After a beat, Jensen asks, “How'd the interview go?”

“It was good. You should call him, by the way.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. He said something about playin' your neck of the woods with The Dead Weather in a couple months.”

Jared eases the balcony door open and lets the New York City night wash over him. Sometimes he misses Chicago, more often he misses San Antonio, but there are some nights when he can't imagine himself living anywhere other than right here. He kind of loves New York more than he ever thought he would.

Lowering himself into one of the plastic deck chairs, he props his feet up on the railing and leans his head back against the wall. “Dude, can I just tell you that authentic Italian is possibly the most perfect foodgasm in all of creation.” Jensen mumbles something and Jared doesn't bother asking him to repeat it. “I could sleep for a week, I think.”

“Spaghetti Bolognese?”

“Is there anything else?” Jared licks his lips, the flavor no longer lingering there, and imagines the way it exploded against his taste buds just about an hour ago. “There's this place over in the West Village. It's like Heaven on Earth.”

“Kinda cliché, Jay,” Jensen chides, but Jared can hear his smile through the line.

He doesn't think about the words before they roll over his lips. “Clichés are such for a reason, Jen.”

“Asshole,” Jensen fires back, and Jared doesn't even feel bad for quoting one of Jensen's favorite phrases.

They fall into an easy rhythm, teasing each other and chatting about whatever while Jared closes his eyes and taps his foot against the railing. It feels good, talking to Jensen like this. Makes him think that maybe they don't have to be all complicated and twisted, reminds him that they know how to weather this sort of bump in the proverbial road.





Standing outside Jensen's front door, Jared balled his fists against his thighs and tried to find the confidence he'd had yesterday. Kissing Jensen wasn't something he had planned – trading handjobs had definitely not been on the agenda – but Jared had always been the kind of kid who went after what he wanted when he saw an opportunity. Last night, it seemed like the door was open and all he had to do was shoulder his way through.

Jensen hadn't answered his phone or responded to a single text message in nearly twenty-four hours, though, and Jared's bravado was wavering. He knew that there was something between them but he was fairly convinced that he had fucked it all up, along with their friendship, with his inability to keep his hands to himself last night.

After drawing two more shaky breaths, he raised his hand and knocked twice, sharp, on the door. Fifteen seconds – ticked off in his head at a painstaking rate – nearly killed every shred of hope Jared had left. But when Jensen swung the door open and raised an eyebrow, he couldn't help smiling in spite of himself. “Hey,” he waved, hand feeling too big and floppy as he waved.

“There a reason you're knockin' on my door?” Jensen hung one arm over the top of the door, the other resting loose against his hip. His tongue ran across his bottom lip, then his lip rolled between his teeth, and then Jared nearly lost his balance.

“Didn't know if you were home,” he stuttered, quiet and pitiful. Stuffing his hands deep into his pockets, he studied the toe of his shoe because the thought of looking at Jensen was just a little more than he could fathom at the moment. Jared had never really cared what many people thought of him, but Jensen's opinion sat high on the list. Being rejected now was going to hurt more than he wanted to admit.

Letting go of the door, Jensen squared his stance and crossed his arms over his chest. “You still have a key, right?” Jared just nodded and looked up. Yesterday, he let himself in. Today, he couldn't bring himself to cross the threshold. “Dude, what the fuck is your problem?”

He couldn't answer Jensen's question because he didn't want to admit how fucking cowardly he felt. “Man, I don't know. You didn't call me back all day. This is fucking weird, okay?” It shouldn't have been, but it was, and Jared was never very good at sugar-coating his emotions. Jensen said that's what made him a great writer, but sometimes Jared wished he had one of those masks Jensen always seemed to carry.

With a roll of his eyes, Jensen lunged forward and grabbed the sleeve of Jared's tee shirt, taking advantage of his surprise to pull him into the apartment. Slamming the door, he pushed Jared up against it and tangled his hands in his shirt. “Nothing changes, man,” he promised, pressing his lips to Jared's, too quick to even count as anything more than a peck. “Stop bein' a damn drama queen.”

“Oh, yeah, nothing's changed at all,” Jared tucked his finger into the waistband of Jensen's jeans and pulled him back for another kiss. “This is totally normal for us.”

Shrugging, Jensen pulled away and headed toward his desk. “It is now,” he answered, all free and easy like he wasn't the one freaking out on the couch last night. He dropped into the chair at his desk and nodded toward the couch. “Remote's yours till I finish this shit.”

There were still doubts and Jared knew he could easily second-guess himself all night if he allowed his mind to wander. But then Jensen looked at him, laughed, and Jared had a hard time thinking about anything else in the world.




At midnight, Jared groans and stands from the chair, his ass sore from sitting. That's nothing compared to the dull disappointment that thuds in his chest over the thought of hanging up with Jensen, though. If he didn't have an actual job like a responsible adult, he would just stay up all night like they used to. They're not kids anymore. He has to keep reminding himself that they're not who they used to be.

“Alright, man, I hate to do this to ya, but I gotta get some sleep.”

Jensen agrees, doesn't so much as put up a fight, and Jared would be offended but he's too grateful at the moment. “I'll talk to ya later, man,” Jensen offers before disconnecting the call.

If Jared stumbles to bed and falls asleep with a contented smile on his face, it's just because he's happy to have his best friend back in his life again.

Comments

[keerawa.livejournal.com]

Jensen stops talking and Jared can hear the wheels of his chair moving across the linoleum floor of his kitchen. He must be working – it's the only time Jensen doesn't bother to get out of his chair for anything, even food breaks.
I love the intimacy of this. These two KNOW each other, and it really comes through in the fic. I'm also enjoying the real sense of time and place. They're both so passionate about music, and I can tell you, the author, are too.

[raeschae.livejournal.com]

Thank you! The intimacy is, for me, the best part of writing this story, so I'm really glad it translates.

[raeschae.livejournal.com]

That's awesome! I wish that I could take credit for the video, but maichan808 is actually the one that sent me the link. I'm like you - I find YouTube videos pretty lame most of the time, but I wanted something that actually made me laugh for that link, so that's what she sent me.

I'm so glad you liked it!

[truelyesoteric.livejournal.com]

Okay, I've just gotta pause in the middle of this and tell you two things:

1. I'm very musically challenged.

2. This story is brilliant because I am so into it my heart will hurt until they get back together.

Okay I'm going back now.

[raeschae.livejournal.com]

I think that's the biggest compliment - to take a chance when it's not even your thing means so much! I won't spoil it, but I hope your heart feels better when it's over. :D

[sienata.livejournal.com]

just wanted to say thanks so much for this story. i'm enjoying it so much. great writing, and i love all the details of their lives - both from before and now. i feel like a fly on their walls. :)

[raeschae.livejournal.com]

Thank YOU for reading it! I'm so glad you're liking it and that it feels real to you, that's awesome!!