raeschae | Coda: Vol. III

Maybe this is exactly the way it was always supposed to happen.

Ian, the drummer from Alaska and Me, called Jensen a week ago and told him that his presence was required at their album release party in New York on October 28. He said his thanks before politely declining for about a thousand reasons. Not the least of which was the churning in his stomach at the thought of seeing Jared.

But Bethany, the perky keyboardist, didn't seem to care that Jensen is crazy in love and terrified of actually seeing the object of that affection in person again when she called, begging him to reconsider. She claimed that they “needed” him there, and that they're “nothing” without him and his support. It was the most melodramatic bunch of bullshit Jensen has ever heard and, being the egomaniac that he is, it worked like a charm.

So here he is in New York, crammed into a club that is packed to capacity with drunken idiots and executives trying to play cool when they're clearly standing out like a sore thumb on the perimeters of the room. It's been awhile since he's been to a major label function, and he can't say it's much different than the indie ones in Chicago.

Of course, he spots Jared almost immediately – it's hard not to, what with the guy being roughly the size of a California Redwood and all – standing at the bar, drinking from a long-neck and chatting comfortably with a redhead in low-slung jeans. Jared's eyes scan the room periodically, but don't appear to be looking for anyone in particular. He's just enjoying the moment that he's in, like Jared always does.

If he's honest with himself, Jared is both the reason Jensen didn't want to come and the reason he decided to do it anyway. He loves the kid, and he always fucking will. It's been almost six months since they sort of hooked up in Chicago, since they started rebuilding this thing between them, and it's been awesome. Jared's growing into the kind of man Jensen always saw himself spending the rest of his life with, and that part doesn't really surprise him all that much. Jared always was the perfect guy for Jensen.

Unfortunately, he knows Jared well enough to know what pulling away looks like, and that's what has been happening for the last few weeks. He doesn't have concrete proof, and he can't point to any one thing that signaled a bump in the otherwise smooth road they've been traveling to re-acquaintance, but something is different now. He showed up tonight to support a band he believes in, but also to figure out why the hell Jared's acting weird. Figures at least this way, he can't say that he's tired or has an article due or whatever. He has to answer Jensen, face-to-face.

He's about to cross the distance between them when the band takes the stage to thundering applause and thanks everyone for coming out to celebrate their big night with them. Jensen's barely paying attention when he hears Tyler, the lead singer, say, “This first song we're gonna play is for a very close friend of the band. He's believed in us since day one, and gone out of his way to make sure that other people did, too. So,” he chugs the remainder of his beer and then sets the bottle on a stool nearby before returning to the microphone, “This one's for you, Jensen.”

As the opening strains of “Silver Screens and Pseudo Scenes” breaks through the cheering, Jensen just nods his head toward the band before risking another glance toward the bar.

Surprised eyes are fixed on him and Jensen doesn't know what to do with the look Jared's sending his way, so he awkwardly raises his hand and then drinks from his beer and waits.

It's ridiculous, really. They're friends. Whatever is going on in Jared's life that is causing him to distance himself from Jensen even a little bit, doesn't change that. It doesn't mean they can't even approach each other in a bar. Hell, the last time they met up like this, Jared waved him over like they'd never been apart. Now that things are good, they're going to get weird?

Fuck it. Jensen makes his way over, until he's standing right in front of the guy. He smiles cordially to the young woman at Jared's side and extends his hand. “Jensen,” he introduces himself.

She catches her lip between her teeth and then laughs. “Well, spank my ass and fuck me hard! Jensen Ackles.” He nearly chokes when she accepts his handshake and then slips away from the bar. “Sophia. I'm just gonna,” pausing, her eyes twinkle in the low bar lights, “stop trying to think of an excuse and leave you two alone.”

She saunters off and Jensen watches her go before returning his gaze to the man in front of him. “You work with her?”

Jared nods. “She's pretty awesome,” he assures Jensen, taking another drink like it's water and he's dehydrated. “So, I didn't know you were coming. Did I know you were coming? You didn't tell me, did you?”

“Nah,” Jensen shakes his head. “Just decided the other night. Thought I might surprise ya.”

“Well, color me surprised.”

The look between them is something, Jensen just doesn't know what. “Um,” he stammers because this isn't right. Something isn't right. The comfort and the ease that they've shared on the phone for the last six months is just gone. The way they were together back in Chicago for that one night isn't here, either. Everything is off and Jensen doesn't know why or how to make it right again.

“Dude, can we just,” Jared stops himself and shakes his head. “Can we get outta here?”

They make it out the front door and down a block before Jensen says, “What the fuck is going on with you?”

Jared doesn't stop moving, just nods his head toward the subway tunnel and shoves his hands into his pockets. “Come on. I wanna show you something.”

They walk through the station for awhile, Jared smiling and nodding in the direction of several musicians who wave back. It's phenomenal, really, the underground world of artists this city has to offer. He can't help wondering why in the hell nobody is signing some of these people, why they're hidden away like a dirty secret in the underbelly while talentless hacks who look good in leather strut around with far too much money and attention topside.

Neither says anything, but they don't have to. Occasionally, Jensen will look at Jared and Jared will smile back with this beaming look that says he's been wanting to show Jensen this world for years, that he knew it would spin his head around and turn his soul inside out.

By the time they board the A, Jensen isn't exactly sure what he's supposed to be thinking. Jared seems tense, but he keeps smiling and nodding to a beat inside his own head. It's the most beautiful thing Jensen has ever fucking seen.

Jared's hand falls against his back when they get off the train in Brooklyn, and he allows himself be steered, fighting like hell not to melt into the warm touch. He knows he's leaning back a little bit, but Jared's chest is brushing his back and it feels too damn good in the autumn chill to worry about propriety at the moment.

They stop in front of this guy with shoulder-length blonde waves and a guitar, standing next to a woman with thick black curls, beating a steady rhythm against a wooden crate between her knees. They're decent. Not star material or anything, but good, and when they finish the song, the guy's smile nearly splits his face in half.

“Hey!” He half-hugs Jared and then turns toward Jensen. “Who're you?”

“Uh, Steve,” Jared smiles sheepishly, hand raking through his hair, “This is Jensen.”

Steve's eyes go wide and he nearly drops his guitar when he extends his hand in greeting. “Fuckin' hell, man. Jensen,” he shakes his head in disbelief. “Feel like I already know ya, man.”

Jensen isn't sure if he should already know who this guy is, but he shakes his hand and shoots a confused look in Jared's direction. Steve. Does he know a Steve? That name sounds familiar.

“Jen, this is my roommate, Steve.”

Right! Jared's filthy rich roommate who likes to pretend he's a starving artist. “I've heard a lot about you, too, man,” he smiles and then feels Jared's hand on his back again.

“Is Aldis home?”

Steve tears his eyes from Jensen and then shakes his head at Jared. “Place is all yours for the night,” he winks, and Jared rolls his eyes before directing Jensen toward a flight of stairs.

“So that's the kid with more money than sense, huh?” Jensen asks when Jared leads off to the left.

Jared nods and slows just a bit to let Jensen fall into step. “He's a good guy.”

They walk the rest of the way in silence, and Jensen follows Jared into his building and up the stairs. It feels like they climb forever, but eventually they end up on the seventh floor and head down to the end of the hall.

Jared unlocks the door and shoulders into the kitchen, stepping aside to let Jensen pass into the room. “You want a beer?” he asks after he's locked the front door, not really waiting for an answer before grabbing two from the fridge and handing one over.

Jensen thanks him with a nod and twists the bottle open, eyes darting around the room. It's not the nicest place he's ever been in, but it's about five times bigger than his own apartment, and the exposed brick and the distressed, hardwood floors give it an air of lived-in artistry.

“Come on,” Jared nods over his shoulder and leads Jensen through the living room and out onto the balcony.

It's funny, standing here like this. Jensen has pictured this very spot a thousand times, talking to Jared and imagining him sitting here with the phone against his ear and his legs all sprawled out, but it never looks like this in his head. It's so narrow and, well, small. The chair, pressed up against the wall, is barely two feet from the railing. There's a plastic table and another chair on the other side and room for nothing else. Now every time he thinks about Jared sitting out here, he's going to get the image of the giant guy squeezing himself into the front seat of a Volkswagen or something.

“So this is it, huh?”

“This is it,” Jared responds, resting his hip against the railing.

It's pretty obvious that Jensen has figured out something's wrong with him in the last few weeks. Jared never set out to act differently around him, but sometimes, no matter how well you know someone, it's impossible to figure out what to say. Especially when you figure out that you're in love and you're just not sure about it.

Oh, Jared is sure that he's in love with Jensen. But he's not nineteen anymore and romanticism isn't what it used to be.

He lives in New York, Jensen's in Chicago. They both love their respective cities and Jared just can't see either of them moving any time soon. He's not sure he can do this thing long distance, not once it becomes more than it already is.

And then there's the issue of trust. Jared trusts Jensen's word on music and believes that the guy doesn't lie to him. What he's not sure he fully trusts is that Jensen's not going to get spooked and call the whole thing off again. Or worse, that he's not going to change his own mind about it.

Sure, he loves Jensen, but who the hell knows if they have what it takes to go the distance this time. He thought they did before, believed it in his bones, and he turned out to be completely fucking wrong. What if it doesn't work again?

Also, there's a possibility that he could lay his heart on the line and Jensen might not be interested. He seemed like he was when the whole 'coming out' thing first went down. But it's been months. Long enough for Jared to change his mind, to fall in love again. What if it's also long enough for Jensen to change his? To fall out of love with Jared? To figure out that he was just holding onto the past as hard as Jared was running from it, and that it's nothing more than a few nice memories of what 'used to be'?

He isn't certain and that's the kicker. He knows a hell of a lot about Jensen, but he doesn't know this. How to do it, what to say? And its pretty fucking obvious that Jensen knows something is up, but Jared can't figure out how to tell him.

“Dude, you're kinda freakin' me out a little bit,” Jensen finally smiles, forced and thin as he tilts his beer bottle and leans against the railing, elbows back, drawing his button-down tight across his chest.

“Remember how much you hated Audioslave back in the day? Like when they released "Cochise,” you wouldn't even listen to the damn song all the way through. Said it was a vain attempt to reconstruct greatness out of the broken pieces of perfection.” Jared chuckles and takes a drink, his eyes fixed on the glittering lights of the city over Jensen's shoulder.

“I loved Rage, man,” Jensen begins to defend himself. “And Soundgarden? First show Josh took me to back in seventh grade. Didn't feel right to shove it all together in pieces and pretend it was something else.”

Jared nods. This is why he loves Jensen – music is a part of him at a cellular level. Everything he thinks, feels, and knows is directly related to what he's listening to at the time. When he can't talk about what's going on in his life, he lets the music do it for him. And he never stops believing that it's important, that it can change the world, that it matters. Jared lost some of the idealism he used to have, but Jensen never has. He just keeps holding tight to the one thing that has never let him down.

“But you came around,” Jared recalls, shaking his head and taking another drink. “Just announced over the table at Jimmy's that you were lifting the embargo. “Like a Stone” was playing, and you said that it was time to admit that the sum of the parts, while never being the same, were greater than the collective used-to-bes or could-have-beens.”

Jensen looks up and says, “You gonna show me the rest of the house or what?”

Jared doesn't know if he's just stalling or if he has no idea what they're talking about. Maybe he's not being as clear as he thinks he is. Maybe Jensen's just cold. Who knows?

Whatever the reason, Jared nods his head and leads the way back into the apartment. “So this is the living room,” he motions vaguely, and Jensen snorts behind him. “You wanted to see the house.”

“Yeah,” Jensen agrees. “Thinkin' maybe you could show me your room.” He's so close that Jared can feel his breath against his ear.

“Sure.” He pushes the door open and stands back to let Jensen pass.

For the longest time, Jensen walks around the considerably insignificant space, touching Jared's guitar pick collection on the book shelf and studying the concert posters taped to the wall above his desk. He skims his fingers over the window sill and then turns, leaning his hip against the edge of the nightstand.

“Jensen, what I was trying to say,” Jared swallows his nerves. It's scary as hell, the thought of losing Jensen again. But that's nothing compared to the fear of knowing for the rest of his life that he never even fucking tried. “Outside, the whole Audioslave thing,” he starts again, stumbling over words like he hasn't since high school.

Setting his beer on the desk, Jensen steps right into whatever delusion of personal space he has and rests his hands on Jared's hips. “I'm not an idiot, Jay,” he whispers, lips brushing the underside of Jared's chin. “I get the heavy-handed metaphor, okay?”

And then Jensen is kissing him and it's nothing like Chicago. It's sure, confident, and possessive. It's dry lips and wet tongues, and fingers that grip tight to hips and shoulders. It's sobering and intoxicating all at once.

He doesn't know how long they stand there, feet planted as they map each other’s mouths with their tongues, swallowing moans and slowly rolling their hips against each other. Jared's jeans are getting increasingly tighter, but he's not moving until Jensen does. Jared always used to set the pace with them, but this isn't what it used to be. This is new, and it feels like Jensen should take the lead.

Eventually, he does, pulling back long enough to unbutton his shirt and sink onto Jared's bed. “Come 'ere,” he gestures with his head and pulls Jared forward by his belt, deftly undoing the buckle and then the button.

He busies himself with taking his own shirt off while Jensen unzips him and pushes his jeans over his hips. “Jen, if we do this,” Jared starts and then stops himself. He doesn't want a forever promise or anything, but he needs something to assure him that Jensen's on the same page. That this isn't just some fling from the way back again for him.

Shifting his hips enough to push his own jeans off, Jensen speaks low in the silence. “I know I'm not deserving of your trust from you right now, but if by chance you change your mind, just know I will not let you down.”

Jared snorts, pushing Jensen back against the mattress to straddle his hips. Jensen has always used song lyrics to express himself when he can't find his own words, and while the line from Missy Higgins' “The Special Two” might fit what he's thinking, it's still ridiculous. “You're seriously quoting lesbian piano pop to me right now?”

Jensen rolls his eyes and leans in, hands on the cuts of Jared's hips and forehead resting against his chest. His fingers flex against the warm skin, and Jared just rests his chin on the top of Jensen's head. For a second, this is enough. Intimacy – nostalgic and new at the same time – without the immediate need for anything else. After years or pretending that he doesn't need it, and months of fighting that he does, Jared takes a second just to have this.

There's a point, though, when the moment turns awkward. Squeezing the back of Jensen's neck, he asks, “You gonna wanna cuddle all night or we actually gonna get on with this?”

The second that Jensen looks up through lowered lashes and levels Jared with that wicked grin he's nearly forgotten, he knows that he said exactly the right thing. “You got somethin' in mind, Jay?”

Jared smirks and lays back on the bed at Jensen's side, legs splayed, resting on his elbows as Jensen watches over his shoulder. “Can think of a few things maybe.”

It's all slow motion and unhurried when Jensen rolls onto his side and drags his fingers down the center of Jared's chest. His nose and lips brush against Jared's stubbled jaw but he makes no move to kiss him. It's like they have all the time in the world, as if there's no rush anymore. Nobody's going to interrupt them, and nobody is going to get spooked and run. There is only this, the two of them, and it fucking means something.

Jensen's lips trail his jaw and the point of his tongue draws over the column of Jared's throat, his chest rising and falling against Jared's side while his thigh presses insistently between Jared's, tight against his hardening cock. He can barely breathe at all by the time Jensen's teeth scrape over his nipple and he can't stop his hands from gripping the sheets beneath his fingers.

“God, Jen, yeah,” he hears himself hiss and feels Jensen's low chuckle rumbling against his chest. How is it possible that he forgot just how good Jensen is at this? Last time was too rushed to really appreciate the things he has forgotten over time.

He slithers down Jared's body, mapping every muscle as he goes. If Jared didn't know better, he'd think Jensen was trying to reacquaint himself with all of the places he used to love or something. His tongue traces the outline of Jared's abs while his fingers trail softly over his ribs and hip bones.

“Christ, Jensen,” Jared finally hears himself whine when Jensen bypasses his cock all together and instead settles on raking his teeth over the insides of Jared's thighs. “Man, come on!”

Jensen pulls back, eyes lidded and shining. “Gotta make sure everything's where I left it,” he grins, all mischievous and amused with himself, especially when Jared rolls his eyes. “Make sure it still works like it should.”

“You're an idiot,” Jared laughs, but it's bitten off by a groan when Jensen drags the flat of his tongue over the side of Jared's dick and then makes an obscene slurping sound as he seals his lips over the head. Yeah, that still works just fine.

Nobody sucks his cock like a fucking pro the way Jensen can. And it's possible that Jared tells him that, though there's also nobody on the fucking planet who renders his brain quite as useless as Jensen does, so he can't be sure exactly what's coming out of his mouth at the moment.

When Jensen pulls off with a pop and looks up again, there's a dirty smile on his shiny red lips. “How do you wanna do this, Jay?” His fingers rake over Jared's legs and it takes a second for Jared's brain to get on board with the question. “In my mouth? My hand?” He turns his face and rubs his cheek against Jared's thigh. “How 'bout my ass, Jay? You wanna fuck me?

Jesus fuckin' Christ, Jared wants to fuck Jensen. He wants all three options at the same time, wishes there was some way to make it happen. He wants everything, all at once, and fuck how much time they have to make it right. He sure as hell doesn't care about right at the moment - not with his dick granite-hard and Jensen naked on the bed between his shaking legs. All he can fucking think is right now.

His brain is apparently working independently of his body, though, because what he says is, “Want you to fuck me.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, I'm fucking sure,” Jared snaps and then chuckles when Jensen does. He wants to come, but not half as bad as he wants to feel Jensen buried deep inside him for the first time in years. “Just, lube's in there.”

Jensen finds it easily and quirks an eyebrow. “You're absolutely sure about this?”

The question, Jared supposes, is understandable. They used to switch it up back in the day, but Jensen bottomed more often. Plus, he realizes, he's kind of holding his breath and his body is tense, so maybe the evidence points toward a need to be concerned.

Breathing slowly through his nose, Jared nods and lifts himself up on his elbows. “I'm sure,” he nods. This is what he wants. “Just... go slow, okay?”

Jensen smirks. “Been awhile, Jay?”

“Almost three years,” he answers with brutal honesty.

With a nod, Jensen pops the cap on the bottle and then freezes. Their eyes meet and he looks a little startled. “Seriously?”

He's had other partners, but none of them have ever fucked him – nobody has since Jensen. He was the first, and he'll always be the only. He doesn't say that, fairly certain that Jensen will roll his eyes or possibly get freaked out and leave. They're on the same page here, Jared knows that, but it's not like they're going to move to Canada, get married and start adopting babies any time soon or anything. Which, in his sex-addled brain, is what 'You're the only one who'll ever fuck me in the ass' translates to.

He settles for a nod and doesn't have time for much else because Jensen's cool, slick fingers are working him open and he's leaning forward to suck on that place below Jared's ear that has always driven him fucking crazy.

Then Jensen pulls away, sits back on his knees and just looks at Jared. He's rolling a condom on with one hand and using the other to cup Jared's balls, gaze penetrating and hypnotic. He doesn't say a word, but his thoughts are crystal clear and it punches Jared in the gut just how familiar this really is.

“I hate it when you do that,” he hisses when Jensen guides himself over Jared's hole, not bothering to push forward but content to just rub the head of his cock back and forth until Jared's thighs start to shake.

“Do what?” Jensen asks, as if he really has no idea what Jared's talking about. It’s like he doesn’t know that he’s staring in this way that could either be lust or judgment, Jared can never tell. While he always figures he knows the answer – Jensen is about to fuck him after all – it's still unnerving and it always has been.

Wrapping Jensen's wrist with his fingers, Jared squeezes and rolls his hips forward. “Stop teasing me and fucking do it, man,” he insists, and then gasps when the head of Jensen's cock presses into him.

“Hold on there, Jumpy,” Jensen chuckles, one hand stroking up and down Jared's thigh as he inches forward. “Tryin' to be gentle here.”

Jared rolls his eyes. “Not my first fuckin' time, Jensen,” he grunts, trying his best to help out, to take him further. Yeah, it's been awhile, but he's going to be ninety, and possibly go blind from lack of blood to his brain, if Jensen doesn't pick up the pace a little bit.

“Jay,” Jensen's voice is soft, but firm. “Relax.” He leans forward, the angle shifts and he slides further into Jared, causing a high-pitched whimper that Jared would really rather they neither mention again.

He didn't realize how tense he was until Jensen issued the order to relax. But when Jensen's lips are on his throat again - Jared's not sure why that's always been so reassuring - he feels his muscles release and his body open up. Jensen grunts as he bottoms out and Jared's head flops back against the pillow.

“Fuck,” he groans. “So fuckin' good inside me, Jen.”

“Shit yeah, it is,” Jensen growls his agreement while moving one hand to grab Jared's neck. He smashes their mouths together and it's so fucking perfect that Jared can do little more than wrap his legs around Jensen's thighs, his arms around his shoulders, and try his best to become a part of the man blanketing him.

His moans are swallowed up by Jensen's tongue and then fed back to him as they find a rhythm that is different than Jared remembers, but better than any memory. They rock together, his cock trapped hard between his and Jensen's body, Jensen's filling and stretching him. Yeah, it's better.

“Fuck,” Jensen tears his mouth away and pants heavy. “You've always been shit for my stamina,” he grumbles, hips punching forward in a more erratic rhythm.

Jared grabs the pillow at his side and clutches it, back arching away from and back into the mattress in an effort to keep up. He uses the hand not anchoring him to the bed to reach for his own cock.

With a growl, Jensen's fist closes over Jared's as his body stutters and he comes. The pressure on Jared's dick is about as good as anything has ever felt and he fucks into their joined fingers until he's coming over both of their hands just a minute after Jensen.

In the afterglow, Jensen doesn't speak and Jared follows his lead. He feels Jensen's lips against the bend of his neck and he rolls his head in a silent whisper of permission, but there's nothing to say. It's not like before, when they cracked jokes or continued whatever conversation the sex interrupted in the first place. And it's not like Chicago, where everything was off and wrong as soon as they were done.

This is something entirely different, Jared realizes when he feels Jensen's breathing even out, face still pressed against Jared's shoulder. This is peaceful, easy, comfortable silence. This, he thinks, is how it feels when you're about to fall asleep next to the person you can't deny, no matter how hard or how long you've tried.

Jensen is through security and on his way to his gate when his cell phone rings against his hip at ten the next morning. Jared mumbled a good-bye when Jensen left his place a couple of hours ago, but he wasn't really awake. He won't remember it now.

“Good morning, Princess.”

“You're not here,” Jared grumbles into the phone, and Jensen can imagine his hair sticking out, his fingers scratching against his morning stubble.

“No, I'm not,” Jensen agrees easily. It wasn't easy leaving that apartment this morning, but he has to get back to Chicago by afternoon so he can make it to a birthday party for The Anaconda Plan's drummer.

It almost sounds like he's pouting when Jared says, “You left your lighter.”

“I did, huh?” Along with his wallet, that lighter is the only thing Jensen never leaves behind when he goes out. Jared knows that. “Ah well, probably be easier to get through security without it.”

“I'll send it back to ya later today,” Jared groans and Jensen can hear him moving around. He's not about to tell the little old lady sitting across from the seat he drops into at the gate why he's smiling like an idiot right now. She probably doesn't care that he reconciled, more than once, with the one that got away last night, or that he left the guy moving a little slower than usual this morning.

“It's cool, man. Don't worry about it.”

“Jensen, it's your lighter. I'm not gonna listen to you bitch for the next however long about how you don't have it, and how I better not be using it, and how you're gonna kick my ass if anything happens to it.”

Stretching his legs, Jensen checks his watch and then tilts his head to look at the ceiling. “Five weeks,” he says distractedly. “There's gum on the ceiling tile,” he observes randomly.

“What?”

“At the airport. There's gum on the ceiling tile.”

“Of course there is.” Jared is quiet for a minute, like he always is when Jensen says something he doesn't understand. “Five weeks?”

“Thanksgiving.”

“Thanksgiving is in five weeks? Jensen, I just woke up. What the fuck are you talking about?”

With a chuckle, Jensen lowers his head and picks at the beginnings of a hole in the thigh of his old jeans. “I figure you might be plannin' on coming home for Thanksgiving?” There's a grunt and Jensen's not sure what it means. “And if you're not, I figure my family's seen me stuff enough turkey in my mouth over the years, so I could always come to New York, if you want. Either way, I figure you can keep the lighter safe until Thanksgiving.”

“I'm going. Or you're coming? We're spending Thanksgiving together?” He can practically see Jared scratch his head. “Did we talk about this?”

“Do we need to?”

He holds his breath and waits for Jared's answer. Because Jensen's pretty sure he knows what last night and early this morning meant. But what if he's wrong?

“No. Of course we are. I mean, obviously,” Jared stumbles over his words and then stops. Jensen hears him swallow and waits for the next, deeper and slightly more coherent, statement. “Alright. So, Thanksgiving then.”

He settles back into the hard chair and closes his eyes as Jared starts talking about how Sophia's going to be calling him any minute to find out what happened after they left last night and about how he might go into the office, even though it's Sunday, because he has so much work to do right now. He throws in a 'yeah' or a 'really?' when appropriate, but mostly just enjoys the sound of Jared's voice in his ear.

He still has no idea how this is going to work. Jared still lives in New York, and Jensen's still in Chicago. There are still question marks. But despite the uncertainty, Jensen is sure. It's the same as when he hears a new band and can't explain why they're going to be huge, he just feels it.

"The really great songs," Jared once wrote in an editorial that Jensen will never forget, "are the ones that hit us where we live, challenge how we think, and alter the way we see the world. They are the ones that we carry with us and that immediately take us back to the first time we heard them, even years after we thought we forgot. They reflect who we've been and who we are, and inspire who we will become."