‘ yeah. ’ jay’s head tilts sidelong. it’s the barest movement, thin and slow as the pinch of his brow. he flicks his nail against the condensation pooled against the side of his glass, prompting a muted clink. underneath the table, in tandem with the slouch of his posture, jay taps the toe of his boot against misty’s shin. he continues, almost echoing, almost chiding, ‘ ordered a while ago. ate a while ago. ’ he nods at the crumpled napkin that lays hidden, out of sight, on misty’s lap, then at the check, dutifully taken care of by his date. ‘ paid. ’
it isn’t quite clicking. ‘ i think it’s a little late to try to pull one on them. ’
misty stares at him a minute, unblinking and seemingly unfazed, before his body responds of its own accord with what must be self-disappointment. he folds in on himself, sighs through his nostrils, sinks deep into his chair — all reminiscent of an embarrassed-shameful but still petulant child trying to evade the weighty gaze of a parent.
he almost blushes. a lip caught between his teeth works fine; his stumble back into reality reads all too clearly.
‘ maybe they’ll buy it, ’ he starts, now leaning into his temporary lapse of memory for a joke. he gives the edge of the tablecloth a gentle tug. ‘ if we presto this shit out of here. ’
neil, having overdone pre-meal toking by a considerable margin, fails to notice the cleared plates between them, the check pinned to the table by change and signed with his name, and the endearing (maybe endeared?) expression stuck like glue to jay’s face.
they’ve already eaten, paid, wrapped conversation, but he is running a full date behind. convinced they haven’t started. (maybe wishing, on a subconscious level, that they could loop this instead of their standard heartbreak bullshit.)
‘ i can’t remember what our guy looked like. help me find him so we can eat. ’
‘ it doesn’t work like that. ’ his voice, like each of his hands, is trembling. misty sounds frightened in a way that he hasn’t before. he reaches out for james, whose heels hang just over the edge of the building, with a reluctance that suggests he isn’t sure whether his touch will encourage a step in or a step out.
to find james with his lights fully out has become common practice. to watch him flip the switch by choice just may break him beyond repair.
‘ i’m not doing this, ’ he says unsteadily. ‘ you’re not doing this. please — please come down. come back to me. don’t you make me fucking watch this, james. ’
neil punctuates the statement with a gentle pat to jay’s breastbone. the smile that follows is weak and brief, and weaker and briefer than it’s been before, which proves to all (zero living) watchers on that the game only gets harder to play.
to have developed feelings at all is unfortunate, but to have developed them for someone whose perfected parlor trick is dying feels like a particularly cruel cosmic joke.
he rests at an angle over james’ body, his chair close enough to the table that he doesn’t have to stand all the way up.
‘ i need you to come back now, ’ he says. he kisses him, tender and one-sided in its warmth. ‘ come on, baby. ’
‘ you didn’t come — ’ home, is what he means to say, but clips it just as soon as he realizes he’s thinking of the morgue. of the table. of james’ lifeless body awaiting prep.
misty is rushing in as he speaks, checking that james is solid with hungry open palms, and kissing him before either of them thinks of what they want to say next. his desperation is unmistakable, though there’s a slump to his uncharacteristically stiff posture that shines a light on the rest — the joy, the solace, the happy shock to have had him returned in one piece.
he shifts most of his weight from his toes to his heels just in case they’re working with a clean slate. baffled rejection on jay’s end has become all too familiar a greeting.
‘ i didn’t know where to go, ’ he says. ‘ i didn’t know where to look. your name wasn’t on the ledger. ’
‘ oh my god, i swear this never happens. ’ - also james
father john.
‘ oh my god, i swear i’ve heard you say that before. ’ he doesn’t mean it as an insult: it’s far nearer to a moment self-evaluation. what’s he doing? why does he pursue someone whose words feel like angry ticks in a countdown to another unintentional heartbreak?
the kisses are comfortable for neil. they feel practiced, perfected, right in the way that only comes with knowing a person intimately. he doesn’t doubt that james is looking at it like it’s their first.
