♱ sum. you and jack are old friends, and he wants to show you what halloween’s like at the local carnival. like buddies, of course! …right? !male reader, mlm, fluff, self indulgent, mutual pining, slow burn, forbidden love *gif by heybinary
masterlist playlist
Out where you grew up, Halloween came and went like dry wind over the prairie. No costumes, no tricks—just dirt roads, early nights, and horses steaming in the cold. Folks cared about keeping the lights on, not carving pumpkins. And if you ever did carve one, it rotted quiet on the porch before November came.
You’d grown out of Halloween before you’d ever won your first rodeo.
You should have known that once your old buddy Jack found out—a slip-up over the drag of a cigarette—you’d never hear the end of it.
Especially not now that the carnival had rolled back into town.
“You,” Jack simpered, molasses grin easy on his lips. He leaned in your doorway like it was built for him. “Are comin’ with me.”
He held up two white wristbands, mischief shimmering like whiskey behind his eyes.
“Jack…” you started, scrubbing work-worn hands over your face. Stubble was starting to scratch at your palms.
“Ah-ah. It’s Halloween!” He hooked his fingers around your wrist like it was the easiest thing. “Grab your boots, cowboy. We’re goin’.”
“I gotta get up early,” you grumbled, already bending to put on your work boots—your only pair. “You should’a told me you were comin’.”
“You’d’ve just said no,” Jack grinned, grabbing your hat from its hook and palming it onto your head. “I’’ll get ya home safe in good time. Please?”
Jack was worse than a kid, with all his restless energy and puppy-dog grin. You—despite everything—had never figured out how to say no to him.
Not even after the years spent side by side in dusty arenas and rodeo chutes.
“…Fine.”
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When you rolled up to the fairgrounds in Jack’s green pickup, you could smell the hustle and bustle from your cracked window. The sway of hay-dust sweetened the air with kettle corn and candied apples.
Strings of orange-purple lights looped along the fence posts, dancing against the setting prairie sky. The Ferris wheel turned lazy in the distance, bulbs flickering like fireflies.
“You ready?” Jack grinned, the mole above his lip catching against the gold sunset. His fingers drummed restless against the steering wheel. He knew you needed a beat to brace yourself before crowds like this.
You let out a tired sigh, smiling soft. “Yeah, alright.”
He was giddy the whole walk inside, tossing off little jokes as his broad shoulders bumped against yours. His head whipped back and forth, watching the carnival with eyes sparkling like a kid’s.
“It’s just like when I was a kid, really! Oh, man… I still can’t believe it’s just the same!”
He gazed back down at you, with that same awestruck look.
Like he couldn’t believe you were here, either.
You shook your head, grinning despite yourself. “Oh, yeah?”
Jack looked like he was trying not to jump up and whoop, he seemed so happy. Bursting at the seams.
“Oh yeah, bud.”
You hmphed, a lot more quiet in your contentment than he ever was. You looked down to pull out a crumpled pack of Kools, and you noticed Jack’s rodeo belt buckle gleaming in the honeyed light. You hadn't come to see him ride, not in a long while, not since…
…not since the night under the stands, four months ago, when everything changed. When you kissed him like you were desperate, drowning, dying—trying to pull him inside of you—and he kissed back like he’d been waiting for it all along.
“C’mon,” Jack said, suddenly tugging you by the wrist toward the game stalls. “Bet I can win you somethin’.”
“Last time you said that, you damn near busted your shoulder throwin’ horseshoes.”
He smirked, already digging a few shiny coins from his pocket. “Different game.” He pointed to the ring toss. “This one’s all skill.”
“Sure it is.”
Three tries later, the bottle still sat smugly untoppled, and Jack’s cocky grin had wilted into a scowl. He leaned on his hands against the stall, powder-blue eyes on fire with that stubborn determination.
You bit down on a laugh at the absurdity of it, of him—until his gaze cut sharp at you, making you cough out a chuckle.
“Hell with it,” he muttered, tossing the man another quarter. “Ain’t leavin’ ‘til I win my boy a prize.”
He did, finally; an ugly little stuffed bat with crooked wings. Jack held it out like it was pure gold, eyes crinkled with triumph.
“Aha! See? Told ya.”
You stuffed the ugly thing in your jacket pocket, looking down at the gravel so you didn’t have to look into Jack’s eyes.
You couldn’t have him see how your chest went tight when he smiled at you like that.
You opened your mouth to speak, but the thin layer of hay-dust kept you from saying anything. It was like rope, frayed and ragged in your throat.
“Hey,” Jack covered for you. “There’s a haunted house, down ‘ere.”
“Yeah,” you gulped. “Yeah, okay.”
The haunted house was nothing more than an old shack, painted over with drooping ghosts and half-washed pumpkins. You couldn’t tell if the sign on the door was misspelled or just written that badly. Fake spider webs were slung over the top, though it looked like the type of place you’d find cobwebs just as real.
Two little boys tore out the back, screaming and laughing. The sun was just dipping under the grass, casting the sky in rivers of purple; the end of dusk devouring daylight.
“You think there’s ghosts in there?” You asked, your voice lighter than usual.
“Pfft. Says haunted, don’t it?” Jack swaggered his way up to the door, all bravado, the same way he was when he was walking up to ride saddle bronc. “Try not to scare yourself to death.”
“Speak for yourself,” you murmured, pushing past him to walk inside.
Jack caught up to you past the entryway, and it wasn’t so bad save for the fact it was so dark you could hardly see for anything.
Jack hovered just near you, his shoulder bumping yours.
“Sure you ain’t scared, cowboy?”
“Aw, hell,” you heard Jack try to play it off, but you remembered how he hated the dark; how it got to him. It made him feel small and alone in a way he’d never admit. “If anythin’s gonna spook me, it ain’t gonna be no—Shit!”
A man in a cheap wolf mask lunged out, growling. Jack yelped and grabbed your wrist, jumping like a startled horse. His fingers locked around your sleeve like a lifeline.
The jump faded quick, embarrassment settling in its place. Jack’s ears burned pink as his grip eased.
But he didn’t let go.
“...What was that about spookin’ you?” You grinned. You couldn’t help yourself.
You heard Jack chuckle, his breath right by your ear. “Don’t you say a word.”
His hand stayed on your wrist as you led the way through the narrow halls. He jumped at every cheap skeleton and fog machine, and your laughter grew louder with each one. By the end, the two of you were laughing so hard you were stumbling over each other, tears springing from your eyes as you doubled over, breathless.
—
It was nearly midnight when the crowds thinned and the music faded. The stars were shining like someone had punched out holes of the night and let heaven bleed through.
You were walking from the midway back to Jack’s pickup, candied apple half-eaten in your hand. You made a mental note to pay him back that nickel—though he’d never take it.
“I got one more thing…” Jack said, grin turning sly.
“Mmm?”
He produced a small pumpkin out of seemingly nowhere, holding the thing in his palms and grinning like a thief.
“Jack Twist, you stole that.” You never liked the idea of stealing—but you weren’t a rat either.
“Borrowed!” Jack corrected, swinging himself over into the bed of his truck. “We’ll return it… Carved.”
You climbed up after him, pulling your legs over the side and sitting beside him.
“You’re looney.”
But Jack just smiled, flicking open his pocketknife and wedging a flashlight between his teeth. He held the knife out to you, handle first.
“I’ll hold the light,” he said around the flashlight. “But I get a turn, too.”
You carved the pumpkin together; clumsy and crooked, jagged eyes and lopsided teeth, laughing so hard at the mess of it that your sides hurt.
When Jack set the candle inside, the glow washed over his face in soft gold. He looked like something holy; his eyes glimmering like cathedral windows, those eyelashes casting church shadows down his cheeks.
You had to look away.
One more second of that gold light on his face and the cord in your chest would’ve split clean in two.
“You know…” he murmured after a spell, “I’m awful glad you came along. Ain’t seen you much since the rodeos.”
You didn’t speak for a long while, flicking Jack’s pocketknife open and shut, open and shut.
“Been busy.”
Jack’s hand brushed yours, stilling there. Impossibly warm against your cold knuckles.
“You’re doin’ it again,” Jack breathed. “Runnin’.”
“I’m not.”
He leaned in, close enough that the pumpkin glow climbed his cheekbones. “Then stop.”
And for the first time in a long time, you did.
Jack stared into you with that aching, desperate look in his eyes, getting so close your noses brushed. “God…”
“Mmm…?”
He didn’t speak. Just brought his hand up, slow, to cup your face. You didn’t realize you were trembling until he made you still.
You made no move to touch him back, not yet, but you didn’t pull away either. Just let your breath meet his in the cold air.
“Please,” you prayed, soft and low.
Jack kissed you slow. Careful. Like the first time under the bleachers, like he’d been carrying it in his pocket—waiting for you to reach for it again. His hand slid to the back of your neck, and your world tipped quiet and warm and gold.
“Jack—” you breathed out against his lips, but he shook his head quickly.
“I ain’t askin’ for forever.” His voice was low, careful. “Just… tonight. Just give me tonight.”
That was all Jack could get out before you were tugging him by his shirt collar, making him practically fall on top of you. His mouth was already moving against yours, his hands grabbing at your shoulders, your neck.
“Oh, God…” you panted, kissing him so hard you thought your nose would break.
When he pulled back, you both just laid there in the bed of Jack’s truck, huffing and breathing in each other’s arms.
After a long beat, Jack murmured, “I feel like I could paw the white outta the moon, when we’re…”
You sat up, looking up into the black sky.
“That’s just a feeling, I reckon. The moon’s still white. We’re still—”
Jack wrapped his arms around your shoulders, holding you to his chest.
“Don’t you go runnin’ from me yet.”
You didn’t. Not yet, anyway.
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The truck rumbled against the road, one of Jack’s hands steady on the wheel. The other rested easy on your knee, his thumb sweeping back and forth over your old Levi’s.
You didn’t return the pumpkin. It flickered in the floorboard, its hollow heart filled with fire.
You let your head droop against the window, your eyes fluttering shut to the gentle sound of Jack’s breathing.
