@lamiasluck @m4delin here’s the yearning Eric fic I told you both about XD Thanks again Lamia (is that ok to call you? tell me if you have a preferred name asajafhjdsfs) for inspiring me to write it <3
Summary: There's only one person other than Bim who can tell the Jim Twins apart, and that person is Eric. Everyone wonders how he does it, but Eric would rather not admit the reason he's so good at finding the quiet differences between the Jims.
Warnings: None.
Characters: Eric, Reporter Jim, Cameraman Jim
Read on AO3
Enjoy!
~
There are only two people in Ego Inc. who can, with complete accuracy, tell the difference between the Jim Twins.
Granted, it’s not that hard to do when the twins are in action. It’s easy to tell them apart when one is holding a microphone and the other a camera, or when one opens his mouth to speak and the other raises his hands. But the pair have made a game of sitting or standing together, still and silent, and seeing who can tell them apart. Bim used to be the only one who can confidently pinpoint which twin is which. Even the Googles are sometimes fooled, and even Dark, who knows the building and the egos like the back of his hand, cannot win when he deigns to play. There’s only two Jims, so the egos can guess correctly through dumb luck, but it’s always just that. Only Bim is certain.
And Eric.
Eric can’t say when he first started being able to tell the Jims apart. When he was new he was just as bad at it as everyone else. But as time went on, he began to see the differences without realizing. He started to look at the Jims as individuals, as Reporter Jim and Cameraman Jim, rather than a collective. And now, he can spot some minor, miniscule differences between them.
Hair.
CJ’s hair is a little fluffier than RJ’s, and RJ’s bangs sit just the slightest bit farther down his face than CJ’s. Neither twin ever does more with his hair than a quick brushing each morning, but CJ sometimes likes to mess with Bim’s hair gel just for fun. If he’s done it recently, the slight crunchy sheen of it is easy to spot.
Eyes.
Most of the egos’ eyes are some variant of brown, and the Jims’ eyes have some gold there that brightens both their gazes. CJ’s eyes have a little more gold in them than RJ’s, and RJ’s eyes are just a shade darker. Eric doesn’t use this metric often, though, because looking in their eyes too long makes his cheeks go pink.
Expressions.
Even their neutral resting faces have a spark of excitement and joy in them, but the underlying state of mind is different. They have the same amount of smile lines, but for different kinds of smiles. RJ holds back laughter, stifles snorts, resists the urge for big toothy grins. CJ hides soft smiles, tamps down giggles, tries not to duck his head and shield his happy face. RJ’s face is loud, is crackle-pop fireworks, and CJ’s is quiet, is puffy gray dandelions. Eric knows their faces when he tags along on their adventures, he knows the way their faces brighten, the way they laugh and encourage and talk him along. They wear their feelings on their sleeves, neither can hide a grin for very long. Eric always has to smile back, unable to help mirroring the twins’ infectious joy. Even when they struggle not to smile while Eric is trying to tell them apart, Eric can’t shut down his own grin. When he guesses right and they exclaim in surprise, when they finally let themselves laugh, Eric feels their warmth and basks.
Posture.
When the twins stand, RJ is a hair taller, standing more confidently than CJ. When they sit, CJ sits up straighter, and becomes the one who’s a tiny bit taller. They’re still a couple inches shorter than Eric, but they don’t look it. Eric often stands between them, bending shyly like a sunflower hidden in clouds, becoming just about their height. And things are nicer at their eye level, where Eric can sneak glances at the flecks of gold in their eyes, where he can retire behind them if things get too crazy or make him too anxious. Eric feels that a lot. The Jims have even dubbed him “Anxious Jim,” or AJ sometimes to be affectionate, and oh, that nickname always makes Eric turn pink. But the Jims are so full of confidence, and even if CJ doesn’t stand as ramrod straight as RJ, he has his own quiet self-assurance that he tries to give to Eric, and RJ does the same with his own boisterous devil-may-care attitude. Eric couldn’t match their enthusiasm if he tried, but he does try, and he can let himself explore alongside the Jims if he can stay sandwiched between them as they travel. And at some point in the outing, he’ll stand at his own full height, his eyes at the level of each Jim’s hair, and get to see breezes ruffle the dark strands around and through each other. CJ’s hair may look the slightest bit fluffier than RJ’s, but Eric doesn’t know if it feels that way, or how RJ’s hair feels to compare. He can imagine it, though, and let that be enough as he follows the Jims in their adventures.
Arms.
Their arms are skinny, almost no muscle at all. But not none, because they often lug around heavy filming equipment. Neither twin has more muscular arms than the other, or skinnier arms, or even longer arms. One might assume that their arms are the same, but they’re not, and Eric can see it clear as day. RJ’s arms are always more tense, spring-loaded, ready for action. CJ’s are just as ready to rise to carry things or begin to sign, but the energy is more simmering, less tight. RJ struggles not to shrug his shoulders and squirm when he’s made to sit still, and CJ sits calmly but ever-ready to jump up and go on an adventure. It’s the difference between a dog at the end of its leash, desperate to break loose and cause havoc, and a tiger sitting in the underbrush, waiting patiently for the right moment to strike. But those comparisons feel too harsh, too mean. The Jims aren’t fighting dogs or hungry tigers. Eric can feel the heat of kinetic energy, though, that excitement and drive to plunge ahead, when RJ flings an arm around his shoulders in camaraderie or when CJ gives him an arm to hold onto as they traverse rough terrain.
Sometimes they even hug Eric, one at a time or both at once, and Eric can’t think of anything he loves more. Their arms around him make his cheeks turn bright red, send him a-flutter with nervous giggles, but he always hugs back, always puts his own skinny, scrawny arms around them in turn. The fabric of their shirts, their heads on Eric’s shoulders, their laughter in his ears, their warmth against his chest. It’s the stuff of dreams, and Eric could spend forever savoring those moments, spend forever and day thinking about them when they’re over. Do the Jims know how much Eric loves their hugs? How perfectly warm, how tight without being crushing, how lovely it is to feel their friendship? Eric hopes they do, at least a little, at least enough to keep hugging him and not be deterred by Eric’s blush. But if they knew just how much Eric loves them, how much Eric longs for them when he compares their arms as they sit, how much he wants the Jims’ arms around him and squeezing, their fluffy hair tickling his cheeks, their rapid laughing breaths on his neck…Eric doubts they’d want to hug him at all.
Hands.
The first time RJ grabbed Eric’s arm to tug him along on an adventure, Eric had flinched and jumped back, and Eric knew that RJ could feel him start to tremble in the moment before he let go. Eric had been (still is) too used to the harshness of that gesture, to roughness, to being dragged after an angry Derek whose grip could be tight enough to bruise. And maybe RJ knew that, maybe that’s why he let go so fast and apologized so much. Maybe that’s why he never did it again, even though Eric never asked that of him. Eric remembers how RJ’s hands would hover, wanting to invite Eric along, wanting to touch, but not wanting to hurt. His hovering hands would usually land in Eric’s, long thin fingers and a warm palm around Eric’s own hand. The first time RJ did that, he was the one who jumped, complaining of how cold Eric’s hands are. Eric supposes that everyone’s hands are cold to the Jims, but especially his own, which always run cold like blocks of ice. No wonder his hands melt in RJ’s, no wonder his cheeks flush with heat. RJ is not so cautious anymore, he’ll grab Eric’s hand with fervor to pull him into an adventure. But Eric doesn’t mind it, he’ll gladly be tugged around by RJ’s warmth.
CJ doesn’t often grab or pull or tug. His cameras usually need two hands, and even if they didn’t, he needs two hands to sign. Eric could get lost in watching CJ’s delicate hands move around themselves in speech, and sometimes he has to ask CJ to repeat himself so he can actually take in CJ’s words. CJ will oblige with a cheeky smile, probably thinking that Eric simply didn’t pay attention the first time, or wasn’t able to comprehend the signs CJ used. But Eric is quite good at sign now, and the mistakes in understanding are because CJ’s hands are just too captivating. Even when CJ isn’t signing, when he’s adjusting a camera lens or wiping dirt off RJ’s cheek or pointing out an animal in the woods he’s about to film, his hands move gracefully and are as silent as the rest of him. Eric is in awe of that grace, in awe of those hands that can speak so loud without making a sound at all.
Eric learned ASL not long after he first showed up at Ego Inc. He was told it was required in order to understand CJ, who Eric learned rarely ever speaks with his voice. Both RJ and CJ taught Eric some rudimentary sign, and the three would sit in the Jims’ room and repeat the same words and the same sentences until Eric understood them every time. For most egos, the education ends there. Most can understand CJ when he signs but cannot sign back. But when Eric returned to the Jims later, asked to learn more and find out how to make his own fingers speak, the joy on both their faces was enough to power the sun, and Eric had gone pink to see such unabashed happiness. It was a time when such happiness was foreign to him still, when Derek still stomped through the halls of the building and only reluctantly let Eric free from his side to sign with the Jims in their room. Eric was never mute, but his words did sometimes fail him, and perhaps a part of him felt safer to know that his hands would be able to speak even if his mouth could not.
RJ signs quickly, his words run together without pause, much like the way he speaks. CJ is slower but still quick, his hands are still decisive, movements still sharp. Eric is slower than either of them, even now, but he did his best to mimic each word he was shown, each phrase that was demonstrated.
“Yes,” said RJ, turning his fist as though knocking on a door.
“No,” said CJ, pinching two fingers and a thumb together as though miming a closed mouth.
“Please,” said RJ, hand moving over his chest.
“More,” said CJ, fingers on each hand pinched and coming together.
“Stop,” said RJ, the edge of one hand coming against the other like a knife slicing vegetables.
“Maybe,” said CJ, palms flat and hands moving up and down in a familiar, wishy-washy kind of gesture.
“Be careful” is two closed fists with peace-sign fingers gently knocked together. “Excuse me” is the fingers of one hand curled and run across the other palm. “Help me” is a thumbs-up sitting atop a flat hand and brought towards the chest. “Thank you” is fingertips touching the chin and coming away forward - and starting no lower, as Eric found out when the act of starting the sign under his chin instead of on it sent the Jims into a laughing fit. Eric had been embarrassed, of course, but even then he loved the Jims’ laughter, and he hadn’t let it stop him from continuing to learn the ins and outs and careful turns of ASL. RJ and CJ were both encouraging, patient teachers, eager to find an ego who was interested in learning beyond the bare minimum.
One day, Derek was in a rage over a reason Eric can no longer remember, and at a loss, he’d fled to the Jims. Too terrified to speak, his shaky “help me” had sent CJ whisking him into the Jims’ bedroom closet to hide and RJ outside the door to tell Derek that no, he hadn’t seen Anxious Jim, why do you ask? Stuck together in the closet, CJ and Eric had spoken as quietly as they could, hands slow in the dark.
“Mean Jim,” CJ said sourly, tracing a “J” in the air with his pinkie and tapping the fingertip against his other palm once, then again at a new, tilted angle.
“Scared,” Eric said back, trembling hands spread open and moved in over his chest.
“You’re alright,” CJ said, pointing to Eric and knocking the edge of one hand against the flat palm of the other, flicking up twice. His expression was soft in the face of Eric’s fear. “Safe,” he added, making two fists and crossing them over each other at the wrist before pulling apart.
They’d stopped talking after that, because they’d heard Derek stomping into the room, either because he was too angry or RJ hadn’t been convincing enough. Eric had shivered against CJ’s chest, and CJ had used his hands to soothe instead of speak, rubbing Eric’s back to keep him calm and quiet. Just like RJ, CJ’s hands were warm like a hearth fire, but unlike RJ’s, were slow and calm when they went to take Eric’s hands, squeezing comfortingly and filling Eric’s palms with heat. Derek didn’t find them, and though the danger had passed, Eric hadn’t wanted to leave that quiet dark, hadn’t wanted to let go. The twins mistook it for residual fear and continued to soothe him, to coax him out of the closet with gentle touches.
RJ’s hands are gentle by choice, CJ’s hands are gentle by nature. That is the first hidden difference Eric ever noticed, and that was the moment Eric knew.
He learned how to sign “I love you” on his own, and he’s practiced it alone in his room countless times. Hands crossed over his chest before he points straight ahead, or one hand with pinkie, pointer, and thumb held up and shaking gently. He’s too afraid to use either one, and he doesn’t know when he won’t be.
“How on earth can you tell them apart??” asks an ego, incredulous, “They look exactly the same!”
The twins lean forward, just as shocked, but excited for an answer, similar-but-not-the-same smiles decorating their faces.
