paulacock - Tumblr blog

paulacock · 1 year

Text

WROTE THIS IN LIKE AN HOUR IGNORING A BIG ASSIGNMENT I HAVE DUE TONIGHT SO GTG BUT HERE IT IS, THIS FIC WAS THE ORIGINAL CONCEPT FOR I CAN'T MISS YOU (the fic i wrote that we do NOT speak of that was embarrassing) THAT GOT LOST ALONG THE WAY I DID NOT REREAD IT SO IF THERE'S GRAMMAR MISTAKES SORRY

word count: 2036

Rich heard from friends that Jake had spent almost every waking moment in the hospital while Rich had been in his coma. According to them, Jake had been worried sick. He talked about Rich constantly, asked about him repeatedly, paid hospital bills, and brought flowers and gifts every other day.

They also tried to tell him that Jake being incessantly clingy ever since Rich had woken was natural, that it was kind.

Rich was pretty sure it was a trick. There was no way Jake, who had everything and lost everything, could forgive Rich in a heartbeat. Rich knew Jake was perfect from day one, admired every inch of him before Jake even knew Rich's name, but this was too far. This was unnatural, the self-destructive part of Jake taking over rather than an angelic act of kindness.

"It's okay," Rich said for the umpteenth, "If you need time or space, or—"

"Rich," Jake said, smiling down at him, "I promise. I forgive you."

Rich studied him, searching his face for the lies in his words. He was just the same as Rich had left him: soft lips that formed soft smiles, light freckles like stardust from the heavens, a thin line between his eyebrows from all the times he scowled down at his homework, frustrated that he couldn't be perfect first try.

"Are you s—"

Jake grabbed Rich's unbandaged hand and squeezed gently. The touch had Rich seeing stars.

"Yes. A hundred percent. More than that. A thousand. A million. Whatever it takes to convince you."

Rich looked down at their hands, his cheeks matching his faded-out streak.

"So," Jake said slowly, as if he was explaining something to a toddler, "I really, really do want you to move in with me, okay?"

He squeezed Rich’s hand again, and when he pulled back there was a key pressed into Rich's palm, cold and metal and real.

Rich couldn't talk. He nodded rapidly like a lovestruck girl who'd just been proposed to and cried into Jake's varsity jacket when he got to see their apartment for the first time.

It was too easy.

Setting up Rich's new room was too easy. Making dinner together was too easy. They'd gone from friends to nothing to roommates as if nothing had ever happened—there should have been some difficulty. Some adapting. But when Jake hugged Rich from behind, using Rich as a makeshift cane while his real one leaned against the kitchen island and whispered, "You're the best thing to ever happen to me," Rich was suddenly forced to forget that life could ever be too easy.

Friends to lovers was the same as friends to roommates. Rich confessed to Jake on the couch and Jake dragged them to the shower, turned on the water, and kissed him amidst the steam.

"What the fuck?" Rich said, smiling so hard the conviction in his words was lost to sugar-like giddiness.

"I'm not giving you some lame-ass first kiss. Hence: kiss in the rain."

"We're in a shower."

"You're a buzzkill."

"You're an idiot."

"You're a dick."

"Suck my dick."

Jake gave him an ingenuous smile and, like an overeager virgin, promptly stuck his hand in Rich's pants.

Rich didn't think about anything being too easy as Jake took him to dinner a week later, or pecked him on the cheek while walking down the school hallways, or left bruises on his neck in the quieter parts of the library. He only reveled in the feeling of being loved, of having everything he'd never dreamed of without voices screaming in his head and electricity shooting up his spine.

Jake was safety. Being wrapped in his arms was like having everything else erased and blurred into unimportant lines of text, a book Rich no longer had to participate in. He wasn't a determined main character, a traumatized side character, or a comic-relief love interest. He was only Jake's, and everything was perfect that way.

Until some terrifying climax started hovering on the horizon and Rich lost the privilege of living in just the rising action.

Jake held on too tight. Stayed up too late. Talked too long. He filled every moment of silence with desultory rambling, never giving Rich the chance to ask are you okay?

The terror of losing Jake lived in every molecule of air Rich breathed. There was no SQUIP in his mind to tell him when he was messing up anymore. Every word Rich said could have only been making it worse and he'd have no idea.

He stayed up late overthinking every interaction with Jake, searching for the exact moment he'd fucked up. It must've been something terrible. Earth-shattering. If Jake could forgive him for Halloween but not this, it must've been something so purely unholy even the devil wouldn't know what to say at the sight of it.

Rich stared at the wall in front of him, sorting through memory after memory clumsily; messily; desperately.

"Are you awake?" Jake whispered, voice thick with unshed tears. The noise was sudden and jarring. But, as Rich was learning, if he spoke he might only make it worse. If he gave any indication that he was awake then Jake might force them to talk until everything they'd mended shattered.

Rich stayed perfectly still. He kept his breathing level. He just wanted one more night of Jake holding him, his nose pressed against Rich's spine as he got as close as he could. One more night.

"I miss you," Jake continued. The way he said it, like the moon and stars above were telling him not to, made the words sound thick with shame despite the seemingly innocent, even benign, implications behind them. "I miss you so fucking much and I—I... I'm so sorry."

He burrowed his face into Rich's shirt to muffle a quiet sob. Rich felt Jake's words like acid in his mouth.

"It's not fair. It's not, it's not." Jake pulled back just long enough to gasp in a breath of air before pressing his face against Rich again. His hands were shaking and clutching Rich's torso hard enough to leave bruises.

"I love you. I love you so fucking much it's going to kill me, and—and it's you, I swear it's you, I love you."

Chloe. Christine. Madeline. Penelope. Jackie. Helen.

Rich trusted Jake with his soul, but the guilt in his voice and stature had the name of every girl Jake had slept with bobbing to the surface. Kayley. Aurora. Nina.

"But—" Rich's heart stopped. “—but...before. The squip. He—fuck."

Jake wrenched himself away, ripping his arms from around Rich to wrap them around himself protectively.

"Fuck. I feel so fucking naive. It was manipulation. I know that."

His words were getting louder, edging on yelling now that Rich wasn't there to muffle the sound. Still, Rich kept his breathing steady. He was asleep. He wasn't hearing this... this... what? Confession? Break-up speech? He was going to puke if he thought about what this could all be leading up to for a second longer.

"And…and he wasn't real. And it was just a robot catering to my every need and want, but fuck, he was my best friend. And you're so different now, and I love you for it. I love you like this. I can't do this, because I've got you right here, I do, I love you, but I lost my best fucking friend, and everyone's acting like I'm supposed to be fine with it and I just—I can't—"

Oh. Jake missed squipped Rich.

Rich's eyes were wide open, staring blankly at the wall in front of him. Jake was behind him, sitting upright with his hands tangled in his hair. Rich could hear his breathing, echoey and raw, heaved in and out with the desperation of a madman.

"Fuck. Fuck. You should've just killed me. You should've locked me in my bedroom and watched me die. Put me out of my fucking misery instead of letting fate torture me like this."

Rich had to put a hand over his mouth to stop a sob from escaping. Jake was too lost in his rant to notice, leaning back against the wall with his head tilted back to glare at the ceiling.

Rich could feel the remnants of the SQUIP scraping at the back of his skull, begging to be let out with a new, desperate fervor that Rich was sure he was feeding into. At that moment, with his eyes squeezed shut and his hand over his mouth to hide his crying, he wanted it back in his mind, if only to erase this night from his memory. If only to make Jake happy.

"I love you," Jake whispered. He sounded empty now, his anger placated by the catharsis of confessing to the dark. "I love you so fucking much and I can feel myself pushing you away and I can feel you letting me and for the love of all things good and holy, you have to stop me before I ruin the best thing to ever happen to me just because I'm a fucking coward who can't move on from some robot."

Rich didn't want to stop him. Rich agreed. He missed who he was. He missed the easy confidence, the straight-As. The sauntering down the hallways and having everyone bend to his will just because they liked him. He understood what Jake missed. He missed it too.

"Please, please. I can't do this anymore. I can't miss you like I do when you're right in front of me—"

"We both miss him,” Rich whispered, “It's okay."

For a moment, Rich was convinced Jake had ceased to exist. That he'd simply evaporated. He didn't speak, didn't move, didn't breathe. It sounded like his heart had stopped in his chest.

But then, slowly, his voice trembling, Jake choked out, "...Rich?"

Rich rolled over, unashamed of the tears on his cheeks.

"Yeah?" he replied, sounding casual compared to the destruction tearing through every neuron inside him.

"How long have you…?"

He didn't even need to finish his question to know the answer. He stared down at Rich through the darkness, eyes glistening with tears that matched Rich's.

"I'm sorry," he breathed, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it. I was just rambling, I swear, I didn't... I didn't..."

Rich shook his head. The lump in his throat hurt too much to talk, so he was forced to simply sit up and throw his arms around Jake's neck. Jake didn't hug him back, instead hovering helplessly, his hands up in the air like he was surrendering.

"You love me?" Rich rasped.

"With all my heart. I swear, I swear it, okay? I hate myself for—"

Rich shook his head against Jake's neck. "No, no, it's okay. You love me, but he was different. Fuck, he was so easy. He could just...he was so much better than me."

As if he'd never not been hugging Rich, Jake's palms were suddenly pressed against Rich's shoulder blades, warm and safe.

"That's not true," he said, "I only fell in love with you."

"But he made everything so simple. I miss it so much, Jake. He could just talk and everyone was happy and teachers loved him and his grades were perfect and he always knew what to say to make you feel better."

Jake nodded at that, still holding onto Rich like the floor was disappearing underneath them and opening up into the empty void of space.

"He was never scared," Jake offered quietly.

"He was confident."

"Suave."

"Always knew how to charm a girl."

"He could actually act, unlike some people."

Rich let out a small, watery laugh, and whispered, "He could actually beat you at chess."

Jake hummed and pressed a soft kiss against Rich's hair.

"Yeah, he could. But do you wanna know a secret?"

"What?"

Jake lifted Rich's head from his shoulder to look him in the eye. He looked exhausted, red-eyed, and scared. There were tear stains on his cheeks and that determined line between his eyebrows. He ran a finger over Rich's cheekbone and smiled.

"I may miss him a little, but I always liked him better when he was drunk."

38 notes · View notes

paulacock · 1 year

Text

probably very unpopular take on michael: as the odd one out of the squip squad, the only one to not have been squipped, i see him as the most stable/healthy/positive etc out of the squad. to me, everyone is dealing with a flaw of some sort- despite appearing to be bright and carefree characters christine is overwhelmed by the uncertainty of the future and jake is struggling with stress and burnout, for example. michael doesn't really have this kind of huge weakness. sure, he has his moments, being a teenager who doesn't 'fit in', but overall he's doing pretty good. and going by this characterization mitb would be an extremely out of character moment for him which only makes it so much more powerful.

113 notes · View notes

paulacock · 1 year

Text

I know we’ve talked about Rich kissing Jake on Halloween, but have you considered Jake kissing Rich? Drunk, confused, but sure after his break up with Christine that Rich is all he wants. Finding him, kissing him, and having Rich at first seem so receptive and loving and excited, only for him to wrench away, twitching and crazed? For Jake to spend months thinking Rich hated kissing him so much- that he was so revolted at the thought of Jake liking him that the fire seemed like the only answer? Weeks of survivors guilt and self hatred and blame only for Rich to wake up repeating, “I love you, I love you, I love you, you saved me, you saved me, you saved me”? Because I am very much thinking about that.

75 notes · View notes

paulacock · 1 year

Note

as a prompt: a richjake roadtrip after senior year

this took me so long.who knew road trips were so hard to write? wtf. like it's such a classic it should've been easy, but i started this weeks ago and only managed to finish it now bc i just refused to close the tab until i finished. and on that note i've been writing for the past hour and my brain has lost all ability to process the english language so i didn't edit it. if there's grammar mistakes or certain sentences are total nonsense then i'm very very sorry

uh, warnings? mentions of sex. mentions of drugs and alcohol.

word count: 5,437 (yes, it's longer than I wanted. its a roadtrip. how am i supposed to write that in a thousand words?)

On the second day, Rich told Jake he liked him. They were up in Maine, planning on getting all of New England before heading west. Jake had the passenger seat pushed back as far as it could go, eyes closed and legs almost straightened. It was early—7? Maybe 8?

When Jake had insisted they go on a road trip together, Rich had imagined late mornings in hotel rooms and late nights in clubs. (He also imagined Jake realizing just how terrible this would be for his legs within the first three hours, but it was hour eight and he still seemed determined.) Instead, he got a rigid schedule and a pre-made playlist. No bars or underground concerts—just Mount Rushmore and Chicago and art museums. Aquariums where there were ones, beaches when they could.

They’d only been through Massachusetts and Connecticut by the time Rich gave in. They were alone for the first time in ages—and not in their house, not with the promise of going to school and seeing their friends the next day. They were practically in the middle-of-no-where-New-Hampshire and Rich could pull over, stand on the roof of the car, and scream, “I love Jake Dillinger!!” and the only person who would hear would be the object of his affections. The urge to confess flurried within and around the car like an unshakable snowstorm.

He didn’t mean to say it. In all honesty, it was a misinterpreted phrase, a result of Rich’s excessive talking as Jake hummed from the passenger seat, half-asleep.

“But Interstellar just had more,” he said, only half paying attention to the empty highway, “Like yeah, okay, Tenet was weird as fuck and probably had a cooler concept if I was smart enough to figure it the fuck out, but the main character’s name was fucking protagonist. Who becomes emotionally attached to a dude named protagonist? It lacked the depth Interstellar had. Plus, Interstellar felt attainable. Like fuck yeah, I wanna go to space.”

“Mhm.”

“I’d take you with me. Maybe Michael, but I’m not sure how ventilation works on a spacecraft and his weed might stink up the whole thing.”

“Probably.”

“You’d be a menace, you can barely handle gas station food, let alone space food. You’d have a heart attack at not being able to have your weekly caviar.”

“You’d just throw me out in space,” Jake mumbled, not even bothering to deny the caviar jab.

“Nah, I like you too much,” Rich teased, poking at Jake’s exposed stomach. He expected a squawk, at least for Jake to shove him away, but there was only silence. Rich took his eyes off the road for just a split second, interest piqued, only to be met with Jake’s wide, terrified expression.

He’d said it a million times before and never overthought it, but maybe there was something different about this time. Maybe it was because they were alone rather than surrounded by friends, maybe it was because now they’d planned a life together—college, in Boston, Jake at Harvard and Rich at Emerson, still roommates. Maybe it was accursed Maine and all its forests, or the way Rich emphasized like. Love was a common word between them, said every sleepless night since the fire, but like meant so much more. Like implied a hesitance only present where romance was seeping into every word.

“No, you don’t," Jake seethed.

Rich scoffed. A restless apprehension crept its way up his spine and settled in his fingertips, which tapped against the steering wheel.

“Pretty sure I do, buddy. You’re—”

“I’m your best friend and you don’t like me.”

Oh. Oh fuck. Jake meant like that. He knew, he—fuck. Rich had to consciously stop himself from accidentally sending the car tumbling into the forest.

“Okay,” Rich forced out, “Okay. I don’t like you.”

Jake’s sigh of relief was similar to a comet colliding with Rich’s home. He squeezed the steering wheel and kept his mouth clamped shut, terrified that one wrong move would send them spiraling off the edge of the Earth.

As it turned out, though, Jake didn’t mind Rich’s confession. He didn’t directly acknowledge It afterward, glad to pretend he was still blissfully unaware of every icy undercurrent running under their feet.

Rich thought an explicit rejection would hurt. He’d imagined how it would go a million times over, a passive version of self-destruction. He lay awake next to Jake’s sleeping body and thought of every word he’d say, how he’d say it, the way he’d look away with guilt. Rich had all his responses planned, all his apologies already written. He was prepared for an, ‘I’m so sorry, I just don’t think of you that way—’

He was not prepared for Jake’s arm slung over his shoulder, lips close to his ear, and that quiet, breathy laugh Jake only let slip out around Rich.

They were in some local museum meant to educate passing tourists about some half-abandoned small town Stephen King would write about. It was reasonably entertaining, mostly a distraction from the storm of heartbreak he was trying to disassemble in his chest. Just one night—he needed one night alone in a hotel room to sob out every sorrow, then he’d bounce back. Just one night.

If only Jake would stop trying to kill him. Rich was satisfied reading about boats or whales or something (he’d forgotten, too busy thinking about Jake’s fingers clutching Rich’s t-shirt to keep his balance) with Jake a good two feet away, examining a painting. But Rich’s beautiful demolitionist decided his next target was Rich. He appeared to the right of him and practically draped himself over him, impossibly energetic for being in a place that reeked of desolation and dust.

“Fuckin’ Maine and their lobsters,” Jake grumbled into Rich’s ear, resting his chin in the crook of his shoulder.

Every possible witty response died before Rich even had the chance to think them up. His brain was too muddled with Jake and Jake knowing and Jake being so close. Where there would usually be a confession on the tip of Rich’s tongue, unspoken but overwhelming, there was only the bitter aftertaste of hope.

“Yeah,” Rich stated, simple and short. Jake’s cane knocked against Rich’s knee. It wasn’t even on the ground anymore, having been replaced by Rich.

Jake made a small sound of confusion before nuzzling a bit closer and said, “Do we wanna drive to Vermont for lunch? Or are we staying here?”

“It’s like a four-hour drive.”

“So we’re staying here?”

“If you want.”

Jake shifted away slightly, just far enough that Rich began reteaching himself how to breathe.

“You’re all red,” Jake stated, soft and oblivious.

Okay, so no breathing. Rich writhed in Jake’s hold until he was free and standing three feet away, face even redder than before, an instinctive reaction to Jake’s intense, unwavering gaze. Picking through the flood of panic in his mind, Rich only barely managed to get out, “Sorry.”

“Why would you be s—oh. No, that’s—I didn’t mean to—like, we’re—”

Rich was going to cry. In front of the boy he was in love with, he was going to cry. Jake sounded so panicked and apologetic that Rich could almost feel it gathering like snowflakes in his hair, coating the floor in pure white dust.

“Jake, stop. It’s fine.”

“Are you su—”

“Let’s just go to lunch. I saw a diner on the way here.”

Jake nodded rapidly, almost desperately, as he stormed from the room—almost as if he could escape Rich’s feelings merely by leaving this goddamn museum behind.

He almost succeeded. It took an awkward lunch and two hours of driving on an empty highway, but eventually, Rich’s one-word answers slipped back into enthusiastic ramblings and Jake learned not to flinch away whenever Rich’s hand got too close.

Rich still cried when they got to the hotel. It was his turn to pay and, despite repeatedly telling Jake that he was going to save as much money as possible, he bought two separate rooms for them. Jake didn’t so much as blink. Still, the next night they were in a shared room with separate beds, far enough that if Rich reached out he’d be met with only empty air, but close enough he could still hear Jake’s breathing.

It wasn’t until Illinois that Rich was once again faced with the consequences of his stupid, unintentional confession. Once again in different hotel rooms, Jake had to knock on Rich’s door at 2 am to get his attention.

Rich was half asleep, his phone in his hand still open to Michael’s text messages. At first, he was convinced Jake was a figment of the SQUIP—the knocks would get louder until Rich was on the floor, rocking back and forth with his hands over his ears waiting for the noises to stop.

But then he heard, “Richie?” and his panic evaporated as if it was never there.

“What the fuck?” he said, answering the door with a fabricated scowl. At Jake’s nighttime smile, it melted into reluctant contentment.

Jake held up a towel and a pair of swim trunks. “Hot tub? I saw they had one.”

“Well, it’s most definitely closed by now.”

Jake ducked his head with a bashful grin on his face and shrugged. Rich knew by now that Jake only followed the rules when adults were there to praise him for his obedience, and Jake knew Rich knew, but he always acted like a scolded child when he suggested something even vaguely rebellious.

“Could be fun,” he whispered, blushing at the floor.

“Oh my god, gimme those and stop acting like a five-year-old.”

Jake positively beamed, sunshine incarnated. Rich almost had a heart attack as he ripped the swim trunks from Jake’s grasp as quickly as he could, doing everything in his power to avoid brushing Jake’s hands against his own as he slammed the door shut to get changed.

By the time they got to the hot tub, Rich was sure he was going to die. He didn’t know he had a thing for boys picking locks, but seeing Jake on his knees in front of the glass door, his credit card in the slit between the door and the wall had done something to Rich.

And Jake, skin red from the hot water, eyes glazed over from the third beer he’d had (that someone Rich hadn’t noticed was in his hand)? Yeah. That was something else entirely. He was frozen despite the heat, paralyzed by Jake’s hands on his hips, tracing stars with his thumb.

“You’re so pretty like this,” Jake whispered, voice almost lost in the foggy steam filling the room. He wasn’t making eye contact, instead staring at the point of contact between them like he could see the pearly gates of heaven reflected in the water.

“Yep,” Rich squeaked. He didn’t want to say no, he would do anything to be able to enjoy it for what it was, but… but fuck. This was survival for him. He couldn’t wake up tomorrow in Jake’s hotel room and continue as if nothing had happened—it wasn’t a wouldn’t. There was no choice in this. Rich could not have sex with Jake and be forced to be friends with him afterward. He couldn’t have his feelings manipulated and abused, no matter how much he loved Jake.

Oblivious to Rich’s internal musings, Jake leaned down until he was so close Rich was almost convinced they were kissing.

“You want this?” he said. Just those three words, not the ones Rich was aching, breaking, longing to hear, were enough for their lips to brush together. Less than a second, barely a moment, and Rich thought he felt the moon shatter.

Rich would’ve responded if he could get air in his lungs, but Jake was so close he inhaled all the oxygen that would’ve been Rich’s. All he could do in the haze, the fire, the fear, was shake his head ‘no.’ Not when Jake was drunk. Not when he was looking at Rich like he used to look at Chloe.

Jake jerked back an inch, then two, brows furrowed with confusion.

“I thought—”

“I don’t like you, remember?”

Jake blinked. Rich could tell he was being too slow, his intelligence impacted by the alcohol. It shouldn't take this long for him to figure out what Rich was trying to say—usually, he’d be able to predict Rich’s next words before he even thought them up.

This time, though, Jake just whispered, so small his words could fit in the space between every molecule of air between them, “What?”

“I don’t like you. You told me I don’t like you.”

Another second passed, stretched far beyond what should have been physically possible. Only then did Jake’s eyes flash with recognition.

“Right,” he said, then smiled, “Right, but that was just—I was freaked out, but I’ve thought about it, so much Rich, it’s all I can fucking think about, and you’re—”

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m buzzed at best, Rich, listen to me—” he got closer again, eyes alight, and for a split second, the same amount of time it took for someone to realize they were about to die, Rich felt a flicker of hope. Innocent, buttercup hope. Jake in his arms. Waking up to Jake’s face pressed into his hair. Jake kissing him lovingly.

Rich’s face contorted to hide the blissful fantasy from Jake’s prying eyes.

Jake jerked back again, this time so far that he fell back into the water (gracefully, because everything Jake did was graceful), expression a crater of ash and fire.

“Do you… I don’t…”

“You’re hurting me, Jake.”

Jake scrambled farther away, fumbling through the water to the edge of the hot tub as if it was made of glass shards. His mouth was open, words spilling out in a desperate, violent waterfall.

“No, no, you’re not listening to me, Rich, I want you—”

“Yeah, when you’ve got me half naked.”

“What?! No, stop, I’m telling you I want you, all of you, not sex, or—”

“Jacob I can see your boner from here. Don’t try this. It hurts. You can’t—”

“I’m not trying to!”

Jake’s voice was getting loud, his face redder than before. His wet hair went from sexy to frazzled and threatening. His hands were pulling at the roots, tangling in the knots. Rich recognized the mosaic his fear created and could almost see Jake tumbling off cliffs of insanity and desperation. He knew Jake through the months he spent alone in that empty mansion after his parents left, either drunk on expensive liquor or high on the pills his mother left behind, he knew just how dangerous a desperate Jake could be. Not violent, but so goddamn broken it was impossible not to cut himself on the pieces as he gathered him up and reconstructed him back into a man.

“Then stop it!” Rich screamed, “You don’t fucking know, Jake. You’re fucking—the only relationships you’ve been in have been about sex and, and popularity, and you don’t understand this feeling.”

It was as easy as that. Rich knew he’d twisted the knife, knew that maybe he’d taken it a step too far, but he didn’t deserve this. After years of pining, Jake didn’t get to reject him and then try to bed him. That wasn’t allowed.

When Jake spoke again, it was emotionless. Monotonous. Devoid of all humanity. Words on a page, scripted and controlled. Rich had lost all access to Jake.

“What happened with Chloe doesn’t define me. You know that, I know you know that, so don’t even fucking try me. I don’t know what it’s like to hide and lie about my feelings for years, but you don’t know what it’s like to watch the only person you’ve ever loved—”

“Don’t say that.”

“To watch the only person you’ve ever loved,” Jake repeated, more determined this time, “flinch away whenever you so much as look his way because he’s so insecure he can’t accept that maybe you want to spend the rest of your life with him.”

Rich’s fists clenched. He wasn’t sure how he’d ended up out of the hot tub, but he was standing by the door, dripping and scowling and on the verge of tears.

“Fuck you.”

“Really? That’s it? Tell me what you want. Tell me you want me and it’s that simple. Tell me you know I want you.”

“You’re my best friend.”

Jake flinched at his own words thrown back at him. He kept his mouth clamped shut as Rich kept talking.

“You’re my best friend and I don’t know what the fuck is up with you tonight, but you told me yourself that we’re friends. I’m not going to let you ruin that with sex.”

“That’s not what—”

“I’m not going to let some half-hearted relationship ruin us, Jacob"

Jake stayed silent, seemingly waiting for more. Rich watched him realize there was nothing left to say, that this was the end of the conversation. His lips were trembling. Rich wished they weren’t.

“Fine,” Jake breathed. He sagged to the floor, knees pressed against the tile, hands clasped politely in front of him. “Fine. Friends. Best friends. If—if you really think being together would ruin us, then we’re just friends.”

“Good,” Rich said as if he couldn’t feel each cell within him bursting and bubbling with acidic heartbreak. “Friends.”

They stayed there for a moment, waiting for some finale to hit—some final blow to tattoo this night in black on their skin—but there was only burning silence.

“I’m going to bed,” Rich said finally.

Jake only nodded, still staring at the floor. Rich slipped from the room and screamed out sobs into his pillow until the sun forced light back into his life.

He stumbled through his morning routine, struggling to close his suitcase and stuff it into the trunk of their car. It wasn’t until he saw Jake, his smile bright but eyes tired, sitting alone in the dining room that the haze lifted just enough for him to realize friends ate breakfast together.

He sat down across from Jake without a word, and only once Jake looked up from his half-eaten breakfast did Rich force the skeleton of a smile onto his face. Jake mimicked it with much more success.

“Top of the morning to ya, buddy,” he said, the word buddy spat out like it hurt, “So, I was thinking, St. Louis is like an hour and a half away, maybe we stop there around noon, see the arch thingy, the move on. There’s a zoo like thirty minutes from there that we can stop at for a while. We can end the night in Wisconsin, see I don’t know, some small town, then tomorrow we can go to Minnesota?”

Rich nodded. He wasn’t sure if he could speak yet.

“Great! I’ve still gotta pack up, so just let me do that, then we can hit the road.”

Rich nodded again. Jake’s gaze lingered too long, flitting across his face, from his bloodshot eyes to his lips, before he finally looked away, his smile faltering. He cleared his throat.

“I’ll see ya in a bit, then.”

“Yeah! Can’t wait.”

Rich wished he could think of more to say, but the day seemed to be coated in an unbreakable silence. The car ride was awkward—Jake kept the radio off, choosing instead to prompt Rich with question after question as if they were kids meeting for the first time. Rich offered up every answer he had. He didn’t have many.

They stopped for ice cream sometime in the late afternoon, after a tense trip to the St. Louis arch during which Jake elbowed Rich after making a joke and Rich almost hyperventilated.

“What should I get?” Jake asked, surveying the menu.

“Whatever you want.”

“I want you.”

Rich whipped around to face him, every muscle in his body clenched and ready to fight.

“What?”

“Raspberry looks good.”

Rich didn’t push it., but the words echoed in his ribs until his lungs were bruised.

It happened again a week later. An art museum in Washington.

“It’s beautiful,” Rich said, staring in wonder at a painting of the ocean during a storm.

“So are you.”

Rich didn’t turn to look at him. He scrutinized the painting, looking at every color and brushstroke until three minutes later, Jake had to go to the bathroom.

In California: An aquarium gift shop.

“Do you like it?” Jake asked, watching Rich hold a penguin stuffed animal against his chest.

“I love it,” Rich said, his voice muffled by the fabric. He was hiding his face behind the wings so Jake wouldn’t see his eyes watering at the fact the cashier had called Jake such a good boyfriend for buying him the penguin.

“I love y—”

He had the decency to cut himself off.

“I’m glad you like it,” he amended, and it was left at that.

Until Texas. A hotel twenty minutes from the Space Center Houston only had one room. Of course.

It had two beds. Rich sat upright in one, phone in hand, Michael on the other end. Michael didn’t know what had happened between Rich and Jake, but he did know Jake was on the other side of the room, headphones on as he stared at his computer doing one thing or another. Rich watched him, still helplessly in love despite the repeated heartbreak he experienced every time they did so much as make eye contact.

“Las Vegas was so overhyped,” Rich complained, “Probably because Jake and I can’t legally gamble, but the hotel was so fucking cool. There was this giant fountain and so many lights. Almost had a panic attack because of the noise, but once I got over that it was sick.”

“Las Vegas or San Fransisco?”

“San Fransisco 100% buddy, not even a question. Food was great. I was a little scared we were gonna get devoured by a wildfire, but we ended up fine. East Coast is so much better, though. I can’t wait to get back. Jake said we can stop in the Everglades.”

“You want to got to the Everglades?!”

“Yes!! Snakes, Michael! I need to see a Burmese python and alligator fight to the death!”

“You’re crazy.”

“I’m well aware, but this is a childhood dream of mine that must be fulfilled before death takes me.”

Michael laughed. Jake made a strangled sound from across the room.

Rich froze up and instinctively forced an awkward smile on his face, tense and unsure of what exactly had prompted Jake’s reaction. He glanced at his pretty sunflower out of the corner of his eye—his hunched shoulders, a posture that was so unlike him, his face illuminated by the computer screen. Rich cleared his throat to rip himself from admiring him.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m hilarious,” he choked out, “Okay, it’s—it’s late, I better get going now.”

“It’s like 9—”

“Night!”

Rich hung up but stayed staring at his phone for far too long, terrified to do anything but.

“Are you okay?” Jake whispered. His computer was closed now and he was facing Rich, crisscrossed on his bed. Rich straightened and nodded.

“Yeah, yeah, just tired. Sorry.”

“Have you been tired for the last three weeks?“

Rich blinked at him, too focused on the blue of his eyes to comprehend his words.

“What?” he finally said. Jake just shook his head and turned off the lamp, deciding darkness was the best course of action.

Rich thought it would be him who’d be unable to sleep, haunted by blues and I love yous, but it was Jake who tossed and turned and writhed in his sheets, wrestling with some invisible enemy long after Rich fell asleep.

When Rich awoke the next morning, it was to Jake packing his suitcase. He stayed still for a moment, admiring Jake as he carefully folded each shirt, hands gentle and sure of themselves. Since Illinois, every look he’d given Rich was coated in a layer of lies Rich hadn’t been on the receiving end of since sophomore year.

He didn’t know Rich was watching him now. He looked sad, irrevocably so. The tip of his nose was red, the first sign of sadness. Then it was the parted lips—he was a snotty crier. Rich learned that after watching Bambi with him. He’d been crying, and now he couldn’t breathe through his nose. His chest was moving up and down in stuttery, unsure movements, and after every piece of folded laundry, he had to pause to press the heel of his hand against his mouth to stifle a sob.

“What’s wrong?” Rich rushed out, the usual sluggishness of his mornings completely eradicated by Jake—Jake crying.

Jake jumped at the sound of Rich’s voice and regained his composure within a split second. There was suddenly a smile, open body language, and eyes that remained just as dead as before.

“You’re awake! I have something for you.”

“I don’t care, what’s—”

“No, no, trust me, you’ll care, hold on.”

Still smiling beautifully, he turned to the desk and grabbed two pieces of paper. Then, movements peppy and face alight, he sat down in front of Rich and handed them to him.

“Okay…?” Rich said, looking down at the pieces of paper with little interest—Jake. Crying. Jake. Crying. That was all he was worried about.

Until he realized the papers were printed out plane tickets. One to Florida, the flight set to leave eight hours from then. Another three days later, from Florida to New Jersey. He reread the words. Then reread them. And again. And again.

All he could get out was, “What the fuck?”

“You can see the Everglades!” Jake said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Well—well yeah, but… we’re driving there? Together?”

Jake shook his head. “No, yeah, we were, but—I mean, after Illinois…”

He paused to clear his throat and look away. Rich was on the verge of screaming, but that could wait until Jake had finished whatever shitty explanation he was about to offer. The longer the silence lasted, the more Jake’s sunny demeanor faded out.

“After Illinois, I mean you don’t—you aren’t happy, Rich. Not around me. Last night, like, with Michael—” Rich had never heard Jake struggle with words this much. He was stuttering, tripping over his words, raising his volume too high then lowering it to the point Rich could barely hear him. “—you were talking to him, and you won’t do that with me anymore, and I want you to talk like that because it’s—fuck, it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and if you can’t do that around me anymore—because I fucked up and apparently ruined the best thing to ever happen to me—then maybe some time apart would be good for us?”

Jake looked up at Rich hopefully. Rich wasn’t sure what he was hoping for and he didn’t have the energy to figure it out through the anger crawling inside his skin.

“You’re kicking me out?”

“No! No. I just think you should have the chance to be—no, I need the chance to—I want you to be happy—”

“I’m happy.”

“You won’t even look at me. You won’t talk to me. I’m hurting you.”

Rich suddenly understood why Jake had looked so heartbroken after hearing the phrase you’re my best friend. Having his words manipulated and turned against him hurt more than the flames ever had.

“That’s—no—”

“And I thought I could fix it by just being your friend, but we’re not even that anymore. I want us to be. So badly. I can’t lose you. I can’t go to Harvard without coming home to you every night. And I’ll do anything to save us, and right now that means you have to get away from me.”

“Stop—”

“So I got you tickets to go see the Everglades. I even booked you a boat tour. I’m not sure about seeing a Burmese python, but you can try. Then you can have the rest of summer in New Jersey with Michael and everyone else, and we can meet up in Boston, and everything will be okay.”

“Jake—”

“I can’t ruin another relationship. I know I have a bad track record, I know I can’t commit or be romantic, and you’re probably right to realize I’d destroy whatever beautiful thing we managed to create, but honestly, you’re more beautiful than anything I could ever make, and I can’t destroy that, I have to protect that, even if I’m not around to see it for a while.”

“No—”

“But I can move on while we’re apart, and hopefully you can too, then we can be best friends in Boston and roommates forever and you can get married and I can pretend I’m happy for y—”

Rich kissed him. Quick and sloppy and frantic. It was hypocritical, to say the least, self-destructive if Rich was being completely honest with himself. But the feeling of Jake falling into it, pressing closer and moving so his trembling hands could press against Rich’s waist and back, was intoxicating.

Rich kept it short, though the feeling of just Jake’s gentleness was enough for him to want more.

He pulled back, Jake trailing after him until he collapsed against Rich, forehead pressed to Rich’s shoulder and lips pressed to his neck and collarbone.

“I don’t understand,” he said between kisses. Rich promised himself he’d memorize the feeling before it was taken from him.

“I’d rather be heartbroken with you than happy with anyone else,” Rich explained softly, tangling his fingers in Jake’s hair and pulling his head back to look him in the eye. Jake breathed out a sound Rich chose not to identify and tried to lean up and kiss Rich again.

“You’re not ruinous,” Rich got out just before Jake gifted him kiss after kiss like offerings to a god, “You’re not destructive and Chloe doesn’t define you and I’m sorry I implied she did, I shouldn’t have, and I’m terrified I’m gonna lose you and terrified this is all a prank and terrified you’re going to leave—”

“Never,” Jake confessed, eyes closed and expression melted into pure bliss. “Never, ever, ever. It took me too long to realize how bad I want you. I can’t lose more time.”

“I want you too.”

“I want you to be happy.”

“I can be once I get my head out of my ass and realize you’re even more perfect than I thought.”

Jake laughed soundlessly and pulled Rich onto his lap. “Perfect?”

“You’re gorgeous. You’re kind. You’d never purposefully hurt me, and I was stupid to think you would. I just—it hurt. The car. You telling me—Jake, I was still in survival mode. I didn’t mean anything I said. I swear it. Please don’t make me leave.”

Jake shook his head.

“No, I won’t. I can’t. I’m sorry for what I said in the car. That wasn’t cool or okay, I just… panicked? Because I always knew—I didn’t want to say it, or think it, or acknowledge it, but I knew, and you saying it made it so real I couldn’t even pretend I could ever want anyone else and that was—I wasn’t ready for that to hit so suddenly.”

Rich felt so warm inside he was convinced he was going to overheat and collapse in on himself like a dying star. He kissed Jake like he was made of roses until he was convinced he’d erased every terrible thought he’d placed in Jake’s mind in Illinois.

“So we’re going to stop being cowards now,” Rich said, clear and determined, “And I’m going to be happy because the most beautiful boy in the world decided I’m worth his time and he’s going to be happy because now I’m here to tell him he’s the most beautiful boy in the world every single morning, and that he can’t kick me to the curb even if he tries.”

Jake laughs and nods and kisses him again.

“God,” he whispered, tracing stars on Rich’s hips, “I’ve never been so glad I wasted two thousand dollars in my life.”

“Yeah. Yeah, me too.”

There was a short, weighted pause. Then, “Wait, did you say two thousand? Jake, flights to Florida should not be two thousand dollars.”

“Well, not for economy.”

“Econ—you were planning on giving me first-class tickets to Florida to soften the blow of practically breaking up with me?”

Jake was too giddy to be offended. He wrapped himself around Rich and kissed him again.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time, shut up.”

“No, I am not shutting up, that is the stupidest thing I have ever heard. We’re going to seriously work on your spending habits in Boston, buddy—baby—you’ve got the rest of the summer to be an idiot with your money, then we’re starting a retirement fund. For fuck's sake, you’re going to be broke by the time you’re thirty.”

38 notes · View notes

paulacock · 1 year

Text

I swore to myself I would finish this before I went to sleep, and I did just that. So. Here it is. (this takes place pre-fire btw in like mid october)

warnings for: like, depression? self-hatred? serious body issues? It's bad here for a while. Sorry guys. Seriously do not read this if ur already in a bad mindset its saaaaad (but it gets better?)

Word count: 1451

Rich wasn’t going to ruin homecoming just because he was insecure. He wasn't going to lock the door and hide in Jake's bedroom throughout the entirety of the night, curled up on the floor in a heap of helplessness while the SQUIP scolded him and Jake skipped the dance just to talk him down from a panic attack.

He had no reason to feel like this. He was happy. He was popular. He was likable. His lisp was hidden, his rambling suppressed. What had once been light-speed fidgeting and ruinous vices had been reduced to parasitic thoughts and the ghost-like consciousness flickering in and out of existence next to him, scrutinizing the image in the mirror.

He didn’t need the SQUIP to say anything. He could already place exactly where imperfection sliced into his body. His two front teeth were slightly crooked, overlapping with each other—a problem that could’ve been fixed when he was younger if his family had more money, and now it was too late. Kids with braces weren’t popular.

There was the freckle on his cheek, dark compared to all his others, that could be mistaken for dirt or a pimple at a distance. The waistband of his pants was digging too hard into his hips, and a bit of fat that spilled over the edges. Even he could identify the galaxy of flaws that littered his skin and lips and eyes.

He wasn’t going to ruin homecoming with tears or shame. He wasn’t going to cry, tremble, or punch the mirror just so the shards of glass could dig into him and cover every pinprick of inadequacy with scarlet red. But the SQUIP was silent tonight, and in the space it had left behind, Rich’s mind conjured up collapsing stars and supernovas of tangents spoken only to his reflection.

One eye was slightly darker than the other. His lips were chapped, something even the SQUIP couldn’t fix. Abrasive. Overwhelming. What other things was he supposed to hate? His shoulders were too broad compared to the rest of him. The scars he couldn’t erase from his wrists were a constellation of self-hatred and abuse. He started to turn to the side, just to see how his body looked when he—

No. Not doing that. He couldn’t look, couldn’t trace the outline of himself like it didn’t burn.

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook out his hands as if he could release every bit of wretchedness through his fingertips. He wanted it to seep into the floors, to disappear into some endless void that could never come back to haunt him in the way everything else seemed to do.

Unable to fix his jawline or nose or skin, Rich got on his tippy toes and opened his eyes again. Gravity tugged on him in seven different directions, pulling him down and apart and together, but he kept himself at a steady 5’7 for the first time in his life.

Then, slowly, relishing in the way his eyes burned and stomach turned at the sight, he lowered himself back to his usual height. He looked unnatural. Morphed, twisted, so mangled the sun wouldn’t dare shine where he stepped.

Fuck. He wasn’t going to ruin homecoming, but he was tripping on the edge of an event horizon, so close to tumbling over the edge he would surely bring the whole school down with him in a blaze of—

“Oh.”

Rich spun, movements sluggish and panicked and confused—contradictions in and of themselves, a new type of flaw he hadn’t been aware it was possible to have. He hid his shaking hands behind his back.

I will not ruin homecoming.

Please don’t look at me please don’t look at me please don’t look at me.

“Jake! You’re ready early.”

Rich watched the nebula of words in Jake’s mind fizz and dissolve into each other until only vague, unrecognizable sounds could come out of his mouth, stuttered out as if he was ashamed.

“Sorry,” Jake breathed, but even that was half-hearted. He was distracted, almost confused. Rich knew why. He could feel Jake’s gaze on him, taking in every minute flaw and cataloging it with a dangerous type of desperation. He took half a step forward before stopping himself, breathing in small, rapid breaths as if the image in front of him was so disgusting he was scared of breathing it in.

Rich wanted to die. He said, “You like what you see?”

It took Jake an eternity too long to register what Rich had said. He seemed lost somewhere between existence and time, stumbling from conscious to unconscious even as he stood perfectly still, studying Rich with the same intensity he approached everything in life with.

“Rich,” Jake rasped, “You look…”

Terrible. Ugly. Wretched. You can’t ruin homecoming.

Rich could feel himself tumbling beyond the point of no return, writhing and screaming in a sticky sea of the unknown. His self-destructive habits had done this. No one but himself had created this black hole in his mind. He’d created his star, he’d catalyzed a supernova just by looking in Jake’s mirror, and now he was going to die at his own hands like a coward. Sound couldn’t escape a black hole. No one would hear him scream.

“Beautiful.”

Rich didn’t know having his body devastated and shattered by sheer pressure, that having his consciousness warped and twisted until even time couldn’t recognize his thoughts, could feel so fucking euphoric.

“What?”

Jake approached carefully. Rich had never seen him so quiet. He was supposed to be talking, to be loud and attention-grabbing, angelic in his ability to make everyone feel heard while simultaneously talking over every other voice.

But here he was, curled in on himself like he was shy, lips parted but no words coming out, hands hovering in front of him and a centimeter away from Rich. The only sound was Jake’s breathing as his fingers twitched just enough to brush against the fabric of Rich’s blazer.

“So beautiful you’re afraid to touch me?” Rich teased, the words conjured by the SQUIP rather than himself. They sounded empty. Jake didn’t seem to notice.

“You don’t see people touching the Mona Lisa, Richard. I can’t—what if I taint this, you, with—?”

“Oh, please,” Rich said, and it was really him, not the SQUIP, that grabbed Jake’s hands by the wrist and placed them on his hips impatiently. Stars were dying in his chest and their remnants were forming new ones in his stomach. There were planets and asteroids and comets all colliding with each other until the room was a sunset red and Jake was the only thing that seemed real.

Jake stared at the point of contact between them like it was the only thing keeping him alive. Rich couldn’t overthink it. He was too wrapped up in the image of himself in the mirror. The crooked teeth. The freckle. The height, so noticeable with Jake standing right in front of him.

Jake’s gaze shifted from Rich’s hips to some point behind them. Rich followed until he was facing his reflection, the same as it had looked before. But now Jake was watching too, just as aware of every imperfection as Rich. He tried to turn back around, tried to look anywhere else in the room, but Jake held his shoulders and turned him all the way around. He kept his grip steady even as he shifted from Rich’s shoulders to his waist. This time around, he forwent all shame and wrapped himself around Rich, a loose strand of reality tethering Rich to something other than darkness. He wasn’t sure what it was yet.

“Look,” Jake whispered as he rested his chin on Rich’s shoulder.

Rich was looking. He knew what he saw. The SQUIP did too—Rich could feel its anger in his spine but didn’t dare show it. He couldn’t scare Jake away.

“I’m looking.”

Jake hummed in response and nuzzled himself closer, a blissful smile on his face.

“My mom would take a picture of us if she were here.”

Rich wasn’t sure what that meant. He didn’t have time to think about it before Jake was running his thumb over Rich’s waistband and the skin above it. Up his arms, fingers dancing over his wrist. Over the slope of his shoulders, then his nose, through his hair.

He touched Rich like he thought he was about to break---like every feature was as delicate as a crater on the moon. Like there was no wind to erase whatever residue he left behind.

(There wasn’t. Anything he did would stay forever painted on Rich’s skin.)

“I’m gonna—” he extracted himself from Rich so gently Rich could’ve mistaken his presence for a shooting star, “I’m gonna be late. Christine, she needs a ride, and I—we’re supposed to take pictures together. I have to go.”

“Yeah. Yeah,” Rich backed up until he knocked against the mirror, “Yeah, you should—”

“You owe me a dance tonight."

“What? Seriously?”

“Yes.”

Rich waited for the punchline. For the sarcastic remark or joke to dispel the suffocating stardust in the air, but all Jake said as he slipped from the room was, “You’re so pretty, Rich.”

Rich decided he could ignore the mirror for a night. Just to go to homecoming. Just to dance with Jake.

---

weak metaphor but i tried. also i seriously considered using the word spaghettification but decided for the sake of all of u that i wouldn't. you're welcome.

also "He was supposed to be talking, to be loud and attention-grabbing, angelic in his ability to make everyone feel heard while simultaneously talking over every other voice." is how i really wish i could write jake all the time alright it's what i want

27 notes · View notes

paulacock · 1 year

Text

SOMEONE TELL ME WHY THE HELL I JUST SAW A KLANCE VIDEO WITH THE FUCKING PLAY FROM BE MORE CHILL PLAYING IN THE BACKGROUND

43 notes · View notes

paulacock · 1 year

Text

I’ve written too many Jakes having a sexuality crisis because Rich is hot, I need to write post-squip Jake having a sexuality crisis cuz he’s watching Rich skateboard and feels weirdly giddy. I think I’m finally emerging from my angst era

29 notes · View notes

paulacock · 1 year

Text

You get no summary as to what this is about. It's around 2k words, but it only took me like 30 minutes to write so. it's. it's a bit confusing. but it's cute and happy!!!

“I don’t even know where to start,” Chloe whined, slamming her forehead against the library table. Jake winced involuntarily at the noise, but Chloe didn’t even seem to notice what she’d done. “She’s just so pretty, Jake. Have you seen her? Those eyes—”

“Yes,” Jake replied, an odd mix between bemused and annoyed. He had homework he was happy to ignore just to listen to Chloe’s excessive rantings on her most recent crush (there’d been three this week—she was struggling with the whole ‘not being in love with Brooke anymore’ thing), but it was still homework that he’d have to do later if he didn’t finish it now. “We get it, she’s hot and you want to fuck her, but did I factor this right?”

She barely glanced over his paper before giving him a half-hearted thumbs up and continuing on with, “I just want to be able to talk to her, you know? Be confident and tell her she’s the most gorgeous person I’ve ever seen.”

“Then do that,” Rich seethed. He was even more impatient than Jake, sitting red-faced with his arms crossed over his chest, staring directly at his computer with a familiar fiery gaze Jake was accustomed to being on the receiving end of. Jake’s heart did a flip.

“Shut up. You never confess to your crushes," Chloe shot back.

“Because I’m busy writing reports for my stupid research class, and I’d prefer if I could do it in silence.”

Jake leaned forward on his elbows and propped his chin on the heel of his hand, just close enough so he could feel the edges of Rich and Chloe’s argument like electricity in the air. They were both pissy today—Chloe because she was upset about her crush, and Rich because he had a three thousand word report due that night that he’d totally forgotten about until two days ago. Though Jake would usually have little patience when it came to Rich’s moods (uncommon now that he was unsquipped—most of the time it was either dorky ramblings or hesitant dad jokes), he was well enough adapted to Rich’s behaviors to know that hadn’t meant to put it off, really, it was just a thing that happened sometimes. He knew Rich had seen it in the color-coded agenda Jake had made for him, it simply didn’t register that it was real. Rich spent the past two days busting his ass off and Jake understood why he wanted silence so he could get it over with.

“No,” Chloe shot back, “You’re a coward. And I am too. I’m usually so confident, this genuinely hurts. I don’t know what to do with myself.”

Rich tilted his head back to cast a glance up at the sky, probably a prayer of some sort, before he closed his computer and turned to Chloe, expression cold. Jake watched his every movement.

“Five minutes,” Rich spat, “Five minutes, and then you shut up for the rest of the period and let me work. Deal?”

Chloe stuck out her hand and shook his. Rich set a timer on his phone and immediately Chloe was off. The color of this girl’s eyes (Jake wasn’t sure of her name, he’d been too busy watching Rich bite his lip while he focused to catch it), her hair, the way she made her feel.

“I can’t even think when I'm around her," Chloe sighed, borderline wistful, “My stomach gets in knots and everything gets fuzzy and warm. It’s like I’m melting inside, and not in a horny way. I want to take her away to some perfect place where she can never get hurt and teach her how to paint and feed her cherries. How am I supposed to talk to her when my brain is literal mush whenever she gets too close?!"

Rich laughed for the first time all day. Jake frowned.

“I don’t get it,” Jake said slowly, trying to decode Chloe’s words even as he was speaking, “Aren’t you doing that now?”

Chloe and Rich immediately turned to him, surprised by not only his sudden contribution to their previously exclusive conversation but also by his hesitance. Jake wasn’t hesitant. Jake always knew what he was talking about.

Even now, he was sure of himself. He knew Chloe was talking through that feeling now—Rich was sitting right next to her, and Rich was practically the embodiment of that feeling. He walked into the room and overwhelmed everyone with a giddy, sunshine feeling that made their vision blur and their heart beat too fast. It was a Rich thing, he brought it everywhere he went. Even when he walked in with a too-big sweatpants and oily hair after weeks of either studying or laying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling and convincing himself he was worth more than the persona he used to present, Rich ignited butterflies in everyone he met. Every single day.

Chloe didn’t make the connection to the Rich Effect (as Jake had dubbed it), though. She shot to her feet, eyes wide and panicked.

“She’s here?!!?” she whisper-yelled, spinning in circles and scanning the library for her mystery crush, “Where?! Why didn’t you tell me—”

“What? No, calm down, I was talking about Rich.”

If Jake’s earlier statement had confused them, this broke them. Chloe sat down, her back rigid and eyes narrowed. Rich simply tilted his head slightly to the right, an innocent show of curiosity. Even that was enough to make the room flush pink, and somehow Chloe seemed perfectly fine talking through that, he didn’t see why this new girl was any different.

“Rich?” she echoed, “I don’t have a crush on Rich? It’s fine to talk around him?”

“Yeah, obviously. But he’s got the whole Rich thing, y’know?”

They did, indeed, not know. Jake looked between the two of them, searching for any flash of recognition, but he was met with empty stares and questioning looks. Rich made a small, confused sound.

“Like, Rich-walks-in-a-room-and-everything-lights-up? That thing? The butterflies? C’mon, you have to know what I’m talking about, he’s been doing it since the fire.”

Jake’s nerves somehow coalesced into an awkward, stunted laugh made just to fill the silence that followed his observation. Rich seemed weirdly flustered, as if he’d somehow been unaware that every single person he met was enthralled by the sound of his lisp or the way he fidgeted with the hem of his sleeves whenever he got nervous. This was normal—Jake knew it was normal. Everyone felt that, everyone knew it, it was just such a fact of life it remained unspoken amongst the masses.

“…no,” Chloe said as if she was explaining some foreign concept to a toddler, “Most people do not get butterflies at the sight of Rich. No offense.”

Rich shook his head as he muttered ‘none taken.’ He was studying Jake with the same lost expression Chloe was, lips parted, and it was only when Rich’s cheeks flushed a cute pink that Jake realized maybe he’d fucked up.

Rich clearly had no idea what he was talking about. Even worse, Chloe had no idea what he was talking about. Not only was Rich not purposefully torturing the entire population with his inexplicable ability to turn everything into gold whenever he smiled, but apparently his accidental magic only affected Jake.

A phenomenon most would describe as a crush.

Jake did not have a crush. He was straight, Rich was his best friend, and he’d never risk ruining that. But Chloe was slowly coming to the same realization he had and he watched the exclamation form on her lips before he had the chance to stop her.

“You like him?!”

Jake didn’t have time to form a defense before Rich was falling out of his chair, face red and eyes bulging. He popped back up almost immediately and screeched, “WHAT?!”

“No!!! Stop! I don’t! Slow down! It’s normal, okay?! Stop looking at me like that, Jesus. I’m not—I’m talking to you right now, aren’t I?! It’s clearly not the same. Just—the normal amount, you know? Don’t you give everyone butterflies? C’mon, it can’t just be me.”

Maybe it was just him, come to think of it. He didn’t remember many other people getting tongue-tied around Rich, or blushing simply when he entered the room. The only reason Jake could keep his cool around Rich was because he’d spent months adapting to this constant glow-y feeling. The first few weeks after meeting post-fire Rich, Jake had practiced talking in the mirror just to make sure he hadn’t had a stroke in his sleep and lost the ability to speak or something. Other people… didn’t seem to have that reaction. They didn’t act like Rich was made of pure sunshine, or his voice a melody, his eyes entrancing, his lips—

Jake searched Rich’s face for an answer, eyes darting from place to place helplessly. From his eyes to his eyebrows to his cheeks to his freckles to his hair. He was met with curiosity and excitement and tension—something that terrified him more than anything.

He didn’t think Rich would say no, not when he was looking at Jake like this. Like he was afraid to be happy, unbelieving that things could possibly go the way he wanted them to. Jake could ask Rich to kiss him right now and… and he might get that. He might like that.

“The normal amount,” Jake repeated, his voice trembling. Too fast. He was straight ten minutes ago, this was way too fucking fast.

“The normal amount is no amount, Jacob,” Chloe said. Unlike Rich, she didn’t sound afraid to be happy. She looked excited. She was finally free from Jake’s lingering attraction. She could go off and date this new girl without wondering if her ex-boyfriend would be okay with it. Because he had a crush on his best friend. Apparently. Fuck. No—

“Okay?! Then I don’t feel it any amount! It’s only sometimes—well, most of the time—but there’s no way—how can you look at him and not—?”

Chloe had the audacity to laugh at him, elated and unbridled. That, of all things, should’ve had Jake’s heart melting into his lungs.

But instead, it was Rich’s small, “Jake…?” that made the sky turn pink.

“Don’t. I don’t like you, okay? I don’t. It’s—”

Jake would kiss him if Rich asked him to. But, because this was post-fire Rich instead of pre-fire Rich, Rich didn’t say a word, didn't lean forward and offer Jake the sweet relief of letting all this built-up excitement out into a kiss. Rich sat back down, mouth clamped shut and eyes trained carefully on the table in front of him.

“Okay,” he murmured, his face flushed, “Sorry. Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Go out to dinner with me.”

Rich refused to look up. Still staring at the table, he whispered, “What?”

“I don’t know?! Apparently, not everyone thinks you’re the most beautiful person to walk the planet?! And I mean, if I get to keep you all to myself, then fuck me if I don't. So. Dinner. I don’t know what’s happening right now, but I’m not a fucking coward. I’ll go for it. You’re pretty, you make everything warm and happy, and I think I really fucking like that feeling, so.”

“You’re straight.”

“Maybe not?” Jake offered, his voice small and on the verge of cracking.

Rich’s hands clenched the edge of the table. Jake, disoriented and desperate, reached out and threaded their fingers together just to loosen his grip.

“Please?” he whispered, “I think—I think I really like you.”

“Okay,” Rich replied.

“No, I’m serious. I—”

“I know you are. But I’m sure I like you. A lot. Why don’t you go fuck around a little and experiment a bit before you decide to go and break my heart?”

“Oh, shit,” Chloe said. Jake shooed her off with his free hand, not even bothering to look at her. His full attention was on Rich and his trembling hands.

“I don’t wanna experiment. I want to go out to dinner with you.”

Rich shrugged. Jake made a small sound of frustration.

“C’mon, you can’t—I like you! I have all the feelings people get when they like someone. Hell, I probably have more, considering I literally cannot see anyone else whenever you so much as brush up against me. I was raised to be fucking president of Model UN and the archery team, Rich. My brain never managed to compute that liking guys—liking you—could even be an option. But it is an option, and I like you, and now that I know it I don’t think I will physically be able to handle being in the same room and not kissing you. Dinner. Please. One date. Then you can decide I’m a slut who just wants to experiment.”

Rich squeezed Jake’s hand, tight and unwavering. When he looked up, all Jake could think about was how grateful he was Rich hadn’t done it earlier. He already knew he was fucked—just from Chloe’s confusion, from Rich’s embarrassment—but damn. Damn. Jake wished he was more poetic. He’d trained himself to write succinct essays and informative contentions, not stanzas about the exact shade of gold the perfect mix between green and brown could make.

“One date.”

“And when I prove you wrong, we can go out on another.”

Rich let out an awkward laugh that sounded somewhere between pained and excited.

“Sure,” he said, “Then we can go on another.”

29 notes · View notes